Short. The shortest story in time.
This few pages of reading, while dark, is less frightening than creepy, and not at all passionate. It isn’t so much scary as it is confession; a confession of mortality.
Poe writes this story, seemingly from the idea of murderous correction as opposed to contempt. As if asking the reader and God to agree with his contempt for life. Crazy, mad, is the accused angry? He claims there is no need for the analysis since murder is not a sin, if that which is dead is dark. Even darker than the idea of death.
He incapsulates his crime within the story. His conscience would never have felt the guilt of loss, but for the possibility of being discovered. The tell-tale heart is so judged to be a life sentence.
Halloween is not happy, and neither is this story. Boo!