The Monkey's Paw (Fantasy & Horror Classics)

W. W. Jacobs

• Publisher: Fantasy and Horror Classics
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781473306097
• eBook ISBN: 9781473396104
• Subtopic: Ciencia ficción

A severed hand. Three wishes. And an unstoppable curse.

Arguably the most famous and influential short horror story of the 20th century. Penned by W. W. Jacobs (1863-1943), this chilling masterpiece is a devastating subversion of the classic fairy tale, trading fantasy for inescapable, cosmic irony.

The story centers on the White family: a happy, simple couple and their son, who acquire a grotesque dried monkey's paw, a relic brought from India. The paw is cursed: it grants three wishes to its owner, but always with a terrible, ironic, and often deadly cost as an implacable Fate seeks to maintain balance.

After a careless first wish for money brings unimaginable grief, the desperate second wish plunges the family into a terrifying struggle against the laws of life and death. The narrative culminates in one of the most famous and chilling finales in horror history.

Do not wish. Do not tempt the forces that govern the universe.

I

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 to-night,” said his father, with his hand poised over the board.

“Mate,” replied the son.

“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 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.”

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, “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 taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whiskey 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 Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. “When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now...

Table of contents

• W. W. Jacobs
• I
• II
• III