Welcome back to Nighty Night, bedtime stories to keep you awake.

I'm your narrator, Raviachadri.

And this week's tale is perhaps one of the great I'm your narrator, Ravi Etri.

And this week's tale is perhaps one of the greatest reminders

for all of us to be careful what you wish for.

The Monkeys Paw by W.W. Jacobs.

Part 1.

Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlor of Laburnum Villa, the blinds were drawn and the

fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess. The former who possessed ideas about

the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

Hark at the wind, said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was

amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.

I'm listening said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand.

Check.

I should hardly think that he'd come tonight said his father with his hand poised over the board

mate replied the son that's the worst of living so far out bald mr. white

with sudden and unlooked for violence.

Of all the beastly slushy out of the way places to live in, this is the worst.

Pathways of bog and the roads are torrent.

I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses in the

road are let. They think it doesn't matter. Never mind dear, said his wife soothingly,

perhaps you'll win the next one.

...