Darkness Falls

A Double Bill
By Jonathan Holloway & W.W. Jacobs
AUTHOR’S NOTES
The Monkey’s Paw
The play is divided into five scenes, each of which is separated by a passage of time. The
scene breaks must be short, all the necessary props should be set prior to curtain up and only
the actors in the play should move them. Once Herbert disappears from the action, he must
not be seen again. The radio is an important presence, and during later scene breaks its
ethereal static seems to provide mysterious echoes of distant lands and unquiet spirits.
While this adaptation stays faithful to the essential elements of W.W. Jacobs’ classic short
story, some liberties have been taken. Most notably the location is set routinely in the
industrial north of England, the date is now 1948 and the Whites’ first son has played an
active part in the history of the paw. Indeed, the largely invented character of Steven will play
a surprising role in the evening’s events. Louis N. Parker’s earlier stage adaptation has no
played no part in the decisions made during the writing of this play.
The Dark
Although the play is contemporary, it has a self-conscious, old fashioned style. This does not
mean it should be treated as pastiche. The acting needs to be brisk, buoyant and the plot
should be taken utterly seriously. For a useful reference, watch the 1945 Ealing film Dead of
Night.
Astute readers will note the set for The Dark shares most of the elements present in The
Monkey’s Paw, with the addition of a lateral partition wall half way upstage.

The Monkey’s Paw

CHARACTERS:
MOTHER (Mrs. White); early 40s.
FATHER (Mr. White); late 40s
HERBERT WHITE (Mr and Mrs White’s son); early 20s
SERGEANT-MAJOR MORRIS; early 40s
MAN FROM THE WORKS; early 40s
Scene: The combined kitchen and living room of a modest, working-class Sunderland
household.
Time – late 1940s
 SCENE 1
The combined kitchen and living room of a modest, working-class Sunderland household.
Evening.
The house is in a row of terraced cottages situated up a hill in an isolated location a short
distance from town. The Whites are owner-occupiers who feel disappointed that post-war
depression has forced Father into unemployment, and nudged their once proud terrace into
decline.
There is a door that opens onto a front path. Downstage right of the door is a window,
through which foliage can be seen, and in front of which sits a sideboard. There is a row if
coat pegs on the wall behind the door, with coats on them. The room is dominated by a coal-
burning kitchen range upstage centre with a comfortable upright chair by it. There are a
kitchen table and chairs downstage centre. Family treasures occupy a high mantelpiece,
including a picture of the Whites’ son Steven in uniform, a figure of the Madonna and a
prized chess set, To the left of the range, on a low table, sits a large valve radio, with a dial
that lights up when it is switched on. A staircase rises left, providing a natural divide
between the main room and a scullery left, from which leads the back door to the yard. In the
scullery there is a sink and a bracket with keys hanging from it.
When the play begins, rain and occasional gusts of wind ca be heard from outside and the
radio (illuminated) plays a Forties dance hit. The range is lit and glowing. Father and
Herbert sit at the kitchen table absorbed in a game of chess. Mother bustles about in the
background, preparing a meal of meat and vegetables. She jigs and hums along to the radio.
Mother stops and listens to something outside. She turns the radio off, listens, then goes to
the front door and opens it to look out. The room is invaded by wind and rain.
FATHER. Close it will you, please, Mother.
HERBERT. Please, Mother.
MOTHER (closing the door). The weather’s filthy tonight. I’m worried he’ll miss us. It’s
easy to get lost on the lane. Precious little light to see by.
FATHER. Fought his way across Burma. I think he might manage.
MOTHER. Listen to the wind.
HERBERT. I’m listening. Check.
FATHER. Besides, he’s three-quarters of an hour late. I doubt he’s going to make an
appearance tonight.
HERBERT. Mate.
FATHER. That’s the worst of living so far out. Of all the nasty, slushy, out of the way places
to live in, this is the worst. Path’s a bog and the road’s a torrent. I don’t know what the
Council are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on the terrace are occupied,
they think it doesn’t matter.
MOTHER. Don’t get bad-tempered, love. Perhaps you’ll win the next game.
HERBERT. That’s the gate. He’s here.
MOTHER. Quick, Father. Get cleared away and open the door.
Father opens the door.
FATHER. Matthew. In you come, old friend.
Matthew Morris steps inside. His huge military-style waterproof sprays water everywhere.
