This was written as a class assignment almost three years ago (I received the equivalent of an A plus, with congratulations on my word choice) to provide an alternate ending to the classic horror tale "The Monkey's Paw". I would like to warn you; I think this is quite lurid and pulpy, and my writing style has changed a great deal since I wrote this. Nevertheless, it's not terrible for a twelve-year-old -- all the words were spelled right and all the intentions conveyed, even though it's a bit overdramatic compared to my current style. Nothing to worry about other than overdone dialogue -- not even any gore (well, maybe a smidge). Picks up immediately after the short story's ending.

A tapping finger touched the old man's shoulder. A quiet voice breathed in his ear, "Boo."

Quavering with fright, the old man turned to see a horrible face, underlit by a flickering candle. With horror, the old man discerned that the mutilated face he saw was indeed his son's. "Herbert...but how?" the old man whispered.

The thing that had once been Herbert said, its mouth-or what had once been its mouth-contorting awkwardly, "The paw--it doesn't always work, you know."

The old man stared in affrighted incredulity at the thing as it raised what perhaps had once been a hand, though now rotted and twisted. It curled all but its index finger into a fist and pointed at the old woman, still weeping.

"I shall spare her," it said. "But you--you wished for my destruction." Its voice dwindled to a raspy whispering murmur, so much like Herbert's voice that the old man wanted to gag. "And the paw--the paw. I have not used it yet! I have a wish left! A wish!" The voice rose to a shout as it spoke the last of those words, then dwindled away again. "But that man--(my father still, I suppose)--that man--only he knows where the paw is now." The thing grabbed the old man's shoulders and demanded from him, in a voice calm and soft on the surface, but icy cold beneath, "Father, where is the paw?"

The old man thought of the terrible consequences that might occur if he let this, this thing have the paw. He lied to it, "I--I burned it, Herbert." It burned his lips to say his dead son's name to this creature, referring to it, even. The old man thought to himself, He's dead! It can't be alive! This thing shouldn't be alive! It shouldn't be alive! It shouldn't be alive!

It smiled, stretching decaying lips. "Oh, Father, but I am. But if you burned it, then where are the ashes?"

The old man thought, now horrified beyond reason, It can read my mind! This thing can read my mind! I must lie, then. And lie I shall, if it will get this creature away from here. He lied again. "I scattered them in the garden, Herbert." It burned his lips to say that name again.

The thing let out a terrible howl of frustration and anger. "Useless, useless! Stop lying to me!" It snapped its fingers and said quietly with flashes of a deadly fire in its eyes, "Reaper, come if you can."

A tall figure clad in black appeared, scythe in hand. It held this weapon to the old man's throat with its skeletal hand, and his eyes widened in utter dread.

The thing-Herbert-gently took his mother's hand. "Mother, where is the paw?" it said in a gentle voice, dried and dirt-crusted lips crackling only slightly.

The old woman stood fully upright and hugged it, saying wildly, "My son, my son, it is so good to see you alive again, why of course I shall get you the paw. Come inside, dear son, come inside."

The old man watched in alarm as his former son and his wife went inside. In a moment, they came out again, Herbert smiling that terrible smile, ignoring the old woman at his side. Herbert snapped his fingers again and said, "Reaper, be gone. You are no longer needed." Herbert's triumphant smile bleached all the world of what little color remained to the old man in the dark.

It took the old man by the hand and said gloatingly, "Thanks to this old woman, I shall soon be able to control this world as well as the next. What do you think of that, you who never thought I would amount to anything?"

The old man gasped in fright, weaving on his feet where he stood from the shock and horror of it all. "What--what do you mean, 'this world and the next'?"

Herbert sighed and spoke to him patronizingly, as one might a child. "Ten days is long enough on the other side to ally others to my cause. With my allies on the way, your world will soon be mine as well. And then perhaps I shall be strong enough to reach into the past, and I shall control all the worlds." This was said in a calmly confident tone, as if he were already sure. "Watch, old man, as the scouts come through the barrier."

The old man stared about him, unable to believe what he was seeing. Hundreds and hundreds of the dead emerged from nowhere, treading upon the fields and roads. Others rode phantom horses through the sky. And what was worse, the old man could see some of his friends, who had already passed on, marching among the hordes. He could think only one though. "But what of your appearance," the old man vocalized, then clapped his hand over his mouth, realizing that this new Herbert-creature might take offense at his comment.

It answered coldly, "Ten days in a grave is not the best for one's physical beauty." Herbert laughed chillingly. "Let's see how you like it yourself."

Screaming, the old man found himself suddenly in Herbert's former grave in the graveyard. In a few minutes, he lay still in the darkness, thinking of how much had gone wrong in the past ten days.

Terribly wrong.

24 October 2005