I
The streetlights flickered as the wind blew harshly through the bog-like section of town. Mrs. White collapsed into a heap on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The old man, after verifying that there was in fact, no dangerous undead-being, returned from the street to console his wife. He knelt down, embracing her tenderly on the Laburnum Villa's front stoop. Slowly, her sobs subsided to mere whimpering as he rocked her. "My boy, my boy. He was so close, what did you do? Oh, what did you do?" There was no anger in her voice, only sorrow and confusion.
"That was not our boy, but a mangled corpse without a soul. A monster. Our son's soul is at rest; we need to let his body sleep as well." The woman let out a shuddered sigh as the old man wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "Now, let's up to bed. There is no sense in catching cold on top of it all."
As if on cue, a gust of icy wind whipped through the open door, howling loudly. The married couple wearily stood and closed the door. "Tomorrow, all of this will seem like a terrible dream," he reassured, more to himself than his wife.
Together, they turned to climb the stairs to their bedroom. Outside, the wind still bellowed. Neither husband nor wife particularly took note of this, as it is a natural phenomenon in the stormy months of winter. However, both froze when a low voice sounded from the parlor. "Hark at the wind."
They exchanged startled glances. "I'm listening." This time, a different voice spoke, one young and strong; but to the couple, it sounded more like a ghost.
"Her-Herbert?" the old woman called shakily.
The conversation in the sitting room continued, uninterrupted. Suddenly, realization swept over
Mr. White, draining the color from his face. Without saying a word, he walked toward the parlor.
"What are you doing?" hissed his wife, but he did not hear her.
He was too preoccupied by the dreadfully familiar voices conversing in the parlor. "Nevermind dear, perhaps you'll win the next one." As Mr. White rounded the corner to the sitting room, he noticed that the last remark was made by none other than Mrs. White. She was sitting in her chair by the fire, knitting. To the left, his son and a man resembling himself had just finished a game of chess.
"No, no, no!" the old man sputtered, his presence unacknowledged. He began to back away, but collided with something, or someone, behind him. There was a muffled cry; he turned and came face to face with his wife.
"I'm sorr-," he was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream.
"Who are they?" Mrs. White asked, horrified, "And why are they- oh, my son!" Upon seeing her son alive and well, the old woman fainted with a heavy thud. Before her husband could stoop to help her up, the gate outside slowly creaked open, then shut with an abrupt bang.
At this, Herbert stood, looking out the window, and said, "There he is."
His father rose and quickly went to open the door for his guest, unknowingly walking through Mr. White, who merely gasped; the anguish caught in his throat. Though it had only taken the other man a matter of seconds to pass through him, it felt as though someone had tried to eviscerate his vital organs. Mr. White collapsed to the floor, heaving. A moment later, the other man returned with his guest, Sergeant Major Morris. Mr. White scrambled out of the way just before the two men entered the parlor. This was the night the paw entered the White household.
II
Mr. White watched as greetings between the hosts and their guest were exchanged. Next to him, his wife stirred.
"Is that you dear? Oh, I had the most horrible dream! We wished our boy back from the dead, but he wasn't our boy. He was a monster," she murmured, still dazed from fainting. Mr. White said nothing as she continued, "Then, we decided to go back to bed and… and we heard his voice in the parlor. But, when we went to go see, our whole family was in the parlor. Or at least people who looked like us… "
"It wasn't a dream," he finally interrupted
"What?" Mrs. White demanded, fully awake now.
The voices in the sitting room rose with laughter. Mr. White quickly leaned in and put a supporting arm around his wife, who already looked pale.
"All of that happened," he whispered, his throat dry, "We seem to have gone back to the night Morris visited-"
"And gave us the paw," his wife finished, "Why?"
"I-I think it's because I wished it; that none of it had ever happened. And it hasn't… yet."
"Then why are we here? Why aren't we in the parlor talking with Mr. Morris? Can't they hear us?" she was hyperventilating. Her husband paused and studied their hardwood floor. In the parlor, the ambiance shifted from light hearted to eerie and mysterious as Sergeant Major Morris spoke of the paw.
With a deep breath Mr. White replied, "We haven't happened yet. We existed - experienced everything, but now…the paw has made us ghosts." Both fell silent as they watched their family's doubles exit the parlor, leading the Sergeant Major into the dining room for a meal.
Mr. White stood and walked into the parlor, followed by his wife. He picked up a tumbler from the coffee table, one that still had alcohol left in it. Without thinking, he downed the contents of the glass in one gulp. At least he could drink. His wife looked at him with understanding as she poured herself a glass as well.
