MON P6 7H
He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."
The talisman fell to the floor, and he looked at it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair
as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and looked out.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the old woman looking
through the window. The candle, burning down, was casting shadows on the ceiling and
walls, until it finally went out. 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 lifelessly beside him.
Neither spoke, but lay silently, listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a
squeaky mouse ran noisily through the wall. The darkness was terrible, and, after lying in
bed for some time, he struck a match and went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another; at the same
moment, a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be barely audible, sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand and spilled. He stood motionless, holding his breath until the
knock was repeated. Then he turned and ran swiftly back to his room and closed the door
behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.
"What's that?" cried the old woman, sitting up.
"A rat," said the old man in shaking tones - "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 there before her and, catching her by the arm,
held her tightly.
"What are you going to do?" he whispered.
"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are you
holding me for? 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 twisted and broke free and ran from
the room. Her husband followed to the top of the stairs and called after her appealingly as
she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt pulled back
slowly and stiffly. Then he heard 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 searching wildly on the floor for the paw. If he
could only find it before the thing outside got in. Knocking echoed through the house, and he
heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage against the door. He
heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and, at the same moment, 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.
