“Neither spoke,but lat silently listening to the ticking of the clock.A stair creaked,and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall.The darkness was oppressive,and after lying for some time screwing up his courage,he took the box of matches,and striking one,went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out,and he paused to strike another; and at the same moment a knock came so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible,sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage.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.”
“It was a dark and stormy night.The wind howled and twigs and leaves scuffled and rattled past the house.Mr and Mrs White sat in the parlour of their cosy home,in front of a blazing fire.Mr White played chess with his only son,Herbert.His wife sat in a rocking chair knitting and watching as they played.”
“The other two wishes," she replied rapidly."We've only had one."
"Was not that enough?" he demanded fiercely.
"No," she cried,triumphantly; "we'll have one more.Go down and get it quickly,and wish our boy alive again.”
― W.W.Jacobs,The Monkey's Paw