Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror Read online

  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?”

  Beth pointed towards the cell phone and when Harold’s glare was off her, she kicked the cellar door closed.

  Garrett watched as Beth, Harold and the kitchen vanished. The force at which the door slammed almost knocked him back. What was Beth doing?

  “You son of a bitch,” he heard Beth yell. “You told that lady to come here so we wouldn’t be able to go out, didn’t you?”

  Garrett smiled. Beth was quite the actress.

  “No, sweetie. I don’t feel like heading out today. Besides, the guy probably needs his phone.”

  “Bullshit. You’re an asshole. When is she coming?”

  “Around two or so. Come on, babe. Let’s do your thing; hang out in bed and watch movies all day and night.”

  “Fine,” Beth answered. “But that means you’re all mine. No cellar. I’m sick and tired of you disappearing down there.

  “For you, anything.”

  Garrett heard them leave. It sounded like they went into the living room, but he couldn’t know for certain. He’d have to wait until Beth got free and could signal him. At least he could rest easy knowing Harold was off limits to the cellar.

  Garrett walked gingerly down the steps, each one a potential landmine. He felt safer knowing the basement was off limits to Harold, but he still had to be careful. He reached the bottom, his breathing normal again.

  The cellar was damp and the air stale, like a swamp at dusk. Garrett glanced around. The cellar was smaller than he’d imagined, only running half the length of the house. Four support beams, telephone pole width, stood like tired old relics. Large, rusted tow truck sized chains hung from nails on each beam, burdening them further.

  The floor was half plank board, half compacted dirt. Steel shelves lined three of the walls, each filled with various sized cardboard boxes, faded coffee and paint cans, and a number of plastic storage units, probably used for sorting small screws and nuts.

  Shovels, rakes, hoes, sickles, and other home improvement tools hung from the wall adjacent to the staircase. Harold was an apparent do-it-yourselfer.

  A cement staircase led to a pair of storm doors, another possible way out if things got hairy. Garrett walked over and inspected them. The stairway was clean, like it was swept regularly. The storm doors seemed solid, made of high gauge steel, but what Garrett found pleasing was the locking feature. Storm doors locked from the inside using a simple latch. He’d wait for Beth before trying them; the heavy steel might make for too much noise and alert Harold.

  Above all, the rest of cellar was dusty. Garrett’s intrusion stirred the room. Dust particles could be seen fluttering in the sun’s rays like thousands of tiny creatures taking flight. The cellar had one small window. It looked rusted in place as if it hadn’t been opened since the house’s construction. The number of cobwebs covering it only added to Garrett’s speculation that the window wasn’t used. He was easily spooked by the cobwebs, but it was the spiders he really feared. Garrett had developed a minor case of arachnophobia at the age of ten when a spider’s egg hatched near his bed, sending thousands of baby spiders crawling over his skin while he slept, until waking. It was something he was
never quite able to forget.

  Garrett surveyed the cellar again. Two of the corners had spiders in them, sitting on webs. They were of a decent size, but it was the one’s he didn’t see, the one’s hiding that he was concerned about.

  He walked over to a workbench. It was worn and stained with a number of colors, mostly crimson. He found a woman’s fingernail near a vice grip attached to the table. The big oaf had his wife help him with his chores. It was no wonder she looked elsewhere for sex. He left the fingernail alone, jumped up onto the table and waited.

  Garrett glanced at his watch for the third time since entering the cellar. It was 3 p.m. and still no sign, not even a hint of Beth. His wife had probably picked up his phone already, now wondering where he was. Staying put was no longer an option, he had to get out. He’d be quiet and as soon as he was outside, he’d run straight into the woods behind the house, before working his way to his car. He’d left it on Baker Street, three blocks away.

  Garrett sat back down on the workbench, calming himself with slow deep breaths. He tried ignoring his watch, but found himself poking a look at it every so often. He never imagined he’d have to wait so long. He was thirsty; his stomach, warm from lack of food. Time seemed to be slowing down and with nothing to keep him occupied, it would remain so. Garrett’s watch read 4 p.m.

  “That’s it,” he said softly, lunging himself off the table and walking over to the storm doors. Quietly, Garrett moved the L-shaped pin, the mechanism that held the doors from opening, and pushed upwards. The heavy doors held. Garrett tried again, exerting himself, using all his strength. A crack of sunlight came through, but something was keeping the doors from opening, a lock no doubt. Harold was some kind of security freak. Garrett turned around, and not but an inch from his face was a large hairy spider hanging from a web. He skidded backwards, banging his head into the cellar doors and giving himself a huge headache. He watched as the eight legged creature went back up its web. Garrett crouched, straining his neck to keep an eye on the spider as he went under it and waddled his way over to the workbench.