He wears a black leather glove on his left hand throughout.
MORRIS. I’m sorry, Jean. I’ve got water all over your floor. (He clambers out of his coat.)
MOTHER (moving to Matthew and watching him remove his coat). Don’t worry. Hang up
your coat over there. (She indicates the pegs.)
FATHER (closing the door). I’d best take it out back, Matthew. Jean’s alright about it now,
but I’ll get it in the neck later for not sorting you out.
Father hangs Morris’s coat in the scullery during the following.
MOTHER. Lovely to see you, Matthew. This is my son, Herbert.
MORRIS. A pleasure, young man.
HERBERT. Likewise, sir.
MORRIS. “Sir”. Blimey! You’ve got him well-trained, Jean.
MOTHER. So long as he’s not being sarcastic.
FATHER. He’s never sarcastic, Jean.
MOTHER. It’s the fashion these days. They’re all sarcastic on the wireless. Now. Sit down
by the fire, Matthew. What’s the matter with your hand?
MORRIS. Got it burned, Jean. Still works well enough. But doesn’t look too nice.
FATHER. Fetch out the whiskey for Matthew, will you, Herbert.
Herbert gets a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the sideboard during the following and
pours a glass for Morris.
MORRIS. I’m not used to Matthew. Can’t tell who you’re talking about. Sergeant-Major
Morris, that’s me. And I’ve been him for nearly twenty years. Call me Morris, if you please.
FATHER. Well then, Morris.
MORRIS. That’ll do just fine. (To Herbert) Ah thanks, son. Drop of hot water with that,
please. Army style.
Herbert pours some hot water from the kettle into the glass. Morris is settled into the upright
chair by the fire.
MOTHER. It’s good to see you again, Matthew … Morris. Feels like only yesterday we were
playing about down the alley.
MORRIS. Time rushes by, Jean.
Herbert gives Morris his whiskey.
MORRIS. Thanks, son. Make the best of it, Herbert. (He looks at Herbert) Heavens, Jean. He
certainly is the spit of his brother.
Mother and Father stop their activity for a moment.
MOTHER. Yes. He is. Sometimes I catch a side a sideways look at him, when I’m not
expecting to. And it’s as if time had gone backwards, and it’s Steven here again.
MORRIS. He was a good boy. I was glad to serve with him, Jean.
MOTHER (emotional). It was kind of you to sort things out for us. It’s a terrible thing to be
so far away, and not able to make sure your child gets a decent burial.
FATHER. Well, that’s the past, and this is now. And I’m just as proud of Herbert.
MORRIS. Indeed. Glad to hear it.
FATHER. Twenty-one years in the army. When you went away, you were just a slip of a
youth working in the warehouse. Now look at him, Jean.
MOTHER. He doesn’t look to have taken much harm.
FATHER. Seems odd to be giving it up, Morris. The army’s been good to you.
MORRIS. Doubt there’ll be another big war. Leastways, not one anybody’s going to walk
away from. And the days of Empire … That’ll all be over and done with soon. Well, got to
face up to it. Best edge out before I get pushed.
FATHER. The Empire, eh? I don’t understand why those natives are so eager to get rid of us.
Only means returning to a time when life was cheap, and corruption rife. Don’t know when
they’re well off. Still, I’d like to go to India myself, one day. Just to look around a bit, you
know.
MORRIS. Better off where you are. Beside this nice fire.
FATHER. I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers. Working in the yard,
all through the war, feels like I missed out.
MORRIS. I wouldn’t complain. If I’d had a choice between working in the yard and seeing
some of the things … well, I tell you, there’s no contest in it.
HERBERT. But the colours and sights. I think you’re so lucky to have seen all of that.
MORRIS. True, I suppose. And I don’t want to make it seems as I haven’t got something out
of it all. But, Herbert, you know, it’s not just sitting around drinking char, and the like. I’ve
had to do firing squads for the courts. I’ve even had to burn down hospitals because they
were being used to shelter enemies of the Crown.
MOTHER. Oh dear. That sounds awful.
HERBERT. But what about magic?
MORRIS. Ah.
MOTHER. Nonsense, Herbert. What made you say that?
HERBERT. Father told me. You talked about it the other night, in the pub.
MOTHER. I’ll swear the two of you are as soft as each other. Father and son.
