Chapter: 93
Horror novels.
This genre, which can be called “ghost stories,” is usually hard to forget once you’ve read it: the ghost stories you read during the day linger in your mind when you lie down at night, and at the slightest rustle of the wind, you find yourself shivering in fright.
This sticky sensation of fear is the most characteristic feature of “ghost story novels.”
“I can’t even bring myself to read the newspaper these days. There are so many creepy stories… just reading a single story on a newspaper page can make me tremble. It’s quite remarkable.”
“That’s the power of ghost stories. Even a short tale can endlessly stimulate the imagination of ‘horror.'”
“Do you like ghost stories, Master?”
“Well, I enjoy them all, whether they’re ghost stories or folk tales…”
If we were to modernize the classification of “ghost stories,” they would fall under the category of “cosmic horror,” which deals with stories of violence that cannot be resisted by human will.
It’s easy to understand when you think of the ghost stories found in those 500-won horror books sold at the stationery store near elementary schools. Stories filled with things you can’t comprehend, where escape is your only option, featuring violence and unpredictable horrors. Such “ghost stories” are the ancestors of cosmic horror.
After all, you can’t just shoot a ghost with a cannonball or steamship, can you?
The fear of the “irresistible” isn’t in the stories; it exists within us. It’s in the gentle early dawn breeze rustling the reeds that conjures up visions of a lurking murderer in the marsh, the whisper of a maiden ghost, or the sharp teeth of a wild beast crouching in the grass.
Thus, in the case of horror fiction, the power is more in the symbolism than in the completeness of the story.
It doesn’t need to be coherent or realistic. No horror protagonist would ever ask a ghost, “So, how did you fix it in the celestial coordinate system?” The crucial point is whether the reader can unearth the horror in those “symbols.”
So horror is something only the mind can perceive….
“In that regard, the ‘Monkey’s Paw’ is a very powerful symbol.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because no one really avoids wishing. It’s particularly malicious since it’s a wish coming from the wisher themselves, making it hard to blame anyone else.”
Everyone has at least one desperately desired wish.
And the ‘Monkey’s Paw’ grants such wishes. It doesn’t ask for anything in return, doesn’t refuse difficult wishes, and simply toys with the fate of the wisher, leading them to unhappiness.
Just like King Midas, who, with his golden touch, ended up not being able to eat anything properly.
Or like Cassandra, who was given prophetic abilities but failed to convince a single person with her prophecies.
It hands over what the other person desires.
Only to wreck their lives and leave them regretting it. Just like any classic tragedy.
“A tragedy…?”
“In ancient myths, stories about fate usually end in tragedy, right? The two symbols, ‘prophecy’ and ‘wish’, aren’t fundamentally different since what is spoken actually comes true… or…”
“Ah!”
Greek tragedy.
The oldest form of literature, the roots of all Western storytelling.
The Monkey’s Paw was a tale about such ‘fate.’
…
“Your father was laughing really hard, wasn’t he?”
“What?”
“The Monkey’s Paw. He was having a blast reading it.”
I’ve seen Princess Isolette so often now that I feel like I’m one of those Kindersley Publishing staff members.
Sitting on the couch, swinging her legs back and forth as usual, she somehow looked a bit softer and gentler than she normally does.
Did something good happen?
“I heard you were reading about the historical anecdotes of past kings in the imperial library?”
“Yes. Thanks to His Majesty’s consideration, I could read them.”
“Was it interesting? I thought it would just feel like reading a boring genealogy…”
“It was kind of an interesting experience.”
Princess Isolette opened her mouth slightly in disbelief, then smirked and leaned back on the couch.
Sinking deeply into the cushions, Princess Isolette continued with a lighthearted tone.
“My father asked me to thank you.”
“What?”
“No, um, well, not from my dad… but… thank you. You know I’m always so grateful to you, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Yesterday, for the first time in a while, my dad read me a bedtime story.”
“Mmm.”
The image of the Emperor reading a fairy tale to Princess Isolette… made me want to burst out laughing, which I had to stifle.
Well, harmony is a good thing.
“The book was the Monkey’s Paw.”
“…Did he possibly mistake it for a children’s book because of the title?”
“Not at all. He’s just a bit of a misanthrope who enjoys telling ghost stories at night. Is it that entertaining to scare your daughter?”
“Aha…”
“Anyway, while he was laughing through the reading… well, then he started chatting about the good old days. Isn’t that what older folks tend to do?”
“That makes sense.”
“Don’t you find it curious about the old tales of the Emperor who rules the empire?”
“Umm. No.”
“Gee, how boring. But really… thinking back, that was the first time I ever heard my father tell me a story.”
