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The Monkey's Paw: Short Horror Story
The Monkey's Paw: Short Horror Story
The Monkey's Paw: Short Horror Story
Ebook21 pages15 minutes

The Monkey's Paw: Short Horror Story

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The Monkey's Paw is a horror story written by English author W. W. Jacobs in 1902. The story begins as Mr. and Mrs. White, average people with a grown son named Herbert, are visited by an old friend of theirs who was a sergeant in India. While there, he got a magical talisman in the form of a mummified monkey's paw, said to grant three wishes to whoever possesses it. Having no desire to keep the paw, he (reluctantly) gives it to the Whites, first warning them that its previous owners killed themselves for their third wish. Too excited by its mystical powers, Mr. White first wishes for £200. He gets his wish, but at a horrible price. The story continues this way until the most dramatic moment, and they learn their lesson: don't tempt fate, and Be Careful What You Wish For.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 26, 2019
ISBN9788834190111
The Monkey's Paw: Short Horror Story
Author

W. W. Jacobs

William Wymark Jacobs was an English author of short stories and novels. Quite popular in his lifetime primarily for his amusing maritime tales of life along the London docks (many of them humorous as well as sardonic in tone). Today he is best known for a few short works of horror fiction.

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    Book preview

    The Monkey's Paw - W. W. Jacobs

    CHAPTER 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

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