HERBERT. And Steven too. He was keen on mysteries. (He turns to Morris.) He collected
stuff about spirits and that. Mother threw it all out.
MOTHER. You’re going the right way to upset me, Herbert.
MORRIS. Well, Jean. I came to believe some of it, soon enough.
MOTHER. Really, Morris? I wouldn’t have thought … You, of all people.
MORRIS. It’s not the sort of magic you imagine over here. Witches, and all that. It’s more to
do with the powers of the mind. And religion. I don’t know how to make sense of it myself,
so I don’t know why I’m going on.
HERBERT. Please, Mr. Morris. Don’t stop.
MORRIS. It’s like, if you can make somebody believe something, then it becomes real.
MOTHER. I can believe I’ll get rich. Guarantee it won’t happen, though.
MORRIS. That’s because you don’t really believe it. Right inside.
FATHER. What will you do?
MORRIS. Take a few months to look about. Then, maybe go south to see my old soldiering
friends. Then, who knows? Australia, maybe.
MOTHER. Why so far away?
MORRIS. Nothing to keep me. Besides, I’m keen to put some distance between me and the
past.
FATHER. Secrets, Morris?
MORRIS. No.
HERBERT. Dad was telling me about some spooky business. Something to do with India.
What was it, Dad?
FATHER. About a monkey’s paw. You started telling me the other day about a monkey’s
paw. Like a rabbit’s foot or something.
MORRIS. Oh, that’s nothing. (He becomes shifty. During the following, he displays
reluctance to take the conversation in that direction, but allows himself to be coaxed. It
should become evident that while Morris is “acting” a reluctance to talk about the paw,
actually his manner is calculated to encourage the other men to dig deeper.) Leastways
nothing worth hearing about.
MOTHER. A monkey’s paw? What, like a little dried-up hand?
HERBERT. That sounds pretty good. Like that film. The Beast With Five Fingers.
MORRIS. Well, it’s just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps. (He reaches into his
pocket, takes out a monkey’s paw and holds it for them to see.) To look at, it’s just an
ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy. (He makes to put the paw away.)
HERBERT (indicating that he would like to examine the paw more closely.) Please. Can I
have a proper look, Mr. Morris?
Morris places the paw on the table.
FATHER. And what is there that’s so special about it?
MORRIS. This charm has had an unusual spell put on it. Anyhow, that’s what they say. An
old magician – a fakir – a very holy man, he wanted to show his village that fate rules
people’s lives, and those who interfere with fate do so to their sorrow.
HERBERT. How does it do that, Mr. Morris?
MORRIS. He put a spell so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it.
Each of them has to own it – to have bought it – one from the next.
FATHER. Sounds like a pretty good deal.
MORRIS. Yes, I suppose it does.
HERBERT. Well, have you had your three, sir?
The family laugh awkwardly.
MORRIS (blanching). I have.
MOTHER. And did you have the three wishes granted?
MORRIS. I did.
MOTHER. And has anybody else wished?
MORRIS. The first man has had his three wishes. Yes, I don’t know what the first two were,
but the third was for death. That’s how I got the paw.
MOTHER. That’s awful.
HERBERT. I don’t see it. You said you have to have bought it. But if he was dead, how
could you?
MORRIS. I paid for his funeral.
MOTHER. It’ll be like the horoscopes in the newspaper. You wish for something, expecting
not to get it. Then, if anything half-way like you asked for happens, you’re convinced.
MORRIS. No, Jean. That’s not how it works. I said, I can’t explain it. But you get exactly
what you asked for. Exactly. Only, the way it comes about – that’s what you don’t expect.
FATHER. If you’ve had your three wishes, it’s no good to you now, then, Morris. What do
you keep it for?
MORRIS. Fancy, I suppose. I did have some idea of selling it. But I don’t think I will. It has
caused enough mischief already. Besides, people won’t buy. They think it’s a fairy tale, some
of them; and those who do think anything of it want to try it first and pay me afterwards.
MOTHER. Seems fair.
MORRIS. It just won’t work like that, Jean.
FATHER. If you could have another three wishes, would you want them?
MORRIS. I don’t know. (Suddenly very dark.) I don’t know. (He throws the paw into the
fire.)
Father snatches the paw out of the fire with a poker.
MORRIS. Best let it burn.
FATHER. If you don’t want it, Morris, sell it to me. (He slams some coins on the table.)
