The Monkey’s Paw
By W.W.
Jacobs
Editor’s note:
Rainsnow.org added the 1902 short story
to the Internet from the Public Domain.
Without, the night was cold and wet,
but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire
burned brightly. 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," said Mr. White,
who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of
preventing his son from seeing it.
"I'm listening," said the latter,
grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."
"I should hardly think that he'd come tonight,"
said his father, with his hand poised over the board.
"Mate," replied the son.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Wymark "W. W."
Jacobs (September 8, 1863 – September 1, 1943) was an English author of short
stories and novels. Much of his work was humorous, however, he is best known
for “The Monkey’s Paw”, a 1902 era horror story.
"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."
"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.
"There he is," said Herbert White,
as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.
The old man rose with hospitable haste, and
opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival
also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, "What weather!"
and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly
man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.
"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said,
introducing him.
The
sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched
contentedly while his host got out whisky and tumblers and stood a small copper
kettle on the fire.
At the third
glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle
regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared
his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds;
of wars and plagues and strange peoples.
"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."
"He don't look to have taken much
harm," said Mrs. White, politely.
"I'd like to go to India myself,"
said the old man, "just to look round a bit, you know."
"Better where you are," said the
sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing
softly, shook it again.
"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?"
"Nothing," said the soldier hastily.
"Leastways, nothing worth hearing."
"Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White
curiously.
"Well, it's just a bit of what you might
call magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off-handedly.
His three listeners leaned forward eagerly.
The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down
again. His host filled it for him.
"To look at," said the
sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just an ordinary little paw,
dried to a mummy."
He took something out of his pocket and
proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it,
examined it curiously.
"And what is there special about
it?" inquired Mr. White, as he took it from his son and, having examined
it, placed it upon the table.
"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."
His manner was so impressive that his hearers
were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.
"Well, why don't you have three,
sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.
The soldier
regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth.
"I have," he said quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.
"And did you really have the three wishes
granted?" asked Mrs. White.
"I did," said the sergeant-major,
and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.
"And has anybody else wished?"
inquired the old lady.
"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."
His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon
the group.
"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?"
The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I
suppose," he said slowly.
"If you could have another three
wishes," said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would you have
them?"
"I don't know," said the other.
"I don't know."
He took the
paw, and dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon
the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.
"Better let it burn," said the
soldier solemnly.
"If you don't want it, Morris," said
the old man, "give it to me."
"I won't," said his friend doggedly.
"I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don't blame me for what happens.
Pitch it on the fire again, like a sensible man."
The other shook his head. After retrieving it
from the flames, he examined his new
possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.
"If you
must hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major,
"but I warn you of the consequences."
"Sounds
like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs White, as she rose and began to set the
supper. "Don't you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for
me?"
Her husband
drew the talisman from his pocket and then all three burst into laughter as the
sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.
"I
strongly suggest," he said gruffly, "wish for something
sensible."
Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket, and
placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the
talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an
enthralled fashion to a second installment of the soldier's adventures in
India.
"If the
tale about the monkey paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling
us," said Herbert, as the door closed behind their guest, just in time for
him to catch the last train, "we shan't make much out of it."
"Did
you give him anything for it, father?" inquired Mrs. White, regarding her
husband closely.
"A
trifle," said he, colouring slightly. "He didn't want it, but I made
him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away."
"Likely," said Herbert, with
pretended horror. "Why, we're going to be rich, and famous, and happy.
Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin with; then you can't be
henpecked."
He darted
round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White, who waved at him with the
cloth chair cover she had removed.
Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and
eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a
fact," he said slowly. "It seems to me I've got all I want."
"If you only cleared the house, you'd be
quite happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder.
"Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it."
His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own
credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face somewhat marred
by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive
chords.
"I wish for two hundred pounds,"
said the old man distinctly.
A fine crash from the piano greeted the
words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran
toward him.
"It moved, he cried, with a glance of
disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. "As I wished it twisted in
my hands like a snake."
"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."
"It must have been your fancy,
father," said his wife, regarding him anxiously.
He shook his head. "Never mind, though;
there's no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the same."
They sat down by the fire again while the two
men finished their pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old
man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence
unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old
couple rose to retire for the night.
"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."
He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the
dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian
that he gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy
laugh, he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw over
it. His hand grasped the monkey's paw, and with a little shiver he wiped his
hand on his coat and went up to bed.
II.
In the brightness of the wintry sun
next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table Herbert laughed at his
fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room, which it had
lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched
on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its
virtues.
"I suppose all old soldiers are the
same," said Mrs White. "The idea of our listening to such nonsense!
How could wishes be granted in these days? And if they could, how could two
hundred pounds hurt you, father?"
"Might drop on his head from the
sky," said the frivolous Herbert.
"Morris said the things happened so
naturally," said his father, "that you might if you so wished
attribute it to coincidence."
"Well, don't break into the money before
I come back," said Herbert, as he rose from the table. "I'm afraid
it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown
you."
His mother laughed, and following him to the
door, watched him down the road, and returning to the breakfast table, was very
happy at the expense of her husband's credulity. All of which did not prevent
her from scurrying to the door at the postman's knock, nor prevent her from
referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous habits when
she found that the post brought a tailor's bill.
