Speaker 1: Welcome to Endo the night. Tonight, we continue our tradition,
the annual Halloween Special. Each year I bring a tale
meant to chill the spine and linger long after the
last candle burns out. This year's story is one of
the most enduring pieces of supernatural fiction ever written, A
warning about fate, greed, and the terrible cost of wishing
for more than life intents first published in nineteen o
two in the Lady of the Barge. It comes from
English author W. W. Jacobs and has haunted imaginations for
more than a century. What you are about to hear
is in the public domain, read from the Project Gutenberg text.
Speaker 2: So on this all.
Speaker 1: Hallowsy eve, gather close, let the storm rattle the windows,
and listen. Well, this is the monkey's paw without The
night was cold and wet, but in the small parlor
of Laburnum 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 mister 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.
Speaker 2: I should hardly think he'd come tonight.
Speaker 1: Said his father, with his hand poised over the board.
Mate replied the son. That's the worst of living so
far out, bawled mister White, with sudden and unlooked for violence.
Speaker 2: Of all the.
Speaker 1: Beastly, slushy, out of the way places to live in,
this is the worst pathways bog and the roads a torrent.
I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose
because only two houses in the road are let they
think it doesn't matter. Never mind, dear, said his wife soothingly.
Perhaps you'll win the next one. Mister 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 gray beard.
There he is, said Herbert White, as the gate banged loudly,
and heavy steps came toward the door. The old man
rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, he was
heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also
condoled with himself, so that missus White said tut tut,
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 took 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 wild
scenes and doughty deeds, of wars and plagues and strange peoples.
Twenty one years of it, said mister White, nodding at
his wife and son. When he went away, he was
a slip of a youth in the warehouse.
Speaker 2: Now look at him.
Speaker 1: He doesn't look to have taken too much harm, said
missus White politely, I'd like to go to India myself,
said the old man, just to look around a bit.
You know, better, stay 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 it you were starting to tell me the
other day about a monkey's paw or something. Morrise, nothing,
said the soldier hastily. Least weighs nothing worth hearing monkey's paw,
said Missus 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,
absent mindedly put his empty glass to his lips, and
then set it down again. His host filled it for
him to look at it, 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. Missus White drew back with a grimace,
but her son, taking it, examined it curiously. 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
have three wishes from it. His manner was so impressive
that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred someone. Well,
why don't you have three, sir, said Herbert cleverly. The
soldier regarded him in the way that Middle Ages wont
to regard presumptuous youth. I have, he said quietly, and
his blotchy face whitened.
Speaker 2: And did you really have the three wishes granted?
Speaker 1: Asked missus White. I did, said the sergeant major, and
his glass tapped against his strong teeth. And has anybody
else wished? Persisted 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. I did have some idea of selling it,
but I don't think I will. It has caused enough
mischief already. Besides, people won't buy. They think it's a
fairy tale. Some of them, and those who do not
think anything of it want to try it first and
pay me afterward. 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 dangle in it between his forefinger
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 other, 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 and examined his
new possession closely. How do you do it, he inquired.
Hold up your right hand and wish aloud, said the
Sergeant Major, But I warn you of the consequences. Sounds
like Arabian night's, said Missus 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 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. If
you must wish, he said, gruffly, wish for something sensible.
Mister White dropped it back in 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 Adventures in India. If the tale about the
monkey's 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 of it. Did you
give him anything for it, father, inquired Missus White, regarding
her husband closely. A trifle, he said, coloring 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 pretend 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 around
the table, pursued by the maligned missus White, armed with
an antimacassar. Mister White took the paw from his pocket
and eyed it dubiously.
Speaker 2: I don't know what to wish.
Speaker 1: 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.
Speaker 2: I wish for two hundred pounds.
Speaker 1: Said the old man distinctly. A fine crash from the
piano greeted his words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from
the old man, his wife and son ran toward him.
Speaker 2: It moved.
