At four o'clock there was a knock at the door. I went slowly down the stairs to answer, and could see through the glass of the door the outlines of two uniformed figures. It was the police. I took a deep breath, but why should I be scared? Everything was perfectly hidden. I opened the door, and the two officers told me that a neighbour had called 999 having heard a loud scream from my house earlier. I smiled, I was totally relaxed. "Ah," I said, "that was me, I'm afraid. I suffer from terrible nightmares - I do sometimes cry out."

They looked unconvinced, so I invited them in. "Feel free to look around," I said. "My lodger is away at the moment, but you're welcome to look around any room in the house." I then showed them over the entire house, confident that there was nothing which could arouse their suspicion. Finally we came back down to the hall. there was no chance I would be caught, so, for the sheer delight of it, I offered the men a drink - you see, I have a drinks cabinet in the hall.
"Gentlemen, a drop of scotch for you before you go- it's a cold night out there."
They looked at each other - obviously they were not meant to drink on duty - but my offer tempted them, I could see.

As I was pouring the drink, I felt something on my skin. A light tapping, like a fingertip. I steadied my hand - this was unnerving. I stared at the liquid in the glass - I could still feel the tapping, but now, now i could see - there were ripples, regular, rhythmic ripples, across the surface of the drink in the glass; tap tap; tap tap; tap tap. I handed the drinks to the officers, trying hard to stop my hand from shaking. I could feel it through the air now, a thud ,a tap - but double, like a heartbeat. the officers took their drinks thanked me. I began to talk more loudly. The thumping was getting worse - it was a tremor now, I could feel the dreadful double beat through my feet.

Although he was dead, I was sure I could feel a heart beat through the pillow, a thump, steady and sure, for some moments, just like someone tapping on my skin.

Hiding the body wasn't a problem. You may say that I am mad - but how could a mad person plan and organise the concealment so carefully? I dismembered him neatly; first I severed the nose, as it had offended me the most. Then arms, hands,legs and feet. There were no blood stains - I cleaned up very carefully. I personally like a certain brand: "Bang - and the blood is gone!" Ha. Then, where to hide the limbs, I wondered. There was a cupboard under the stairs, in the hallway, which would be convenient. I had some large plastic crates, with lids; one of those would do perfectly. I packed the body parts neatly into the crate and snapped the lid shit. Then, as putrefaction began, there would be no smell. Perfect. As I said, how could a mad person work it all out so carefully? I am, most definitely, not mad.

The sniffing

It's no big deal, really, is it, that someone sniffs? But it is, it is when they keep on and on doing it, non stop, this appalling awful noise. it seems to suck the air away, wherever he is, and then I can't breathe. My lungs begin to tighten, and before I know it, I'm struggling for breath.

You mustn't think I bear him any malice, any personal animosity. He's quite a pleasant person, really, quiet and undistinguished. He pays his rent on time; he keeps his room clean. No problems. Apart from the sniffing, that interminable, infuriating, incessant sniffing. Using my air up.

Every night he goes to bed at eleven o'clock. I hear him go up the stairs, sniff, sniff. He crosses the landing. He opens his door. He closes his door. The sniffing continues. I wait. I sit and wait.

An hour passes, and another. As the our of one strikes, I rise, and begin my pursuit. My slow, deliberate, silent pursuit, half an inch every thity seconds. As two o'clock strikes I arrive at his door, and then begin to depress the handle very, very slowly. Half an later the door begins to swing open. utterly silently, of course, for I have been regularly oiling the hinges. How can you say someone with such foresight is mad?

The moonlight spills into the room, falling across the bed. He's sprawled across it in deep sleep, totally silent. He's not sniffing, he's not even snoring, he's silent. And so, carefully and silently, I withdraw.

For the next eight nights, I contune my pursuit. Every nigth, the moon wanes, and the darkness increses. In between the walls, dripping from the ceiling, it gains. On the ninth night, there is no moon. The darkness is everywhere. I cross the landing. I place my hand on the handle of his door and depress it; the door opens. Unnerved by the darkness, I stumble.

He wakes. I hear him. He starts, he sits up. He cries out. I do not move. I am a patch of darkness. So is he. He screams; I do not move. For an hour, I do not move. His breathing is fast, panicky. He does not sniff. Two o'clock strikes, he slumps, he needs to sleep. He sniffs.

With a single bound I am across the room. I grab a pillow; I smother him. Gasps, sniffs, gasps some more. Laboured, hoarse breathing. Then, then..nothing.

I'd had a lodger for a while. No trouble to anyone - and quite well off. So I had no reason to kill him - he paid up on time, and I didn't need to steal from him. But there was something about him I absolutely could not stand. It was horrible. He sniffed.

The Tell Tale...

I am not mad. Don't listen to what they tell you, they are not to be trusted. Absolutely. Don't trust them. They think they know everything, but they don't. They certainly don't understand that I am, in spite of everything, perfectly sane. As anyone will tell you. There is one thing I am quite, how shall we say, proud of..one unusual feature. Notice I said unusual. Not mad, just unusual. I have a particularly acute sense of touch. I feel. I sense. I am....aware of things. for example, I can tell you, because I felt it on my skin, that someone in the next cell has just spoken. I feel words, you see, I can sense the change in the air pressure. A person breathes, I can feel it. A person speaks, I can feel it. Everything. Every beat of every heart. You'd be amazed at whaat I know, what my skin tells me. You'd be stunned.