"The Black Cat" by Edgar Allan Poe

Having a spirit of perverseness means willfully giving into moral perversion and evil-doing.  It is done in a loss of self and humanity.   While one may feel strong and powered during this act it is followed by deep trenches of remorse and sorrow.

--

As soon as I finished this story I called my mother and read it to her. Yes, an odd story for a son to read his mother but I did have merit.

The only pet I ever had was a small mutt my mother found on the side of the road. Being a book-friendly child I did not have many companions. This dog, Randy, quickly became my constant comrade. He would sleep on the end of my bed. We would run through the woods together. From time to time we would even share a sandwich. Then my older brother moved back in.

I've never really been a jealous or malicious person so I was unaware of these new strange feelings that were developing inside me.  More and more Randy would find his ways to my brother’s room at bed time.   More and more I was taking solitary trips through the woods and eating a lone man’s sandwich.  My best friend had betrayed me and for what worse with my own brother.  Being of an even-temper, I did what I thought any nine year old boy would do and took Randy deep into the woods and tied him to a tree.  He was my friend and my friend alone.  A couple of days later I found Randy sleeping on my brother’s bed.  Not only had he escaped but he had betrayed me by shacking up with my mentor and hero. 

I went to the attic and found a box.  I went to the garage and found the shovel.  I went back to that tree in the woods and 4 hours later had a good size hole.  I put Randy in the box with a flashlight and half a peanut-butter sandwich, its twin digesting its way through my stomach.  (Digging a hole is hungry work).  I kissed my dog and said, “See you tomorrow,” then found my way home.

The next day I returned to Randy’s new subterranean abode and dug him up.  Right at once he bit me and started running.  I chased after and soon was on his tail.  Grabbing him by the neck I screamed a bout of non-sense and anger that never knew it could be born of a child.  In early childhood serial killer fashion I tied Randy to a tree and watched him hang, slowly and painfully losing his life. I knew I was murdering my dog but I didn't care.  I wanted him to feel pain just as I had felt.

It is a moment in my life I am far from proud of.  That image haunts me to this day, my spirit of perverseness, my dog hanging from that tree.  It’s scary how strong an emotion can be to blind a boy of not only his love but his morals as well.