MORRIS. I won’t take that. I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don’t blame me for what
happens. Pitch it on the fire again like a sensible man.
FATHER. How do you use it to make a wish?
MORRIS. Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud. But I warn you: there will be
consequences.
MOTHER. Sounds like the Arabian Nights. Don’t you think you might wish for four pairs of
hands for me.
Father holds the paw up as if ready to make a wish. Morris lunges forward and takes
Father’s wrist.
MORRIS. If you must wish, then wish for something sensible.
MOTHER. And let’s all be sensible. Clear away, and let’s sit up for supper.
FATHER. I’ll look after it, Morris. (He drops the paw in his pocket.) Herbert, fetch another
whiskey for us, please.
MOTHER. I hope you’re hungry, Morris.
MORRIS. Famished, Jean.
The lights dim. The radio comes on; the dial lights up and we hear a 1940s dance hit.
 SCENE 2
The same. Later the same evening.
It is still raining. The table has been cleared. In the scullery, Herbert is drying the dishes as
his mother washes them. Father is seated beside the range with a glass of whiskey.
The music fades and the radio light goes off.
MOTHER. I hope Morris catches his train. Terrible to be stranded on a night like this. He’s
got an odd manner these days. Not something I remember.
HERBERT. If the story about the monkey’s paw is anything like those other tall tales of his,
then we shan’t make a fortune out of it.
MOTHER. What took you so long at the gate with him, Father?
HERBERT. Did you talk him into taking the money?
FATHER. Quite right, Herbert. Yes, I did.
HERBERT. Really? You got it off him, Father?
MOTHER (after a silence). They’ve got a word for you on the radio. Sucker.
FATHER. A few shillings, that’s all. A token, you’d call it. He didn’t want it, but I made him
take it. And he told me all over again to throw the trinket away.
HERBERT. I don’t completely believe it. But then, I suppose I want to believe it. So…
MOTHER. I don’t think Father David would approve of us talking this way.
HERBERT. Just another sort of magic.
Mother reacts badly to this.
FATHER. Herbert. Please.
HERBERT. Sorry. Anyway, it’s not like we’re going to be rich, and famous, and happy.
Come on, Father. Wish to be an emperor, straight off. Then can’t be henpecked.
MOTHER. That’s exactly what I mean, Herbert. Cheekiness and sarcasm.
FATHER (taking the paw from his pocket and looking at it). I don’t know what to wish for,
and that’s a fact.
There is a sudden, awkward stillness in the room. Father looks up at the other two.
FATHER. Oh, don’t worry. You two are safe enough. It seems to me I have all I want.
Mother and Herbert relax, but it is clear they do not wholly believe Father.
HERBERT. If you could clear the mortgage on the house, you and Mother would be quite
happy, wouldn’t you? Well, wish for four hundred pounds, then. That will just do it. (He
grabs two wooden spoons and does a drumroll on a saucepan.)
FATHER (holding up the paw). I wish for four hundred pounds.
Herbert strikes a pan as though it is a cymbal. His father screams and drops the paw.
FATHER. It moved. As I said the wish. It twisted in my hand like a snake.
HERBERT. Well, I don’t see the money. (He picks up the paw and puts it back on the table.)
And I bet I never shall.
MOTHER. It must have been your imagination, Father.
FATHER. Never mind, though. There’s no harm done. But it gave me a shock all the same.
They all settle down at the table. The wind rises outside. A door bangs upstairs. They all
start.
MOTHER. What was that?
FATHER. Perhaps I should have a look around upstairs.
Herbert ascends the stairs with exaggerated trepidation. Mother is taken in by his acting.
Herbert peers on to the landing, and seems startled.
HERBERT. I know exactly what it was.
MOTHER. What?
HERBERT. Boris Karloff knocking over the towel stand.
MOTHER. There. Sarcasm!
HERBERT (turning on the stairs and descending as Bela Lugosi; speaking with a ludicrous
Lugosi accent). I expect you’ll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed.
And something horrible squatting on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your
ill-gotten gains.
MOTHER. I’m off to bed. (She bustles towards the stairs, then stops, suddenly nervous.)
Coming up, Father?
FATHER. Yes.
Father and Mother ascend the stairs and exit.
Herbert hangs back.
HERBERT. Good-night. (He sits at the table, eager to finish his dad’s whiskey. He drains the
glass.)