Princess Isolette softly and gently introduced me to the life of someone named Abraham the Lucky King.
She explained why he was called a lucky king, how unfortunate Abraham really was, and how different his outward appearance was from how he saw himself, almost singing her tale.
It felt like watching a one-person epic.
Princess Isolette’s voice had a captivating charm to it. After hearing the brief old tale transferred from the Lucky King’s lips to hers, she stretched out her fingers to mimic the Monkey’s Paw.
“─That’s why my father said he’s like a ‘Monkey’s Paw’ too.”
“I see.”
“…Do you think, Mr. Writer, that your father’s fate would sound like an unsettling and sticky tragedy?”
“Excuse me?”
“Twisted and unwanted luck, would that still be considered misfortune?”
As she asked that, Princess Isolette appeared strangely uneasy, much unlike her usual demeanor.
She wasn’t adorning herself with traditional femininity as she did back in Idris, nor was she acting like a rambunctious tomboy as Princess Isolette. She entirely lost the softness and stability she showed when this topic came up.
She just looked like a girl worried about her family.
“Do you think… your father shouldn’t be wishing?”
“Um….”
Wishes. The Monkey’s Paw. Luck.
Hearing about luck that grants wishes in twisted ways struck me as a bit tricky. It sounds filled with malice, doesn’t it?
Of course, the wishes would somehow come true, just as Prince Idris ended up becoming Princess Isolette.
If it meant driving several people into terrible loneliness and conflict, it’s rather hard to give it a good review.
But hey…
“Princess Isolette, do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“What?”
“Oh, let’s say a little kid wishes, ‘I hope Santa brings me an awesome toy tonight!'”
“Yeah…”
“And who do you think made that wish come true? I mean, when the kid wakes up and sees a real toy beside their bed?”
“Well, I guess the kid’s parents…?”
“Exactly! Even without a supernatural being zooming around the world at light speed through chimneys, the kid still got their wish granted, right?”
“Good point…?”
If the luck… if the ‘Monkey’s Paw’ is running amok trying to grant wishes.
You can just wish to a being other than the Monkey’s Paw. One who is much gentler, considerate, thoughtful, and could just stop you if they think it’s a bad idea.
To someone like that.
“Why not create a family bucket list? Who you’d like to do things with, how you want to feel, when and what you want to do, and how you’ll accomplish it… If you start asking around, I think we’ll end up with some pretty detailed wishes.”
“…That’s a tad conventional and idealistic, isn’t it?”
“That’s just my weakness for the occult.”
“But you know, thinking about it, we really haven’t communicated much as a family, and we don’t spend a lot of time together…”
“Then first, you should really spend more time with your family.”
Hmm.
Is it too shameless for me to suggest, considering I rarely go home because I’m stuck reading at the library all night?
“Time with family… hahaha. Do you have any idea just how busy people in the royal family are? This sounds a bit naïve, doesn’t it?”
“You seem to visit quite often for someone who’s so busy.”
“That’s just my job!”
“Hmm. If you need an opportunity, isn’t there one at hand?”
“What do you mean?”
I handed the wide-eyed Princess Isolette a book that rested on the table.
The subject of our conversations so far.
It was titled ‘The Monkey’s Paw.’
“Because the story you read has made me scared to sleep alone, you should tell him that I want to sleep with him.”
“…Wow. Isn’t that a bit childish?”
“They say that to parents, no matter how grown-up one may be, the kids still look like kids.”
The Monkey’s Paw is a horror novel. A tale that evokes an unsettling feeling, a horror that makes the reader flinch at shadows.
So, the emotions elicited by ‘The Monkey’s Paw’ are quite negative.
But every now and then, this fear can bind people together a bit tighter.
“Sometimes, it’s okay to throw a tantrum. Think of it as reclaiming the youth you couldn’t throw when you were little.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Wouldn’t His Majesty relent a little fooling around?”
After all, a father with a daughter has only one true wish.
To be closer to her.
To shorten the distance that lies between them.
If the King of Luck truly attracts ‘luck,’ then this too should be attainable.
As those thoughts crossed my mind, I gazed at Princess Isolette.
She playfully lifted the corners of her mouth into a grin and asked,
“So what about you, Mr. Writer?”
“What?”
“Would you accept it if I acted all spoiled with you?”
“Uh, weren’t we talking about family?”
“Hehe, at least give it a thought. What do you say?”
Princess Isolette’s little tantrum.
I paused for a moment and then responded.
“Nope.”
“…Geez. Aren’t you being a bit too drastic?”
“I can at least read you a story or something.”
“Oh, is that a promise?”
“What?”
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