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Hellblazer
The Hand of Hanumanby starsky_hutch76, adapted from The Monkey's Paw by W.W. Jacobs
The night outside was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of the Lakesnam Inn it was warm and secure. Father and son were staring intently at the chessboard between them, both highly engrossed in their nightly game of chess. The mother sat by the fireplace, engrossed in a copy of the tabloid, The Sun. Its headline blared, "Sex secrets of the JLA!", and beneath it was a picture of Wonder Woman and the Martian Manhunter. The Whites, who ran the inn, were a contented family, satisfied with what life had given them. Above the fireplace was a framed cross-stitching with the words, "God bless our happy home".
"Listen to the wind," said Mr. White, trying to keep his son from seeing a fatal mistake he had made.
"I'm listening," said the son, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."
"I should hardly think that our guest will make it tonight," said his father, with his hand poised over the board.
"Mate," replied the son.
"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White. "Of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. What fool's business could John have that would drag him to such a forsaken place?"
"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly as she raised her eyes up from her tabloid and looked at her husband over the tops of her reading glasses. "Perhaps you'll win the next one."
Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing smile between mother and son. He hid a guilty grin in his thin, graying beard.
"There's old John now," said Herbert White, as the gate banged too loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.
Mr. White rose with hospitable haste and, opening the door, was heard laughing and chatting with the new arrival. He entered the room, followed by a tall, dapper, blond man in a damp overcoat and blue suit. "You're looking lovely as ever, Anna."
"Still the flatterer," Anna White said, rising to her feet to give him a hug and a peck upon the cheek. "It's been much too long since we've had you for a visit."
Constantine took the proffered seat by the fire. "Fancy us a song, Barry?" he said to his host, drawing a chuckle. It was an old joke between the two of them... the fact that his host had a famous name, but was a crusty white Englishman rather than a soulful black American. The joke dated back to the night they first met in a pub two years earlier.
"I don't know about a song, Johnny, but how about a little something to take the chill off?" Barry said.
"You've read me mind, Barry," Constantine said, watching as his friend pulled out a bottle of whiskey and tumblers. By the third glass, Constantine's eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest as he spoke. He spoke of strange scenes and unearthly deeds, of wars and plagues and strange peoples. His hosts hung on every word.
"Sounds like you've had quite a life," said Barry, nodding at his wife and son who nodded back in agreement.
"I especially enjoyed your tales of your adventure in India," said Anna politely.
"I'd like to go to India myself," said the older man, "just to look 'round a bit, you know."
"Better where you are," said Constantine, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass and, sighing softly, held it out for a refill. "Frankly, I envy you your life here."
Constantine was sincere in this bit of flattery. He enjoyed his visits with the Whites and the sense of security and of being 'at home' he felt whenever he came to the country inn.
"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the older man as he filled Constantine's glass. "What was that you started telling me the other day about a talisman or something?"
"Nothing," said Constantine. "'Leastwise, nothing worth hearing."
"Talisman?" said Anna curiously.
"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said Constantine offhandedly.
His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him.
"To look at it," said Constantine, fumbling in the pocket of his rumpled overcoat, "it's just an ordinary hand from some kind of monkey, dried to a mummy."
He took something out of his pocket, set it on the table and slid it forward. Anna drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.
"Kind of big for a monkey. But not so big as an ape," Herbert said, holding it up as he looked at it curiously.
"What's so special about it anyway?" inquired Barry, as he took it from his son, and having examined it, placed it upon the table.
"There are a lot of stories surrounding its origin," Constantine said. "One is that it had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said Constantine, " He put a spell on it so that whoever possessed it would have three wishes from it. Of course, as with most things of this nature, those wishes usually turn out to bring sorrow rather than fortune."
"Well, why don't you have three wishes?" said Herbert cleverly.
Constantine regarded him in the way that those experienced in such matters often regarded the uninitiated. "I have," he said, taking a drag off his cigarette and blowing a smoke ring. All three of the Whites watched as it rose into the air and then disappeared.
"And did you really have the three wishes granted?" asked Anna.
"I did," said Constantine, pulling out a pack of Silk Cuts and lighting one.
"And has anybody else wished?" inquired Anna.
"The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That's how I got the paw. Muzzafar was a good friend. I'll miss him." His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.
"If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, John," said Barry at last. "What do you keep it for?"
"A souvenir, I suppose," he said slowly. "I usually keep some sort of memento of my cases. Anna, if you're interested, I've got some tubers from my last trip to the states in my bags that would make a great stew."
"If you could have another three wishes," said Barry, eyeing him keenly as he dodged Constantine's attempt to change the subject, "would you have them?"
"I don't know," said Constantine. "I don't know." He took the paw and, dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. Barry, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.
"Better to let it burn," said Constantine.
"If you don't want it, John," said the older man, "give it to me."
"I won't," said his friend doggedly. "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 bloke."
The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.
"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud," said Constantine, "but remember, I warned you of the consequences."