MOTHER (calling, off). Herbert! You’ve got work in the morning.
Herbert puts the glass down and accidentally brushes the paw, startling himself.
The lights dim. The radio light comes on and the radio plays an early recording of Frank
Sinatra singing “Blue Skies”.

SCENE 3
The same. The following morning.
A bright morning scene; the storm has passed. The music fades and the radio light goes out.
Herbert sits at the table, finishing a hearty breakfast. He notices the paw at the edge of the
table, and moves it to the sideboard. During the following, he gets himself ready for work.
Mother enters.
MOTHER. I suppose all old soldiers are the same. And we sat there listening to his nonsense.
How could magic wishes be granted in these modern days?
Father enters.
MOTHER. And if they could, how would four hundred pounds hurt you, Father?
HERBERT. Might drop out of the sky and bang him on the head.
FATHER. Funny, when we talked about it last week, he said the things happened so naturally
that you could explain them away as coincidence. Then last night he said something different:
that you get exactly what you asked for. Why’d he contradict himself?
MOTHER. Because it’s all so much baloney. That’s why. “A fool and his money.” Still,
we’ll have to consider what you paid as our ticket price for the entertainment.
HERBERT. Well, don’t start spending your new fortune before I get home from work. I’m
afraid it will turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.
FATHER. I don’t think you need worry on that account. Sudden riches don’t come to the
likes of us. We’re made to just get on with it. If you can keep your job, and put food on the
table---
MOTHER. And find a nice lass.
FATHER. And find a nice lass. Yes. That’s about the best we’ve got to look forward to.
Mother bundles Herbert into his overcoat.
HERBET. Talking of lasses, I was thinking of inviting Harriet Blunstone over for tea next
Saturday.
MOTHER. Don’t you dare. I don’t want you getting mixed up with that family.
HERBERT (throwing his head back and laughing). Yer all right, Mother. I don’t even speak
to her. It was just to get you going.
Mother bundles Herbert out of the door, and waves him off with great affection.
HERBERT (off). Bye, then!
MOTHER. Bye.
FATHER (distracted for a moment). And another thing. That throwing it on the fire business.
He told me it couldn’t be burnt up. “Impervious to flame,” he said. Until the third owner
finished with it.
MOTHER. That’s the postman, Father. It looks like he’s got something for us.
FATHER. Really? I wasn’t expecting a letter.
MOTHER. Oh dear. You don’t think it’s something bad?
Father exits through the front door.
The following exchange comes from off stage, as if it is occurring up the garden path.
FATHER (off). Have you got something for me today?
POSTMAN (off). Ay, just the ones.
FATHER (off). Thanks very much.
Father enters carrying a brown envelope.
MOTHER. Looks like a bill.
FATHER. Or a cheque from the football pools. (He opens the envelope and reads.) No. It’s a
bill. Second payment on that suit I got made up in the summer.
MOTHER. Good job Herbert wasn’t here. He’d have made some more of his funny remarks.
Seeing the way we looked at that envelope. (She turns the radio on and goes about her work.)
Father makes up the fire.
The lights dim. The volume comes up on the radio. We hear short wave static with the
strange undulating whines of tuning to distant lands. The volume drops again to silence and
the light fades.
 SCENE 4
The same. Later.
Father is standing at the window, looking out, thinking.
Mother is now wearing a housecoat. She places a plate of sandwiches on the table.
MOTHER. Stop brooding, Father. There’s something for your dinner.
FATHER. Brooding. I dare say. But for all that. That thing moved in my hand. I’ll swear to
it.
MOTHER. You thought it did.
FATHER. I say it did. There was no “thought” about it. I had just…
MOTHER. What’s the matter?
FATHER. There’s a fellow. Hanging about at the gate. Looks like he wants something. Back
in a jiffy.
Father opens the front door and walks off down the path.
Mother goes to the window and watches the men. She realizes they are coming inside and
makes a frantic effort to tidy the table and herself during the following.
Father enters alone.
FATHER. Jean. There’s a fellow from the works.
MOTHER. What does he want?
FATHER (ignoring Mother; speaking to the man outside). Will you step this way, sir?
MOTHER (in an exaggerated stage whisper). Heavens! No, Father. (She wrenches her
housecoat off and hangs it up.) Wait just a moment, will you? (She stands back quickly,
tidying herself.)
The Man enters and remains silent, fingering his hat in his hands.
