The Monkey's Paw by W.W. Jacobs

William Wymark "W. W." Jacobs (1863 – 1943) was an English author of novels and short stories. The majority of his work tended to be more on the humorous side, however he is better known for his short horror story The Monkey’s Paw. (The story is included in The Lady of the Barge)

I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. It is exactly the kind of short tale you need when you sit around a bonfire with nasty surprises lurking in the dark or a short bedtime scare for the allegedly super brave amongst friends and family. Nobody wants evil to come knocking on their door late at night.

"Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire."

'Hark at the Wind' shouted Mr White, in an attempt to distract his son from his own perilous mistake in the game of chess they were absorbed in. He was waiting for a guest to arrive, which would explain why he wasn't completely focused on the game.

"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence; "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."

His son quickly bested him with a Check, followed by a determined Mate.

"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one."Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

Sergeant-Major Morris settled into a chair and made himself comfortable with a snifter of whisky. After a few drams his tongue loosened a little.

"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. "When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him." "I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?"

Morris tried to wave away the comment and change the subject but White wasn't having any of it.

"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off-handedly. "it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy. It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it."

So, why don't you use the three wishes yourself asked White, and was surprised when Morris replied that he had already. One would think that a man with three wishes would be a wee bit more overjoyed or at least seem happy at the prospect.

"The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That's how I got the paw. If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris," said the old man at last. "What do you keep it for?"

Morris wasn't sure, but he was certain that he didn't want anyone else to have the last three wishes and threw the paw in the fireplace. Old man White rushed to retrieve the artefact and enquire as to how this wishing malarkey works.

"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of the consequences. If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish for something sensible,"as the door closed behind their guest, just in time for him to catch the last train. 

He wished for two hundred pounds and a fine crash from the piano greeted his words. He jumped a little as the paw squirmed in his hand.

 

"Well, I don't see the money," said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, "and I bet I never shall. I expect you'll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed," said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, "and something horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."

The next morning Herbert was his usual

 sarcastic self, which led to his parents discussing his behaviour and whether the paw would bring them any luck at all. Later in the day Mrs White noticed a well-dressed gentleman dithering outside. He looked as if he was trying to decide to knock on the door or not.

 "Badly hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain. He was caught in the machinery," said the visitor at length, in a low voice."The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss."

Our only child, they wept.

"I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility," continued the other. "They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son's services they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation. Two hundred pounds," was the answer.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

"The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again. Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice. He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."

The two of them sat listening to the ticking of the clock. They resigned themselves to the fact the wish hadn't worked and decided to go to bed. As they walked up the stairs they heard a soft knock on the door.

"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling."You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert; I'm coming."There was another knock, and another. "The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."

Mr White was on his hands and knees searching frantically for the paw. As he grasped it he whispered frantically to himself his final wish. Silently so his wife couldn't hear it.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road.

I guess the moral of the story is, be careful what you wish for, and that magical objects are completely unreliable when it comes to granting wishes.