"Herbert will have some more of his
funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she said, as they sat at
dinner.
"I dare say," said Mr. White,
pouring himself out some beer; "but for all that, the thing moved in my
hand; that I'll swear to."
"You thought it did," said the old
lady soothingly.
"I say it did," replied the other.
"There was no thought about it; I had just---What's the matter?"
His wife made no reply. She was watching the
mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at
the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental
connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well
dressed and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused at the
gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood with his hand upon it,
and then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Mrs.
White at the same moment placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly unfastening
the strings of her apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath the
cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at
ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied
fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her
husband's coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then
waited as patiently as she could, for him to broach his business, but he was at
first strangely silent.
"I--was asked to call," he said at
last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton from his trousers. "I come
from Maw and Meggins."
The old lady started. "Is anything the
matter?" she asked breathlessly. "Has anything happened to Herbert?
What is it? What is it?"
Her husband interposed. "There, there,
mother," he said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump to conclusions.
You've not brought bad news, I'm sure, sir" and he eyed the other
wistfully.
"I'm sorry----" began the visitor.
"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.
The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly
hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."
"Oh, thank God!" said the old
woman, clasping her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank----"
She broke off suddenly as the sinister
meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of
her fears in the other's averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to
her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a
long silence.
"He was caught in the machinery,"
said the visitor at length, in a low voice.
"Caught in the machinery," repeated
Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, "yes."
He sat staring blankly out at the window, and
taking his wife's hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in
their old courting days nearly 40 years before.
"He was the only one left to us,"
he said, turning gently to the visitor. "It is hard."
The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly
to the window. "The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with
you in your great loss," he said, without looking round. "I beg that
you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders."
There was no reply; the old woman's face was
white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a
look such as his friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.
"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."
Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising
to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped
the words, "How much?"
"Two hundred pounds," was the
answer.
Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old man
smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a
senseless heap, to the floor.
III.
I
n the huge
new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and
came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly
that at first they could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of
expectation as though of something else to happen--something else which was to
lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.
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.
It was about a week after that that the old
man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself
alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the
window. He raised himself in bed and listened.
"Come back," he said tenderly.
"You will be cold."
"It is colder for my son," said the
old woman, and wept afresh.
The sound of her sobs died away on his ears.
The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then
slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.
"The paw!" she cried wildly.
"The monkey's paw!"
He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is
it? What's the matter?"
She came stumbling across the room toward
him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed
it?"
"It's in the parlour, on the
bracket," he replied, marvelling. "Why?"
She cried and laughed together, and bending
over, kissed his cheek.
"I only just thought of it," she
said hysterically. "Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think
of it?"
"Think of what?" he questioned.
"The other two wishes," she replied
rapidly. "We've only had one."
"Was not that enough?" he demanded
fiercely.
"No," she cried, triumphantly;
"we'll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive
again."
The man sat up in bed and flung the
bedclothes from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried
aghast.
"Get it," she panted; "get it
quickly, and wish---- Oh, my boy, my boy!"
Her husband struck a match and lit the
candle. "Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You don't know
what you are saying."
"We had the first wish granted,"
said the old woman, feverishly; "why not the second."
"A coincidence," stammered the old
man.
"Go and get it and wish," cried the
old woman, quivering with excitement.
The old man turned and regarded her, and his
voice shook. "He has been dead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell
you else, but--I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too
terrible for you to see then, how now?"
"Bring him back," cried the old
woman, and dragged him toward the door. "Do you think I fear the child I
have nursed?"
He went down in the darkness, and felt his
way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place,
and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before
him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath
as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with
sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he
found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.
Even his wife's face seemed changed as he
entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have
an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.
"Wish!" she cried, in a strong
voice.
"It is foolish and wicked," he
faltered.
"Wish!" repeated his wife.
He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive
again."
The talisman fell to the floor, and he
regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman,
with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold,
glancing occasionally at the figure of the old woman peering through the
window. The candle end, which had burnt below the rim of the china candlestick,
was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker
larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense of
relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed, and a minute or
two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.
Neither spoke, but both lay silently
listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse
scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying
for some time screwing up his courage, the husband took the box of matches, and
striking one, went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out,
and he paused to strike another, and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and
stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand. He stood
motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned
and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third
knock sounded through the house.
"What's that?" cried the old woman,
starting up.
"A rat," said the old man, in
shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on the stairs."
His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud
knock resounded through the house.
"It's Herbert!" she screamed.
"It's Herbert!"
She ran to the door, but her husband was
before her, and catching her by the arm, held her tightly.
"What are you going to do?" he
whispered hoarsely.
"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she
cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are
you holding me for? Let go. I must open 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 old
woman with a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband
followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried
downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and
stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's voice, strained and panting.
"The bolt," she cried loudly.
"Come down. I can't reach it."
But her husband was on his hands and knees
groping wildly on the floor in search of the paw. If he could only find it before
the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through
the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the
passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly
back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and frantically
breathed his third and last wish.
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.
THE END
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