Speaker 1: He cried with a glance of disgust at the object
as it lay on the floor. As I wished, it
twisted in my hand 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.
Speaker 2: He shook his head.
Speaker 1: 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
on top of the wardrobe, watching 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. In the brightness of the wintry sun. Next morning,
as it streamed over the breakfast table, he 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, shriveled little paw was pitched on the
sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in
its virtues. I suppose all soldiers are the same, said
missus 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 that 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
Major's of bibulous habits when she found 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 mister 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 her.
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. Missus 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. Then she waited as patiently
as her sex would permit 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
up a piece of cotton from his trousers. I come
from maw and Meggin's, the old lady started.
Speaker 2: Is anything the matter?
Speaker 1: She asked breathlessly. Has anything happened to Herbert?
Speaker 2: What is it? What is it?
Speaker 1: 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 wildly.
The visitor bowed in assent, badly hurt, he said quietly.
But he's not in any pain. Oh, thank god, said
the old woman, clasping her hands.
Speaker 2: Thank God for that think.
Speaker 1: 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 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 mister
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 forty 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 and your
great loss, he said, without looking around. I beg that
you will understand I am only their servant and merely
obeying orders. There was no reply.
Speaker 2: The old woman's.
Speaker 1: Face was white, her eyes staring, 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 maun Meghan's disclaim all responsibility continued
the other. They admit no liability at all, but in
consideration of your son's services, they wished to present you
with a certain sum as compensation. Mister 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.
Speaker 2: How much two hundred pounds? Was the answer.
Speaker 1: 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. In 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 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's
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
from his wife awoke him with a start. The paw,
she cried wildly, the monkey's paw. He started up in alarm.
Where what 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 parlor on the bracket,
he replied, marveling. Why she cried and laughed together, and
bending over, kissed his cheek.
Speaker 2: I only just thought.
Speaker 1: Of it, she said, hysterically.
Speaker 2: Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you
think of it? Think of what? He questioned? The other
two wishes?
Speaker 1: She replied rapidly.
Speaker 2: We've only had one.
Speaker 1: Was that not enough, he demanded fiercely. No, she cried triumphantly.
We'll have one more.
Speaker 2: Go down and.
Speaker 1: Get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again. The
man sat up in bed and lung 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're saying. We had the first
wish granted, said the old woman feverishly. Why not the
second a coincidence, stammered the old man. Can't get it
and wish, cried his wife, quavering 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.
Speaker 2: Do you think I fear the child I've nursed?
Speaker 1: He went down in the darkness and felt his way
to the parlor, and then 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 he had lost the
direction of the door, his brow cold with sweat. He
felt his way around the table and groped along the
wall until he found himself in the small passage with
the unwholesome thing.
Speaker 2: In his hand.
Speaker 1: Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room.
It was white and expectant, and his fears seemed to
have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her. Wish,
she cried in a strong voice. It's 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 burned 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
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, he 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 that same moment a knock
so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded
on the front door. The matches fell from his hand
and spilled in the passage. 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
was that, cried the old woman, starting up. A rat,
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.
Speaker 2: What are you going to do?
Speaker 1: It's my boy, it's Herbert, she cried, struggling mechanically.
Speaker 2: I forgot it was two miles away. What are you
holding me for?
Speaker 1: 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 her 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 pall. 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
the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of
the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the
same time 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. That was the Monkey's Paw
by W. W. Jacob's, a century old warning about desire, fate,
and the price we pay when we try to bend
the world to our will. Even now it lingers like
a shadow just beyond the firelight. Another Halloween has come
and gone, and with it another story to haunt the dark.
May the Knight treat you kindly, and may your wishes
remain unspoken. High excursionists, I'm so glad you stayed. If
you ever wonder what I'm working on when I'm not here.
You can find my current and past projects at narinarrates
dot com. That's also where you can sign up to
be a story in my library, where every story somehow
finds its way back home.