Post-Midnight Misfortune (The Monkey's Paw reimagined)

It was nearly midnight—11:38 to be precise—and Adelaine had barely made it into London before the dark clouds broke into rain and thunder. The taxi driver, who had very reluctantly agreed to drive her at this time, finally parked at the curb of the address she had given him, and demanded his fee. After gathering her luggage, Adelaine hurried out of the pouring rain and into the old antiques shop.

The small, Victorian shop was warmly lit, and a welcoming heater had been plugged in near the entrance. Adelaine rolled her cases into the corner, and removed her damp coat. As soon as she had hung her belongings on an old hat rack, she turned to be greeted by a familiar man making his way through the clutter of antique trinkets and treasures.

“Ah! Miss Watson,” The man paused and stepped back to examine her. “Beautiful as always! How was your trip? How are your studies going? Ack—mind me for being so awfully rude! Come, come, have a cup of tea, I’ve just prepared your room.”

The man grabbed her various belongs before she could protest, and led her to the back of the antiques shop. As she walked, she admired all the collections of old baubles and priceless toys, stopping in particular to examine a crusty, mummified paw.

“Here, here,” The man ushered Adelaine to a vintage, chipped tea table and offered her a porcelain teacup filled with steaming tea. “Tell me, how have you been?”

“Fine, very fine, thank you. I’m a bit weary from the travel—the Americans are behind our time you know. How have you been, Mr. Turner?”

Mr. Turner chuckled. “Alright as I can be, to say the least. I’m a bit of an antique myself compared to you young’uns. The other day I had a fit when Rosalind said she’d converted my entire inventory record to an electronic spreadsheet and scrapped the original papers. Took her three hours to explain to me how to edit the document! How I wish I knew what all you young kids knew! Then maybe I’d have more business.”

Adelaine smiled. “That’s just fine Mr. Turner. Besides, I’ll be here to help you for the next week. Do you mind if I have a look around? Seems like ages since I’ve wandered here!”

She snatched the duster from off the counter, and worked away at the layers of dust that slept among the many artifacts that her caretaker had collected over his years of sales. While the raindrops outside continued to fire like bullets against the window, Adelaine calmly organized the rest of the shop’s shelves until she came across the severed paw.

“Mr. Turner, what do you have this awful piece of rubbish for?”

Mr. Turner reclined in his seat so he could see what she held in her hand. “Oh that? That ain’t any nasty bit of rubbish. That’s a monkey’s paw, dried to a mummy. It’s magical you see—I heard it grants three wishes to whoever holds it. Bought it off an Irish feller months ago—and to think!”

Adelaine rolled the paw across her palm, surveying it skeptically. “You don’t actually believe that rubbish do you?”

“Now there’s the thing! I too thought the whole tale was a bunch of hogwash before I tried it!”

“Tried what?”

“Wishing! I paid two measly pounds for it—the man seemed awful eager to be rid of the thing—and when I got home I held it up like this-” He held up a closed fist in the air. “And I said, ‘I wish I had me a set of help for once,’ and the next day, Rosalind shows up looking for a job! The only thing I think what went wrong that day was Rosalind almost shattered half the store when she was moving that old clock. Had to call the emergency line to get the glass out of her leg.”

Adelaine raised an eyebrow. “You said none of that over the telephone when you called me at the University.”

Mr. Turner waved his hand through the air. “Ah, didn’t think it worthy news to bother you with, what with all your studies, and getting settled into your dorm.”

“Ha! You’re just pulling my leg with yet another one of your old tales. Sounds like one of the Deathly Hallows to me! I’ll prove to you that this is all just a trick. I’ll make a wish—and not out of curiosity or because I believe you, but just to prove my point.”

Adelaine lifted the monkey’s paw as the old man had demonstrated, and jokingly said, “I wish that I’d have loads more money to pay off my college tuition.”

Adelaine gasped and dropped the paw, as it had shifted in her hand, like a cockroach squirming out of a crevice. “Blimey! It moved! Right there, it twisted!”

“See! See it there, I tell you!” Mr. Turner exclaimed victoriously. “Do you not believe me now?”

Adelaine shook her head, set the mysterious paw back on its shelf, and left to wash up for bed. It was just past midnight now, 12:08 to be exact, and as she was tucking herself into bed, her cellphone rang. Upon reading the caller ID, she promptly picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is the Standard Bank of London, and I must inform you of the death of Evangeline Pritchard-Brown during a tragic accident. It appears that you were included in her will, and she has left you with a sum of ￡10,000. We were told to inform you of this misfortune, and shall we transfer the money to your account?”

After she had finished the call and hung up, Adelaine was left lying in bed, speechless. How could this be? Evangeline Pritchard-Brown was of a very wealthy family, and had been her closest friend since they were children. There was no reason her best friend should’ve died. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice whispered, it was that horrid monkey’s paw! How else would you have been left with a sum of money exactly equivalent to your tuition?

She silently left the security of her bed, and hurried past her caretaker’s closed door. She entered the antiques shop and flipped the dimmest lights on. Outside, the storm still stirred, and the wind still beat against the glass windows.

The mummified paw still rested on the shelf where she’d left it, and she snatched it clear of dust. Please, she thought, I was only joking about wishing! I never meant to wish. There! I wish...I wish I’d never been interested in this hideous paw! I wish none of this had ever happened—I wish Mr. Turner had never acquired it. As if reading her thoughts, the paw twitched again, as it had the first time, and Adelaine let out a muffled shriek into her shoulder before placing the paw among the other relics. 

The old clock in the corner read 11:38.

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It was late at night—nearly midnight—and Adelaine had barely made it into London before the dark clouds broke into rain and thunder. Gathering her luggage, Adelaine hurried out of the pouring rain and into the old antiques shop.

The small, Victorian, antiques shop was warmly lit and welcoming. Adelaine rolled her cases into the corner, and removed her damp coat. As soon as she had hung her belongings on an old hat rack, she turned to be greeted by a familiar man making his way through the clutter of antique trinkets.

“Ah! Miss Watson,” The man paused and stepped back to examine her. “How I’ve missed your company! Do make yourself at home, though I’ve been a bit short on hands lately.”