Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror

Another Man’s Wife

Plus 3 Other Tales

David Bernstein

Another Man’s Wife

Plus 3 Other Tales

By David Bernstein

Copyright 2011 David Bernstein. All Rights
Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Cover design by David Bernstein

Interior formatting by Kody Boye

Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written
permission of the copyright owner except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People,
places, events and situations are the product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or
undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

TABLE OF
CONTENTS

Another Man’s Wife

Comes with Baggage

The Serial Killer’s Ghoul

The Lake Pact

Another Man’s Wife

Garrett Mulney had been making love to Beth
Wilcox when her husband came home. The sound of tires scrunching
across the pebbled driveway alerted the lovers. The two paused,
still in oneness, listening. The room, moments ago alive with moans
and whispered profanities, now suspended in quiet like an old
forgotten graveyard. Garrett jumped up as if Beth’s body had become
a rotten corpse.

“It’s probably a delivery truck, silly,” Beth
said.

Garrett peered out of one of the bedroom’s
windows. It was a blue pickup, shiny with large tires.

“It’s Harold,” Garrett said, his glistening
penis losing its stiffness as he stood naked.

“What?” Beth yelled. “He never comes home
early.” She grabbed her lover’s clothes and threw them at him.
Garrett caught the pants; the rest falling at his feet. “Get
dressed and go out one of the windows.” The garage roof was a few
feet down and would make for a safe and quick exit.

Garrett and Beth got dressed in hurried
fashion. Beth made the bed while Garrett attempted to open a
window.

“Won’t budge,” he said, tugging hard, veins
showing in his neck.

“Go out another then.”

Garrett tried the other two windows, but the
result was the same. Frustrated, he punched the wall. A small
framed picture of Beth and Harold skiing somewhere in Vermont fell
from its hanging place. The glass cracked, sending a line across
the face of husband and wife, but the frame held.

“Sorry,” Garrett said. He bent to pick it
up.

“Leave it,” Beth yelled. “Get out of
here.”

“Where?”

“Go out the bathroom window down the hall,”
Beth said, fluffing Harold’s pillow.

Garrett sped down the hall. Harold hadn’t
come inside the house yet as far he could guess. He tried the
bathroom window, it was locked too. “Damn it,” he mumbled. “What’s
with this place?”

Beth was at the end of the hall, standing
atop the staircase. Garrett waited, watching for a signal. She
yelled a whisper, “He’s at the front door,” her hands fluttering at
her sides like a butterfly’s wings.

Garrett came out of the bathroom, “Window
won’t open in there either.”

“Hide in the closet,” Beth said. She ran to
the door next to her bedroom and opened it. Garrett hurried over,
unsure about Beth’s plan, his widening eyes indicating his
displeasure. Beth shot him a desperate glance, her face, pale like
she was about to vomit and ushered him in. “Wait here and be
quiet.” She shut the door.

The closet was roomy, a walk-in. A small
amount of sunlight came in from under the door, not enough to make
anything out except for a couple pair of men’s boots off to the
side. Garrett waited nervously as sweat began building in the crux
of his back and under his armpits. He held is breath as he heard
Beth’s voice approaching. She was talking to Harold, nonstop, as if
to keep him busy. Garrett squirmed a few inches away from the door
as Beth and Harold’s shadows blotted out the sunlight that shown
across his sneakers.

Garrett Mulney had been delivering groceries
to the people of Mayfair for three years. He was a good looking
twenty six year old. He’d met Beth six months ago while she was
shopping in the local grocery store, G-Mart. They flirted, she was
in her early forties, but Garrett found her extremely sexy. The
flirting eventually led to an ongoing affair. Every Tuesday and
Thursday Garrett would deliver Beth’s groceries, and her orgasms.
Monday, Wednesday and Friday where reserved for the other women on
his routes, each believing they were the only one he serviced. Beth
got him for two days, making her his favorite. He became known as
the Milk Man, a nickname given to him by the G-Mart’s owner, an 85
year old man who delivered milk during the 1950’s.

The closet door sprang open, startling
Garrett. Beth stood before him, panicked. She held out her hand. It
was cold and clammy like the body of a slug.

“C’mon,” she said. “He’s in the bedroom
changing.”

Garrett, still clenching Beth’s hand, flew
down the stairs. The two adulterers moving like two practiced
ballerinas, quiet and graceful.

Beth tried the front door, it was locked.
“Try the back. Go, go, go,” she said, shoving Garrett away.

Garrett took off, running through the living
room, arriving seconds later in the kitchen. Garrett hesitated,
afraid to fail again. He walked to the backdoor, took a deep breath
and grabbed the doorknob. He turned the knob, but it too, like all
the other windows and doors, wouldn’t open. He felt more defeated
than frustrated, like a beaten fighter after a long bout.

“Well?” Beth whispered harshly from around
the corner.

“No, it won’t open. What’s with your
house?”

Beth came sliding around the corner, her
socks acting as if the polished wood floor were made of ice.
“Harold’s got to fix this dump.”

Garrett lived in a small two bedroom
apartment with his wife. They both had low paying jobs and
struggled to pay the bills. Beth was being a bitch for complaining
about her large house, which by most people’s standards was above
normal. She had three bathrooms, a three car garage, an in-ground
swimming pool and a hot tub on the first floor porch.

“Get in the cellar,” she said before sliding
across the ceramic tiles to the cellar door.

“I’m not hiding in there.” Garrett crossed
his arms, refusing to move.

“If he finds you, he’ll kill you.”

