The Black Cat; Part I

Edgar Allan Poe's acclaimed short story. Where a murderer carefully conceals his crime and believes himself unassailable... until he reveals himself.

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For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not, and very surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and today I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified, have tortured and have finally destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but horror , to many they will seem less terrible than barroques.
Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place; some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.