"Sounds like The Arabian Nights," said Anna, as she rose and began to set the table. "Don't you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for me?"
Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket, and then all three burst into laughter as Constantine, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.
"Are you daft, Barry? If you must wish," he said gruffly, letting go of his arm, "wish for something sensible." He pulled out another cigarette and said, "Mine were for two pints and another carton of Silk Cuts."
"You wasted them on that?" Barry said, aghast. "John, sometimes I just don't understand you."
"If you ever do, you'll be the first," Constantine said with an exhale of smoke. "And I'll think I must be doing something wrong."
Barry laughed as he dropped the talisman back into his pocket and motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterwards the three sat enthralled to tales of Constantine's adventures in America.
Eventually, Constantine let out a yawn and said, "Well, I'm beat. I think I'll turn in. The food was excellent as always, Anna. Don't bother setting a place for me at the table tomorrow, though. I have to get an early start of things." After he left, the three were free to talk of what was on all their minds.
"If the tale about this magic monkey hand is as fanciful as those other crazy stories he told us," said Herbert, "we shan't make much out of it."
"I believe he believes in it," Barry said. "Just before he went up the stairs, he pressed me again to throw it away."
"Not bloody likely," said Herbert.
Barry took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a fact," he said slowly. "It seems to me I've got all I want."
"If you had the mortgage on the inn, you'd be quite happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. "Well, wish for two hundred thousand pounds, then. That should do it."
His father, smiling at his son's good thinking, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.
"I wish for two hundred thousand pounds," said Barry distinctly.
A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.
"It moved," he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. "As I wished, it twisted in my hand like a snake. I half expected the bloody thing to bite me."
"Well, I don't see the money," said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, "and I bet I never shall."
"It must have been your imagination, Father," said his wife, regarding him anxiously.
He shook his head. "Never mind, though. There's no harm done, but it gave me a shock just the same. I suppose John was having a bit of fun with us. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."
Outside, the wind whistled louder than ever, and the old man started nervously at the sound of banging shutters from outside. A silence unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for the night.
"I expect you'll find the cash tied up in a big canvas sack in the middle of your bed," called out Herbert as he walked up the stairs to his room, "and some horrible ghoulie squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."
The next morning, as the sun streamed through the window and over the breakfast table, Herbert laughed at their fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room that had been lacking the previous night, and the dirty, shriveled paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness, which spoke of no great belief in its power.
"The idea of our listening to such nonsense!" Anna said, laughing at their foolishness. "How could anyone believe in wishes being granted in this day and age? And if they could, how could two hundred thousand pounds hurt you, Father?"
"Might drop on his head from the sky," joked Herbert.
"John said the things happened so naturally," said his father, "that you might easily pass it off as coincidence."
"Well, don't break into the money before I come back," said Herbert, as he rose from the table. "I'm afraid it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you."
His mother laughed, and following him to the door as he left for work at the factory and then watched him from the window as his car headed down the road. Too bad the talisman wasn't real, she thought. Then her son wouldn't have to work so hard.
Returning to the breakfast table, she felt none of the apprehension her husband still felt. Of course, that didn't keep her from scurrying to the door at the postman's knock or prevent her from referring somewhat shortly to a certain scruffy blond man of indulgent habits, when she found that the post had brought nothing but a bill.
"Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she said that evening, as they sat at dinner.
"I daresay," Barry said, pouring himself out some beer; "but for all that, the thing moved in my hand. That I'll swear to."
"You thought it did," Anna said soothingly.
"I say it did," replied her husband. "There was no thought about it; I had just -- What's the matter?"
His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental connection with the two hundred thousand pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well dressed and wore a somewhat expensive looking suit. Three times he paused at the gate, then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Anna, at the same moment placed her hands behind her and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, putting it beneath the cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed furtively at Anna and listened in a preoccupied fashion as she apologized for the appearance of the room. She then waited as patiently as she could for him to state the reason for his visit, but he was strangely silent.
He said at last, "I'm here representing the factory of which your son is an employee."
Anna started breathlessly. "Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"
"There, there, Mother," Barry, said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump to conclusions. You've not brought bad news, I'm sure, sir," and he eyed the other wistfully.
"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.
The attorney bowed in assent. "Badly hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."
"Oh, thank God!" she gasped, clasping her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank--" She broke off suddenly as the meaning dawned upon her. Catching her breath, she turned to her husband and laid her trembling hand upon his.
"He was caught in the machinery," said the attorney in a low voice.
"Caught in the machinery," repeated Barry, in a dazed fashion, "yes." He took his wife's hand between his own. "He was the only one left to us," he said, turning gently to the visitor. "Our other boy was lost in the Falklands. It is hard."
The attorney coughed and said. "My clients wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss."
There was no reply. The woman's face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible. On the husband's face was a look such as his friend Constantine might have worn after a particularly bad bit of business.
