"Oh, it's our son! Our dear, lovely boy! Herbert is alive; he's come back to his parents!" Mrs. White cried in wild delight and excitement like a madwoman as she fumbled with the door's lock, adding "Dear, help me with this dang thing!"
Mr. White grimly stared at the monkey's paw in his hand. It only held one finger now, after he had made his first two wishes. Mr. White felt his forehead pour with sweat, terror seizing him like a fish on a hook. He desperately wanted to wish it away, whatever that remained of his son, but for some unknown reason, his lips refused to form the words. They would not come out.
"Oh, never mind, I've got it!" Mrs. White's voice called from down below.
Mr. White's blood curdled when he heard the loud, creaking noise of the old door opening…then…
There was an earsplitting scream of utter horror and a great deafening crash. Something shattered.
Heart pounding, mind racing, Mr. White scrambled to the stairs and looked down. His wife was sprawled on the floor, frantically backing away from the screen door with the look of pure fear speared into her wide eyes. Mr. White followed her line of vision – and his blood stopped cold.
There standing was there Herbert, in all his mutilated, bloody glory. His flesh was horrifically torn apart everywhere and his face was unrecognizable, save for the ghastly grin on his face that would have looked sweeter and more angelic had he been alive and unharmed from his machinery accident at work. Blood covered his body like clothing, and drops of it pooled on the porch and gleamed in the sickly dim light.
Their son had come home like a good boy.