Harold was a six foot four inch mass of a
man. He always wore work-boots and blue jeans. The few times he’d
come into the G-Mart, he was quiet and mild mannered. To Garrett,
he resembled a grizzly bear on tranquilizers. Nonetheless, the man
was intimidating in his appearance.

“Get in there, now,” Beth demanded, bouncing
up and down like a spoiled child.

“Honey,” Harold’s voice boomed from around
the corner like a distant clap of thunder from an approaching
storm.

Beth’s eyes lit up as if a hundred watt bulb
were behind them. Garrett absorbed her fear and jumped through the
doorway, Beth quietly shutting the door behind him.

Garrett paused on the first step down as he
heard muffled, but audible words.

“Did you get a new cell phone, babe?”

“No, why?”

“I found this on the night stand.”An object,
small and plastic sounding, smacked against the kitchen table,
before sliding across it.

“I found it earlier in the parking lot of the
grocery. Thought I’d take it home and see if I recognized any of
the numbers. Maybe call them and let them know I had their
phone.”

Garrett nearly tumbled backwards, catching
himself on the handrail. He quickly checked his pockets. His phone
was gone. In the rush to leave he had forgotten to take it.

“Well, did you?” Harold asked.

“Yeah, no one I know.” Silence followed for a
few seconds before Beth spoke again. “Let’s go out for a bite since
you’re home early.”

“Not in the mood.”

“We hardly ever go out, please?”

“I got work to do in the cellar. I
can’t.”

Garrett spun around. The stairs were dimly
lit from a what looked like sunlight. He had to get down the stairs
and hide. His first step was fine, but the second one creaked
loudly, as if he’d hurt it. Garrett cursed to himself. He remained
motionless, letting out a slow breath. He’d have to wait and avoid
any further noise. Beth would think of something, but before
Garrett could take another breath the doorknob behind him began to
squeak.

He spun around on his toes, making sure to
leave the pressure on them. The door was slowly opening, leading to
his impending end. He held tight to the banister, not sure what
else to do, like cornered prey. A section of the kitchen came into
view, followed by the back of Harold’s checkered flannel.

“I’m tired of this,” Beth yelled. You’re
always busy with something. Can’t we just spend the day
together?”

Garrett braced himself, getting ready to
shoot up the stairs and try to make it past the big fellow. He had
to get caught sooner or later, weren’t all cheaters? His wife would
be pissed. Maybe even leave him. Garrett was about to make a move
when he heard the familiar ring of his cell phone.

Harold let go of the doorknob causing it to
swing open further. Garrett could now see Harold’s entire back.
Beth was standing a few feet across from him. Her eyes bulged with
terror, like a swimmer seeing a shark’s fin approaching. She met
Garrett’s stare.

Garrett tried to reach the door, but was too
far away. The creaky step kept him from moving. There was nothing
he could do.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Harold
asked.

Beth proved immobile, her eyes off of
Garrett. The phone chimed again. “What for?” she managed.

“To see if maybe it’s the owner or someone
who knows the owner?” Harold rubbed his head, like a huge gorilla
at the zoo.

Beth looked at the phone. She seemed frazzled
and unsure of what to do. Garrett, silently, was mouthing for her
to pick it up, but he realized it was a bad idea. Drawing Beth’s
attention might bring Harold’s as well. Eyes followed eyes, it was
human nature.

“I’ll answer it then,” Harold said sounding
annoyed and before Beth could grab the phone, Harold had it.
“Hello?”

Beth shot Garrett a quick glance. She was
shaking like a junky needing a fix. Garrett waved her off.

“Ah, no miss. This is Harold Wilcox. My wife
found this phone in the parking lot of the grocery, up in
Mayfair.

Garrett felt nauseous. A small amount of bile
upchucked into the back of his throat. He quickly swallowed it.

“Garrett Mulney,” Harold said. Beth, who was
inching her way towards the cellar door, looked up at her
husband.

“I’m afraid I’m not heading back into town
today, but maybe I could drop it off at your place if you’re
nearby?”

Garrett’s mouth had a cottony feel to it, and
his throat was on the verge of a tickle. He tried gathering saliva
to moisten his pallet, but none could be gathered. Nervous about
having to cough Garrett wiped the sweat from his forehead and arms,
transferring it via his fingers to his mouth. The sweat was salty,
but the tickle in his throat was gone.

“Hmm, that’s the other side of town,” Harold
said.

A few moments of silence followed. Harold was
nodding his head, as if in some agreement with Garrett’s wife. Beth
had stopped moving, she was within a legs length of the cellar
door. Any further and she might cause Harold to turn, bringing
Garrett into his view.

“That’s an idea, sure. We’re at 755 Lancaster
Lane, be here all day.” Harold was smiling and polite. Garrett felt
a tiny amount of sadness for him, but it was ultimately his fault
his wife was cheating. He thought about his own wife. He wasn’t
proud for cheating on her, but he was a man and they, by nature,
were cheaters. Each woman was different. Some liked it rough, some
wanted to role play, while others just wanted a good bang. He loved
his wife very much, but a man was a man.

Garrett watched as Beth’s demeanor changed.
She stopped shaking and crossed her arms. Garrett heard a tapping,
her foot was the cause.

“You’re welcome,” Harold said happily, “but
hey, if you want to thank someone, thank my wife, Beth, she’s the
one responsible for all this.”

“Unbelievable,” Beth said angrily.

“Okay, see you then,” Harold said before
hanging up. He gently placed the cell on the kitchen table. He
looked at Beth. “What?”