"I was to say that in consideration of your son's services, his employers wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation."
Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, "How much?"
"Two hundred thousand pounds," was the attorney's answer.
Unconscious of his wife's shriek, Barry smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.
The Whites buried their son and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly that it hardly seemed real -- as if at any moment, Herbert would walk through the door with a smile and another funny story about something that had happened at work. They remained in a state of expectation, as though something else would happen... something to lighten a load too heavy for their hearts to bear.
It was about a week after Herbert's death that Barry awoke suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.
"Come back," he said tenderly. "You will be cold."
"It is colder for my son," Anna moaned. His memory started her weeping all over again.
The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden cry from his wife awoke him with a start.
"The talisman!" she cried wildly. "The talisman!"
He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's the matter?"
She came stumbling across the room towards him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed it, have you?"
"It's in the parlor, on the bracket," he replied, marveling. "Why?"
She cried and laughed at the same time as she bent over, kissed his cheek. "I only just thought of it," she said hysterically. "My God! Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it?"
"Think of what?" he questioned.
"The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again."
The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried, aghast.
"Get it," she panted. "Get it quickly, and wish -- Oh, my boy, my boy!"
Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. "Get back to bed," he said unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying."
"We had the first wish granted," Anna said feverishly. "Why not the second?"
"A coincidence," he stammered.
"Go and get it and wish," Anna cried, pulling him out of bed and towards the door.
Barry went down in the darkness, feeling his way to the parlor and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place. He caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow was cold with sweat as he felt his way around the table and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the hairy, claw-like thing in his hand.
Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He found himself actually afraid of her.
"Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.
"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.
"Wish!" repeated his wife.
He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."
The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it, shuddering. Then he sank trembling into a chair as Anna walked to the window with burning eyes and raised the blind.
The minute hand of the clock did a full revolution with nothing happening, then another. With an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, Barry crept back to his bed, and a minute or two afterward Anna came silently and apathetically beside him. Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock.
In his own room, Constantine had lain awake for many guilty hours. The Whites had been at least a few of the handful that hadn't been damned by friendship with him. Now they too had been cursed. It lay heavy upon his soul. After many fitful hours, he had finally fallen asleep. But his dreams brought no more peace, than the waking world had.
He dreamed of India. But not the India he had only recently seen. It was the ancient India of a time when gods still walked the earth. He saw the great warrior Hanuman, the monkey god who was the favored of Rama, upon the field of battle. Many fell before his blade, but one fighter managed to get in a good blow, lopping off his hand. The man lost his head for his trouble, since he made the mistake of not picking the hand with the blade. And for a god, such a thing was really only a flesh wound.
After the battle, a fakir found this hand and cast a spell upon it, hoping to tap into its godly power. He, of course, fell to a bad fate, as did every owner afterwards. All who tried to use the hand of Hanuman for material gain would suffer because no mortal could exploit the power of the gods for material gain and enjoy its rewards.
"Well, that explains a lot," Constantine muttered as he awoke. The cigarettes had been stale and the pints were bitter and flat. Sadness suddenly came over him as he remembered the events of the past week and he brought his hands up, covering his face. "Oh Herbert. Oh Christ…"
In the White's room, the darkness was oppressive. After lying awake for some time, Barry screwed up his courage and went downstairs. At the foot of the stairs, he paused and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.
He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.
"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.
His wife bolted upright in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house. "It's Herbert!" she screamed, bolting out of bed and into the hall. "It's Herbert!"
Constantine, clad in an undershirt and scrub pants, was suddenly in the hallway with them. "What have the two of you done?"
"He's our son, John," Barry said guiltily. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing."
"He was your son," Constantine said. "That...!" He pointed towards the door, not bothering to finish his sentence.
Anna started to run to the door, but her husband was before her and, catching her by the arm, held her tightly.
"You can't," he whispered hoarsely.
"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door."
"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried Barry, trembling.
"You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert; I'm coming."
"He's right," Constantine warned. "You don't want to see what's down there. Trust me on this."
"I've listened to you enough," she cried. "The last time it nearly cost me my child. Well, you're not going to take him from me again!"
There was another knock, and then another. With a sudden wrench, Anna broke free of Barry's grasp and ran from the room. Her husband and Constantine followed to the landing. Barry called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. They heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket.
"The bolt," Anna cried loudly. "One of you two come down here and help me! I can't reach it."
But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the hand of Hanuman as a low frantic cry escaped his throat. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back.
Constantine was the first to find the talisman. He quickly handed it to the older man, who frantically breathed his third and last wish.
The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. They could hear the chair as it was drawn back and the door as it opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long, loud wail of disappointment and misery from Anna filled the house.
"You'd better go to her, mate," Constantine said. "She needs you now."
Constantine walked passed the Whites as they sat on their knees in the front doorway, holding each other and sobbing. He moved then to the den to do what he had originally intended to do with the cursed piece of god flesh in the first place. Burn the bloody thing.