Father goes to stand beside Mother. The couple stare at the man.
FATHER. Well now, how can we help you, sir?
No reply.
FATHER (Trying a different tack.). It’s a way up the hill, all right.
MAN. That’s true. Quite a climb.
FATHER. Will you sit down, maybe?
MAN. No. I’m sorry to disturb your day. Like I said – outside – I was asked to call, you see.
MOTHER. Who by?
MAN. I work at Maw and Meggins.
MOTHER. Yes.
MAN. In the wages office.
MOTHER (her face fixed in a frightened smile). Is anything the matter?
MAN. Yes, I’m afraid there is.
FATHER. Is there some trouble?
MAN. No.
MOTHER. Has something happened to Herbert? What is it? What’s the matter with him?
FATHER. There, there, Mother. Sit down and don’t jump to conclusions. He’s not brought
bad news, I’m sure.
MAN. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I have.
MOTHER. Is he hurt?
MAN. He’s not in any pain. No, not at all.
MOTHER. Oh, thank God! Thank God for that! We should come down, shouldn’t we? (She
rises.) I’ll get my coat, shall I? No, Father. You fetch the coats. I’ll pour this fellow a cup of
tea. You’ll take a cup, won’t you? There’s one in the pot. I just made it for … (She weakly
indicates the sandwiches on the table.) I mean, to have with … Thank---
MAN (cutting her off). No! (Conscious he has been too forceful.) There’s no point. No doubt
the police will be up soon.
MOTHER. What? Why would they?
MAN (very deliberately). He was caught in the machinery.
FATHER. Caught in the machinery. Yes.
The couple hold hands very tightly.
FATHER. He’s the only one left to us. Our other boy…
MAN. I’m so sorry.
FATHER. I can’t believe it. He was laughing fit to burst as he went out. This too hard, sir.
MAN (moving to the window and staring out). The firm wished me to convey to you their
sincere sympathy for you in your great loss. Please, I beg that you understand I am only their
servant and merely obeying orders. Now then. They wish to say that Maw and Meggins
disclaim all responsibility. They will admit no liability at all. But in consideration of your
son’s services – and, indeed, your own, when you were with the firm, for that matter – they
wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation. There has to be nothing further,
though. No issue of court proceedings and the like, if you understand.
The couple release each other’s hands, and turn to look at the Man.
FATHER. How much have you brought us?
MAN. This envelope contains a cash sum of four hundred pounds.
Mother sobs; she stays on stage through the following scene change.
Father and the Man exit.
The lights dim. The radio light comes on; the BBC has closed down, and we hear the distant
chatter of exotic languages buried behind the faint hiss of static.
 SCENE 5
The same. Night.
An oil lamp is set in the centre of the table.
The lights come up on a night-time setting; the oil lamp illuminates Mother’s stricken face.
The sound of the radio fades out and the light goes off.
Father comes downstairs in his dressing gown, looking for Mother.
MOTHER. How Morris must have hated us.
FATHER. What do you mean?
MOTHER. To have come here. To have found us out after all these years. Just to do this to
us.
FATHER. Come to bed, Moth… Jean. It’s cold now the fire’s gone out.
MOTHER. It is colder for my son. Herbert. My dearest Herbert. (She bows her head and
weeps into the table-top.)
Father moves to the table. He sits. Mother stops crying and looks up at Father.
MOTHER. Haven’t you worked it out yet?
FATHER. What, Jean?
MOTHER. Morris being with our Steven when he died. Sorting out the funeral. The paw’s
first owner. It was Steven, wasn’t it? What in Heaven’s name happened to make Morris hate
us so? No, not “Heaven’s name”.
FATHER. That’s just imagination, Jean. Come to bed.
MOTHER. You know what we must do.
FATHER. No, Jean. I don’t want to talk about it. Please. Let’s not go over it again, and again.
MOTHER. It doesn’t have to be a curse. We were unwise, that’s all.
FATHER. I don’t believe there was any connection. We talked about coincidence. That’s all
it was.
MOTHER. You said it moved in your hand. You believed it then. And Morris talked about
fate – and what he called the consequences of changing things around.
FATHER. Please don’t go on with this.
MOTHER. Where is it?
FATHER. Look. It doesn’t matter.
MOTHER. I want it. You haven’t destroyed it, have you?
