Creative Writing: Monkey's Paw

Mr. and Mrs. White stood staring at that deserted road for what seemed like hours. Mr. White still clutched the monkey’s paw tightly in his fist, his knuckles pale from the strain. He could hear his wife sniffling softly, wiping her face with the edge of her nightgown. He tentatively reached over to reassure her, but her trance seemed to be broken by his movement.

“WHY?” she shouted, still in hysterics over the incident. “That was our son! How could you?” There was no reply from her confounded husband. Suddenly, through her tears, she glimpsed the monkey’s paw still clutched in his hand. “Give me the paw,” she whispered, begging for sympathy. “I know how to fix it.”

For a moment’s hesitation, Mr. White considered giving it to her,
He tossed and turned, his emotions creating a tumult in his mind that he could not silence. For days he had felt guilty about letting Mr. White take that monkey’s paw, knowing its true power. He wondered if Mr. White had made a wish yet, and what horrible consequences had come of it.

Finally he could take it no longer. He tossed aside his comforter and made his way to the garage, where he started his automobile and pulled away from the house. He needed to warn Mr. White, to help him destroy the monkey’s paw. Certainly his own experiences were not something he would wish to revisit, but leaving without a warning had been the coward’s way out and sure to lead to more danger. As he drove down the darkened streets, his sense of foreboding heightened. What if he was too late? He pushed the gas pedal, speeding around the curve of the road. Time was of the essence.

Mrs. White let out a howl. “I needed that!” she wailed. Without warning, she dashed into the street toward the golden pool of lamplight. Her husband stood, petrified with fear. His wife seemed to believe that the monkey’s paw was some sort of maligned genie, instead of a warped weapon of misfortune. There was no telling what disaster would be unleashed if she got her hands on such an
His jaw dropped in horror as he listened to her cry, “I wish I could see my son again!”

The Sergeant Major was almost there. He turned onto their street with a terrible screeching of brakes and a flying of gravel. He floored the gas for a last burst of speed and glanced at the clock, then back to the road. A figure seemed to have popped straight out of the ground right in front of him. He slammed his brakes and yanked the wheel to the side as he heard a solid thunk against the hood of his automobile. The automobile spun out of control and careened into the light post, crumpling the hood like a piece of paper. Morris tasted blood in his mouth and his vision started to fade to red at the edges. He was so tired, and the car was so warm, maybe he could just stay there until help arrived. Before his eyes closed, he looked out of the window. A monkey’s face returned his stare.

A small, surprised sound escaped Mr. White’s throat as he collapsed onto his porch. His mind was so overwhelmed, he thought he glimpsed a monkey stepping out of the driver’s seat of the car that had barreled into his wife. There was no time to process it before his mind faded to