"Normally you don't drink," the old man flatly stated.
"Nothing about this is normal," she responded, coughing profusely after downing the strong beverage.
The couple finally set the tumblers back on the table when they heard the front door close.
"He's gone now," Mr. White said, in reference to the Sergeant Major.
"I know," the old woman replied, face somber from recalling what happened next, "Do we watch?" Without saying a word, Mr. White stood. Slowly, they walked to the dining room.
"-he pressed me again to throw it away."
They entered mid-conversation, but both Mr. and Mrs. White knew the subject matter. "I should have listened. I should have let that paw burn!" exclaimed Mr. White, face in hands, clearly pained by reliving the moment.
"You didn't know! No one knew that-" the old woman tried to comfort her husband, "that he would die. That this would happen."
"Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it," Herbert said from across the room. The old man and his wife turned their attention back to the room. The flesh Mr. White was smiling and began to wish. Drunken furry washed over the old man who had been helplessly spectating. Without realizing it, he had crossed the room.
"Fool!" he yelled, "Morris warned you!"
At this, he lunged at his double, despite knowing it would do no good. His arm went straight through the man's flesh; however, it caught on the paw, twisting it. Instantly, the paw dropped to the floor; the man crying to his wife and son that it had turned in his hand. Mr. White saw an opportunity and seized it. He fell to the floor, grabbing the shriveled monkey's paw.
With great haste, he shut his eyes and whispered, "I wish Morris had never brought this thing into our home."
III
It was a very cold, wet night when Elijah Williams, an eleven year old boy, was walking down an eerie street. The road was a slick from the permanent mist that consumed the boggish area, making it difficult to walk. The wind howled wildly, like a pack of hounds on a fox hunt. He did not know what had called him to leave the comfort of his warm home, to walk down this street, on this night. Perhaps it was the spirit of adventure.
Elijah stared at his feet while he walked. He sheltered his numb hands in the pockets of an oversized winter coat, passed down to him from his older brother. His face was frozen and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. The boy was about to turn around and head home when he noticed a small, black object. He stooped to pick up the item and found that it had coarse, wet fur that reeked of decay. Its skin was slimy and soft due to the moisture. Under careful examination, he concluded that the object he held was a monkey's paw.
"How strange," the boy said aloud, eyeing it with immense curiosity, "Where could it have come-" It was then that the boy looked up and saw where he could only assume the paw had fallen from. Not a meter away lay a large man, seemingly unconscious. Without hesitating, Elijah ran as fast as he could towards the nearest house, paw in hand.
IV
When the old man opened his eyes, the paw was gone and the room was dark. It worked.
"Are you there, dear?" his wife called.
"I'm here."
From the parlor, a low voice said, "Hark at the wind."
"What did you do?" Mrs. White questioned after hearing the remark .
"I wished that Morris had never brought that vile thing into this house."
Mrs. White paused, spirit lowered as the conversation in the parlor continued, exactly as it had before.
"We are still ghosts?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Mr. White looked away, "At least we have our son."
"But, he's not our son. He's their son. He can't hear us- he doesn't even know we exist!" The pain of his wife's words struck Mr. White fully. They were no longer Herbert's parents, but spectators reminiscing what could have been.
Suddenly, the gate outside opened and shut with a great crash. Seconds later, there was feverish knocking on the front door. Everyone in the household, whether ghost or flesh, ran to the front door. Being a healthy, young man, Herbert was the first the first to reach it, opening it with great haste. There stood a young boy, who was shaking profusely.
"Oh, dear heavens, child! Are you all right?" cried the fleshen Mrs. White, the other standing slightly aback, by her husband.
"What's your name son?" asked her husband.
"Elijah, sir. And there's an emergency! You see, I was walking down this street when I saw this big fellow just lying on the ground!"
"Morris!" everyone in the household exclaimed at once.
"Wait here kid," Herbert said running down the front steps and out the gate, father and mother close behind.
"I wish I knew what was happening," the boy mumbled to himself. Elijah awkwardly stood in the doorway of the strangers' house fidgeting with the damp paw. If he stood on his toes, he could see the unconscious man from the open door.
"First Herbert, now Morris!" Mr. White shook his head, "There is no mercy."
At the voice, the boy turned and saw the old couple standing behind him. His mouth fell open in shock. Had he not just witnessed them run outside?
