THE MONKEY

Hey, wanna hear something really creepy?
It’s about this old toy monkey.
You know, the kind with the wide eyes, the creepy smile, and the little cymbals in its hands that go CLAP CLAP CLAP?

Yeah.
That one.
Only this monkey… wasn’t just a toy.
It was a curse.

And it all started when Arif found it in the attic.

The Attic Discovery
Arif had just moved to a new house with his mom and little brother. His dad had passed away the year before, and they were trying to start fresh. The house was big, old, and creaky. It smelled like dust and forgotten secrets.

On the first weekend, Arif was bored and exploring. He climbed into the attic. You know, cobwebs, broken furniture, cardboard boxes with ancient handwriting.

He found a trunk.

Inside was just one thing:
A small toy monkey.

It had rusty cymbals, cracked fur, and glassy eyes that didn’t seem to blink—but still felt like they were watching.

When Arif picked it up, he heard something faint.

Clap... clap...

He looked down. The monkey had moved. Just a little.

He laughed nervously and brought it downstairs.

“Check this out!” he said to his little brother Sami. “It’s like an old-school robot.”

Sami stared at it. “I don’t like it,” he whispered.

Arif rolled his eyes. “It’s just a toy.”

But it wasn’t.

The First Clap
That night, the monkey was sitting on Arif’s desk.

It didn’t do anything.

Not until exactly 3:00 a.m.

That’s when Arif woke up to a strange sound.

Clap… clap… clap…

He turned over in bed.
The monkey’s cymbals were slowly clapping.
Its eyes were glowing faintly red.
Its head was turned—facing Arif’s bed.

He jumped up, flipped the light on—
Nothing.
The monkey was just sitting still.

He thought maybe it had a wind-up mechanism or something. So he tossed it in the closet and went back to sleep.

The next morning, their next-door neighbor had a heart attack.

She passed away at exactly 3:05 a.m.
Just five minutes after the clapping.

Coincidence?
For a while, Arif didn’t connect the two.

Until it happened again.

Three nights later. 3:00 a.m.

Clap… clap… clap…

He sat up in bed, sweating.

The monkey was out of the closet.

Sitting on his desk again.

That day, his school principal got into a car accident.

Gone.

Then the next time?
It clapped again.
And a classmate fell from the stairs and was rushed to the hospital.

Arif finally understood:

Whenever the monkey clapped, someone died.

Researching the Monkey
Arif searched online, digging through creepy forums, old Reddit threads, and articles with grainy photos.

He finally found a name:

The Death Monkey.

A cursed toy made in the 1950s. Only one was ever created.

It had passed through dozens of families.

And in every home, tragedy followed.

The monkey would clap its cymbals.

And then?

Someone close would die.

There were patterns too:

It only clapped at 3:00 a.m.

It only targeted people near the owner.

And worst of all…
Once the clapping starts, it won’t stop.
Not until you are the last one left.

It Gets Closer
Arif tried everything.

He threw it away. It came back.

He burned it. It was on his shelf the next day, good as new.

He locked it in a box. He still heard the clapping through the walls.

Then, the deaths got closer.

First his teacher.
Then a family friend.
Then his mom’s co-worker.
All within days of each clap.

Until one night…
It clapped again.

And the next morning, Arif’s mom didn’t wake up.

The Brother
Now it was just Arif and little Sami.

Arif was terrified. He didn’t sleep. He watched the monkey constantly. But it never moved in front of him.

Only when the clock struck 3:00 a.m. would it begin its slow, terrifying rhythm.

Clap… clap… clap…

He held his breath, hoping.
Praying.

The next day, Sami collapsed in the kitchen.

Poisoned by something no doctor could identify.

Now Arif knew.

He was next.

The Final Plan
But Arif had one last idea.

If the monkey wanted death… maybe he could trick it.

He read that the monkey’s power was bound to belief.
If you believed it would kill—it did.
But if you could break that belief, shatter its cycle…

You might win.

So Arif set a trap.

He took the monkey to the attic.
Set it on the dusty floor.
Lit candles around it.
And stared at it, unblinking.

“Clap,” he whispered.
“Clap, if you dare.”

The monkey didn’t move.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “You don’t get to win. Not tonight.”

The Last Clap
Then the clock struck 3:00 a.m.

Clap… clap…

But Arif didn’t flinch.

The monkey’s smile twitched.

Clap… clap…

The cymbals sped up.
Its eyes glowed brighter.
Its fur began to smoke.

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP—BOOM.

The monkey exploded into a pile of springs and ash.

The attic light blinked out.

Then came silence.

And in that silence, Arif cried.

Not because he was scared anymore.

But because he had finally stopped the clapping.

But Did He?
The next morning, the monkey was gone.

Totally.
Not in the house.
Not in the attic.
Not even on the internet.

As if it had never existed.

Arif moved away. He never spoke about it again.

But last week…

A boy in a different town posted this online:

“Found this old monkey toy in my grandma’s attic. It claps its cymbals at night. Anyone know what it is?”

No one replied.

But everyone who saw the post?

Felt a cold chill.

Because once the monkey chooses a new owner...

The clapping begins again.

⚠️ Moral of the Story?
If you ever see a toy monkey with cymbals and wide glassy eyes…

Don’t pick it up.
Don’t bring it home.
And never ignore the sound it makes at 3:00 a.m.

Because the Death Monkey only wants one thing:

Your turn.