Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror by David Bernstein

 
     
    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