FATHER. I wish I could. I wish I’d never touched it, let it alone before I could be so stupid.
MOTHER. There! You do believe in it.
Mother searches the drawers and clears shelves, sending mantelpiece treasures flying. She is
oblivious to the damage she is doing.
MOTHER. Where have you put the monkey’s paw?
FATHER. It’s hanging up with the keys. In the scullery. On the bracket.
MOTHER (suddenly laughing with disturbed glee). The other two wishes! We’ve only had
one.
FATHER (aghast). Wasn’t that enough!
MOTHER. No. We’ll have one more. Go and get it. Quickly! Herbert’s in the wet and the
cold. Get it. Get it!
FATHER. If we do this, will you stop? Will you let it rest? (He fetches the paw from the
scullery during the following.)
MOTHER. I can’t do it. You’re the owner. You will have to do it.
FATHER. What do you want me to say?
MOTHER. It’s simple. Wish our boy alive again.
FATHER. Good God! What have we turned into? We’re both mad.
MOTHER. Wish it true. Oh, my boy. My son.
FATHER. Please, Jean. Let’s go back to bed. You don’t know what you’re saying.
MOTHER. We had the first wish granted. Why not the second?
FATHER. Coincidence, I said---
MOTHER. He said it might look like coincidence. Might. Look. He wasn’t telling the truth.
He wanted rid of it because he was too stupid to use it wisely. Australia! No wonder!
(Terrifyingly) Wish it, damn you!
FATHER. Jean. He’s been dead ten days. And besides… I couldn’t tell you, but --- I was
only able to recognize him by his clothing. All down one side … His face, and his arm …
Look, Jean. If he was to terrible for you to see then, think of what ten days in the earth will
have done.
MOTHER. Bring him back. Do you think I fear the child I nursed? Wish it!
FATHER. This is foolish. And it’s wicked to want such a thing, Jean. Please.
MOTHER. Wish!
FATHER (raising the paw.). I wish my son alive again. (He lets the paw fall to the floor, then
slumps into a chair.)
Mother watches from the window, staring transfixed into the night.
There is a long pause. Nothing happens.
Mother lets the curtain fall back across the window, and, seemingly weakened, sits beside
her husband. Their hands find one another on the table-top, and they sit still and united.
There is a quiet scratching at the door. A pause. Then another scratching sound.
Father hears the noise and moves quickly to the door.
MOTHER. What’s that?
Father pushes the top bolt home, then turns and places his back against the door.
FATHER. A rat. It’s a rat. I saw it in the yard last night.
A large knock resounds through the house.
MOTHER. Herbert. My son. He’s come back. It’s Herbert! (She runs to the door.)
FATHER (barring the way). What are you going to do?
MOTHER. It’s my boy. It’s Herbert. I forgot the cemetery is a mile away. He needed time.
What are you stopping me for? Let go. I must open the door.
FATHER. For God’s sake, don’t let it in.
MOTHER. You’re afraid of your own son? Let me go. I’m here. Herbert. It’s me.
There is another knock at the front door, then more knocking, continuing under the
following.
Mother strains to reach to the topmost bolt; Father restrains her and the couple struggle
violently.
MOTHER. The bolt. Help me. I can’t reach it.
Father pushes Mother off and lunges for the monkey’s paw.
Mother recovers herself; dashes for the bolt and draws it back.
FATHER (holding the paw aloft). I wish my son Herbert at peace with God. (He slowly
opens his palm, held high as if giving a blessing, it is empty.)
The knocking stops. Mother hauls open the door.
A cold breeze invades the room. Moonlight is seen beyond the doorway. But no one is there.
There is a long moment of suspense, then Mother’s shoulders slumo. She closes the door very
slowly, turns, and moves towards the stairs. She sees Steven’s photo, picks it out of the debris
and places it carefully on the table. She begins climbing the stairs.
There is another knock, from the back door this time. The couple are stunned to hear the
sound, and stare towards it.
FATHER (the truth dawning). It does things a crooked way.
Again, the heavy, urgent knocking.
FATHER (looking at the photo on the table). We had two sons, Jean. Oh, merciful Heavens.
Two.
MOTHER. Steven. (She smiles)
FATHER. Oh, God help us. God in Heaven, help us please!
The sound of knocking – now with an echo effect – becomes unbearably loud, filling the
auditorium.
THE CURTAIN DROPS QUICKLY