Page 200 - DENG103_English - I

Unit 23: One Act Play: Monkey’s Paw

He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. Notes
The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his
mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught
his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat,
he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small
passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.

Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and
to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.
“Wish!” she cried, in a strong voice.
“It is foolish and wicked,” he faltered.

“Wish!” repeated his wife.
He raised his hand. “I wish my son alive again.”
The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair
as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of the old woman
peering through the window. The candle-end, which had burned below the rim of the china
candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker
larger than the rest, it expired. 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 apathetically beside him.
Neither spoke, but lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a
squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after
lying for some time screwing up his courage, he took the box of matches, and striking one,
went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another; and at the same
moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage. He stood motionless, his breath
suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled 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, starting 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 before her, and catching her by the arm, held her
tightly.

“What are you going to do?” he whispered hoarsely.
“It’s my boy; it’s Herbert!” she cried, struggling mechanically. “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 with a sudden wrench broke free and
ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as

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