"That boy, he seems to be staring at us," Mrs. White noted to her husband.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be impolite, it's just-" the boy was cut off by a shriek.
He could see them. He could hear them. How? Then, Mr. White looked at the item he held in his right hand. "Where did you get that?" interrogated the old man.
"I found it on the street, in front of that man…"
"He must've made a wish, something that would allow him to see and hear us," Mrs. White commented to her husband.
Perhaps he was not the only one who could see them...
"Did you make a wish?" probed Mr. White.
"I-I don't know. But, you just went… Didn't you just-?" the poor boy babbled incoherently, trying to make sense of it all.
This brought the Whites to smile weakly. The boy reminded them of their own son when he was younger. Those bright eyes that reflected such innocence and curiosity could only belong to a child. Mr. White's expression darkened. His own son had been stolen from him. Yes, Herbert stood only meters away, but with imposters generated from the paw rather than the true blood that bore him. Then, a horrid notion crawled out from the darkest region of his mind, that bordering on insanity. His son had been killed, but the paw had shown mercy. It allowed him to be brought back, fully revived. They were given a second chance; the three of them could start over. Only one problem remained.
"That paw," Mr. White pointed, "is no ordinary thing. It grants wishes!"
The boy eyed the old man dubiously. He was smiling strangely at the boy, almost as if he were twisting an idea around in his head, plotting.
"You seem doubtful. I myself wished on that paw, and it sent my wife and I to another dimension. We found that the paw had replaced us with mere copies. I suppose it served to limit everyone else's confusion, but, now, you saved us! We are freed from our limbo. Don't believe me? Just take a look outside…"
Mrs. White sent her husband a suspicious glance as the boy's head turned to look out the door. Sure enough, there was another Mr. and Mrs. White, just up the street. Seeing that the child had relented, he continued.
"So, you see, you are our hero! But, I have one more favor: that you ask the paw to send them away."
The boy looked at the paw in his hand. What did he have to lose?
"How does it work?"
"Hold it in your right hand, and start by saying I wish…"
"Okay. I wish they were gone!"
V
Outside, the White family studied the unconscious man.
"What do you think happened?" asked the mother.
Mr. White was next to his old friend on the ground, checking for a pulse. The Sergeant Major had a large bump on the back of his head. "He's a big man, and not as young as he used to be. He must have slipped on the road…"
"He doesn't look good. Should I run for a doctor, father?"
"Not yet. Help me bring him into the house first." The two men struggled to lift Morris up from the ground.
"You're right," Herbert strained, "He is a big man."
"Hush," scolded his mother.
Slowly, father and son began to carry the old friend back to their home. They were nearly two meters from the front gate when a gust of glacial wind gave a chilling screech. Suddenly, Morris' right hand twitched and his head stirred.
"He's awake!" shouted Mrs. White.
Without thinking, the two men set him down. "Morris? Can you hear me, Morris?" questioned Mr. White.
The Sergeant Major opened his eyes, which seemed unusually dark. "Morris? Morris, it's me-"
A hand reached out and latched onto his throat before Mr. White could finish the statement. He thrashed against his attacker, trying to free himself from the iron grip. He could hear his wife and son screaming for the man to stop. Mr. White's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish trying to breathe. His attempts proved futile as his vision clouded with a black haze from the lack of oxygen. He could no longer feel anything; his body was completely numb. The last he heard was a slight popping noise as his trachea finally collapsed
"Herbert, do something! He's killing your father!"
Herbert was throwing himself at the man with all his might, but failed to rescue the now limp corpse from his clutches. Mr. White's cold body hit the ground with a thud as the Sergeant Major's attention shifted to the son. With an animalistic cry, he pulled Herbert from his back and began to smash the young man's head repetitively on ground.
From the entrance to the house, Mr. White, his wife and the boy watched in horror. "My son! Not my son!" shouted Mr. White.
"It's happening again… I've lost him again because of that paw!" Mrs. White sobbed.
The sound of Herbert's skull cracking against the hard pavement caused Elijah to retch. This was all his doing; he was a murderer. The high pitched screams of the woman outside filled his conscience. He had to do something. Elijah held the paw tightly in his right fist, realizing that there was still hope.
The Whites turned away from the horrid scene just beyond their gate. The wind surged violently, and the cries of anguish that had been tormenting their ears stopped abruptly. They looked around and realized that the boy had disappeared.
"What happened?" Mrs. White begged her husband.
From the parlor, a low voice spoke, "Hark at the wind."