The Amontillado-Personal Narrative

The light of my torch reached but a few feet in the heavy darkness. The warmth of the Medoc earlier had begun to fade away, and I could feel the cold dampness of the catacombs seeping into my flesh beneath my parti-striped frock.
“Proceed,” Montresor said, “Herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi---”
“He is an ignoramus,” I interrupted, placing a shaky foot forward. All this about Luchesi-- though it wasn’t he who had been chosen to taste the Amontillado, after all.
Here in our journey I stopped; cold, wet wall blocked my path. I turned to my friend to tell him that we must have gone astray, though he seemed unaffected, as if he were not surprised at all. He had drawn a chain about my person and fettered me to the wall in an instant. My

I heard the scraping of rock against rock, then the clatter of what I assumed were the bones I had seen heaped by the byplace earlier. I couldn’t find any words, so I stayed silent. I had started shivering; the niter did, indeed, chill me to the bone, worsening my cough. When Montresor had finished a single tier of stone and mortar was when I felt the first hint of fear. Before, the Medoc had kept the thoughts at bay, but now I could see that the man before me did indeed intend to bury me in stone and leave me

He hesitated for a moment, then to my surprise, returned my cries with shouts of his own. I screamed until my throat was sore, until it was to dry to even utter another word. As he continued to scream even louder than I had, he had finished building the wall, and it lacked but a single stone to be complete.
“Hehe… hee hee! A very good joke indeed… an excellent jest!” I murmured. Montresor paused. “We will laugh about this at the pallazo over our wine!”
“The Amontillado!” Montresor jibed.
“Yes, the Amontillado! But is it not getting late? Will they not be waiting for us to return? Let us be gone,” I said, though I knew I would not be taken down from this wall for a very long time, if ever.
“Yes. Let us be gone,” Montresor muttered.
“For the love of God, Montresor!” I cried.
“Yes. For the love of God,” he murmured quietly. I did not respond. My throat was raw, my voice gone. I should never return to the carnival, where my jester’s cloak blended in with those who dressed alike, whether they wore suits of gold, or raven manks, like that of Montresor’s. In closing my eyes, I found that the darkness behind my eyelids matched that of the darkness around me. “Fortunato!” Montresor called. I raised my eyes meekly. He called again, throwing the dimming torch into my grave. It hit the floor with a hiss as the faded glow died, and I at last let my body go slack, the the bells atop my head jangling. After this, Montresor hurried to slide the last brick into place, and I became