I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture.
Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed
EIGHTH NIGHT...
the Narrator dropped his lantern and woke up the old man, leaving him no choice but to kill him.
The neighbors had heard a shriek on the night of the old man's death and had called the police. The narrator had just then successfully cut the old man into pieces and put him under the planks of his own bedroom floor boards. The narrator assumed he had escaped from the old man’s case as he convinced the police officers that the shriek was nothing to worry about.
As the narrator was sitting down with the officers a sudden disastrous sound that was only heard by him grew louder and louder and started to torture him. The narrator had thought the police officers were enjoying his suffering as if they knew he was the killer. That is when the narrator got up from his seat dramatically and revealed the old man's body beneath his bedroom planks to the officers that were in shock.
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