The Monkey's Paw

Listen to the wind. I should hardly think he'd come tonight. That's the worst of living so far out. Of all the beastly slushy out of the way places to live, and this is the worst.

There he is. The old man rose as a tall, burly man entered. Sergeant Major Morris said Mr. White, introducing him to his wife and his son, Herbert.

A little family gathered chairs by the fire. Regarding with eager interest, this visitor from distant parts who spoke of wild deeds, of wars and plagues, and strange people. I'd like to go to India myself, the old man spoke.

Better where you are, replied Sergeant Major, Morris. I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers. What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something Morris?

Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps. To look at it, he said, fondling in his pocket. It's just an ordinary little boy, dried room on me. But it has a spell put on it by an old fakir, 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 own sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from them.

Well, why don't you have three, sir? I have. And did you really have the three wishes granted? I did. And has anybody else wished? The first man had his three wishes. I don't know what the first two were.

But the third was for death. That's how I got the paw. If you could have another three wishes, would you have them? I don't know. He took the paw and dangling it between his four fingers.