The Monkey's Paw

Outside the little house, the wind was howling down the empty road, but in the parlour Mr. White and his son Herbert were bent over a game of chess while Mrs. White knitted by the fire. They were expecting a visitor that evening: Sergeant-Major Morris, an old friend who had spent twenty-one years as a soldier in India.

After dinner, Morris told them stories of temples and plagues, and at last he drew from his pocket something small and dried, like a shrivelled hand. "It's a monkey's paw," he said. "An old holy man put a spell on it, to show that fate rules people's lives and that those who interfere with it do so to their sorrow. Three men can each have three wishes from it." Asked whether he had had his own wishes, he said quietly that he had, and his face went grey. The first owner, he added, had used his third wish to ask for death. Then, without warning, he threw the paw into the fire.

Mr. White pulled it out. Morris begged him to burn it, but seeing that his friend would not listen, he warned him: "If you must wish, wish for something sensible."

When their guest had gone, Herbert laughed at the whole business. "If I were you, Father, I'd wish for two hundred pounds. That would pay off the house." Feeling foolish, Mr. White held up the paw and made the wish. No money appeared, and the family went to bed laughing.

The next afternoon, a stranger in a dark suit came to the gate. He represented Maw and Meggins, the factory where Herbert worked. There had been an accident: Herbert had been caught in the machinery. The company, the man explained carefully, accepted no responsibility, but in recognition of their son's years of work, it was prepared to offer the family some money. Mrs. White did not scream. She only asked, "How much?" "Two hundred pounds," he said, and Mr. White fainted.

They buried Herbert in the cemetery two miles away. About a week later, Mrs. White woke in the night with a terrible idea. "The paw!" she cried. "We've only had one wish. Wish our boy alive again!" Her husband trembled, remembering how badly the machines had injured Herbert, yet he could not refuse her. He made the second wish, then dropped the paw as if it had burned him. Nothing happened, and the candle burned out.

Then, long after midnight, came a knock at the door. Soon it became a storm of knocking that shook the whole house. "It's Herbert!" Mrs. White screamed, rushing downstairs. "I forgot it was two miles away!" She struggled with the heavy bolt, which was stiff with age. Had she been just a little quicker, the door would already have been open. On his knees in the dark, Mr. White searched the floor frantically until his fingers closed around the paw, and he whispered his third and final wish.

The knocking stopped at once. The bolt slid back, the door swung open, and a cold wind rushed up the stairs. Mrs. White let out a long, broken cry. Her husband ran out to the gate. Across the road, the street lamp flickered over a road that was quiet and empty.