The night was another dark and stormy one. Peter sat in his kitchen peeling potatoes. He looked up often at the windows and saw the lightning flash in the sky. The thunder made him think of the Dracula and Frankenstein books he’d often read as a youngster. How he loved them! After about eight potatoes had been peeled, certainly enough for the next day’s lunch, Peter decided not to peel any more. Did he want to read? Not really. He’d read quite a lot yesterday. It was quite late, though not bedtime by any means. Let’s see, he had about an hour and a half. Did he want to clean some thing or some place in the house? Not really. He preferred to clean during the daytime when things were much more visible and under natural light. Just how many options did he have? Well, there were several more, but what he really felt up to doing at the moment was visiting someone. How, in this stormy weather? It was hideous out! No matter, he had some neighbors who lived not so far away. If he was determined, he could make it there, visit half an hour to forty-five minutes, and then return home. By then he’d be tired enough to go to bed and sleep soundly. Yes, he liked that idea. He also had an old mackintosh that would keep him dry enough. He remembered old Mrs. White always telling him to visit whenever he wanted—never mind it being a bit late. As neither she nor Mr. White worked outside the home, they were not “early to bed” folks. Both were rather chubby, too, which revealed their fondness for snacking after nightfall. In their region, it was a cardinal sin in most people’s books.
On the walk to the White’s cottage, Peter remembered the Whites’ tragedy. Their son, Herbert, had had a fatal accident in one of the town mills. Every townsperson’s heart had gone out to them since it was so hard an incident to have happen to one. Then Peter had the oddest feeling. He’d never been afraid of the dark before. To him, danger was posed by humans, not by animals; least of all simple and innocent forest animals. But he had this eerie feeling of having seen a strange figure, human but not entirely so, two or three times now. How uncanny! One time the sighted figure was to his right, then to his left, and the third time sort of behind him. This kept him glancing furtively over his shoulders.
When he arrived at the White’s place, they opened the door and bid him go in. He went in as usual when on these visits. But this visit was unlike any he’d had or imagined having with this old couple. They seemed so odd that night! Ashen-faced, the both of them, as if they’d been issued death warrants or as if they’d literally seen a ghost! Both the Whites went through the motions of a “normal” social visit, even offering tea; notwithstanding, Peter decided rather early in the visit he’d make it a brief one. After all, he could always return any other day or night. And poor couple! He supposed they’d needed more rest than usual now.
As Peter rose, bid farewell and neared the front door to exit, he noticed a rather strange object on the floor. There, in front of the door it was.
“Here, someone’s dropped something,” Peter remarked, bending to pick it up for the couple.
“No, don’t. Don’t pick it up. It’s quite all right. I’ll get it myself shortly,” exclaimed Mr. White, touching Peter slightly to get him to straighten up.
“But it’s no trouble,” Peter replied.
Mr. White laughed falsely. “Just forget it, Peter. Don’t worry.”
“As you say,” answered Peter. “It’s certainly a strange object. It appears to be a foot. An animal’s foot, it seems.”
“Oh, it’s just some silly old thing,” said Mr. White.
“Is it a rabbit’s foot? Is it for good luck?” Peter asked innocently.
“It is, in fact, a monkey’s paw,” volunteered old Mr. White. “It’s worth nothing, however. Just something given me by an old friend. Quite harmless, you see.”
“Oh, I see,” Peter said nervously. He shook Mr. White’s hand and hurried through the open door. “Or maybe I don’t see,” he mumbled.
END of “Quite Harmless You See”
