Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror Read Online Free PDF

death, floods, fires,
accidents, and a plethora of other negativity, but he had to watch.
When the news was over, Corbin felt satisfied that nothing during
the broadcast had involved him. Finding himself bushed he went to
sleep.
    Corbin dreamt. He found himself in his car,
driving across town to Cedar Grove Estates and parking in front of
the large Victorian house from the earlier dream.
    He climbed out of the car, grabbed the
shotgun from the backseat and began loading shells as if he were a
seasoned S.W.A.T. officer. He scaled the stairs, light emanating
from the windows, someone was home. The sidewalks were barren, void
of people as if the neighborhood were nothing but model homes. A
calm breeze, like a cool whisper, blew across his face. Corbin
knocked on the door, began pounding, angrily, when no one
answered.
    “Yeah, yeah,” a man’s voice said from inside,
“hold on a sec.”
    Corbin heard the jumbling of a lock opening,
the hairs on his neck upright with anticipation. The door
opened.
    “What is it?” the man asked, annoyance in his
voice. He stood about six feet, his t-shirt hanging off his bones,
revealing him to be a frail, almost sickly, looking person.
Corbin’s eyes watered as an overwhelming stench of alcohol
assaulted his nose. The man took a moment to focus, a look of
horror coming over him. “You,” he said, putting a hand over his
heart, his eyes the size of ping pong balls. “You’re dead. I killed
you.”
    Corbin, unable to control his hatred, kicked
the man in the gut sending him tumbling down a small set of
carpeted stairs. Corbin ran into the house, slamming the door
behind him.
    Standing in the small foyer way, Corbin
looked down the crumpled heap. The man, thankfully, was still
breathing.
    Corbin walked down the stairs, the man
moaning in pain. “My head, I hit my head.”
    “Get up, asshole,” Corbin said. As if hearing
himself from a distance and only allowed to watch.
    “This can’t be. You’re dead. I hit you with
my car.”
    Corbin dragged the man to his feet. “Walk,”
he said, prodding the man’s back with the gun.
    “You’re alive, but how?” he asked.
    “Shut up,” Corbin said. They climbed the
stairs to the kitchen. “Sit.”
    The man sat down in one of the kitchen
chairs. Corbin glanced around. Empty bottles of whiskey and cheap
vodka filled the sink. Bills and moldy, what looked like bread,
cluttered the kitchen table. The counter was lined with filthy
dishes and smears of dried grape jelly.
    “I have a problem,” the man said. “I like to
drink.”
    “Yes, it is a problem.”
    Corbin, rage igniting his innards, whacked
the man upside his head with the butt of the weapon. The man cried
as he held his scalp.
    “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” He
tried groping Corbin’s shirt like a beggar. “Please, please, I’m so
sorry. I got out of my car, checked on you, but you were a goner.
All messed up and broken. I couldn’t stay, there was nothing I
could’ve done and the cops would’ve arrested me.” Corbin raised the
shotgun, pointing the barrel at the man’s skeletal chest. The man’s
crotch began darkening, the stench of urine filling the air.
“Please, don’t,” the man pleaded, hands and fingers grouped
together in false prayer. “I’ll get help, besides, you’re okay now.
You didn’t die.”
    “Look at me. Really look at me,” Corbin
said.
    The man’s eyebrows scrunched together, a look
of confusion upon his face. “I don’t understand. You walked in here
without a limp. You’re body was broken. I saw your bones sticking
out of your skin. Only your face was untouched.” The man’s
expression turned to fright, as if he realized the man before him
wasn’t the man he’d killed, but a resurrected monster. The pitiful
man trembled, as if electrocuted, and reached out to touch Corbin’s
face.
    “This is for leaving my wife without a
husband and my daughter without a father.” The man’s chest exploded
as Corbin fired the