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

weapon. The body tumbled over backwards, chair
and all. The blast was deafening, Corbin’s ears rung as his
nostrils filled with the odor of cordite.
    “I saved your face too,” Corbin said.
     
     

 
     
    The Serial Killer’s Ghoul
     
    The graveyard was at rest, a low hanging fog
hugged the ground, tombstones showing through like frozen ghosts.
The cemetery dated back to the mid 1800’s. It was named after the
Grending family, the first prominent people to settle the area. No
new graves had been dug for years; the weeds and tall grass
flourishing. With no relatives left alive to visit, the graveyard
had begun melding into its surroundings, becoming a part of the
landscape.
    The place was miles from town, and off of the
main roads. The wild vegetation and rancid odor from the nearby bog
kept people away; the town forgetting the long dead. It was the
reason Brian Hinkerly, a dentist, had bound the ghoul there.
    He parked his Chevy Tahoe behind a blossoming
lilac tree, hiding it from view of the road. The nearest residence
was a good three miles away, but he had to be vigilant. If a body
was ever discovered, the ghoul unable for whatever reason to finish
its meal, Brian wanted no one to be able to identify him. As
desolate an area as Grending Cemetery was, there was always the
chance someone could wander into it. In today’s world no place was
too remote or unreachable.
    The young woman, Harriet Baker, lay in the
back of the truck. Brian opened the rear hatch, grabbed a lantern
and slung the strap over his shoulder. He would need two hands for
the task ahead. The woman was beginning to stir. He grabbed her
ankles and yanked her out of the vehicle. The woman landed hard on
the muddy ground, splattering Brian’s plastic covered shoes with
muck. Her feet and wrists were bound with barbed wire while duct
tape covered her mouth. A line of mucus trailed from her left
nostril like an alien worm.
    Brian shut the hatch, locked the car and
grabbed the woman’s ankles before he started dragging her.
    She shook her head back and forth, her long
blonde hair wild and picking up twigs and leaves. She attempted to
scream, but the duct tape over her mouth kept her quiet. He laughed
at her writhing and inaudible pleading, dragging her up the
inclined rocky path to the graveyard.
    He stopped outside of the cemetery gates.
They were wrought iron, made from fine craftsmanship, with two
gargoyles perched atop. Years of rain, wind, and snow, rusted the
iron work, making them appear ancient.
    He always kept the gate partially open,
enough to fit himself through. If anyone came along, he wanted it
to look as if no one had visited the place.
    He brought the woman through, pulling her a
few feet inside the yard before letting go of her ankles. She
continued to struggle and moan in pain, her back bruised from
having been hauled over jagged rocks.
    Brian pulled a small gutting knife from his
pocket. Easily concealed, it was his favorite weapon of choice for
small, deep incisions. He bent down next to the whining female and
sliced a one inch line down the inside of her right wrist. Then he
did the same to her left wrist. The blood flowed from the wound,
darkening the bottom of the tall grass. It kept coming, as if she
was overfilled; the heart pumping faster to counteract the loss of
pressure. Brian watched, feeling a rush of pleasure. He supposed it
was what normal people got out of great sex. Copulation, to him,
was unfulfilling, like a lion eating lettuce for dinner. A slow,
agonizing, kill is what got him off.
    “Yes,” he said to the woman as she stared,
horrified, at him. “This is really happening. That water I
offered you earlier had an anti-coagulant in it. Don’t want you
clotting now, do we?”
    The woman’s eyes went wide and she began to
shake, tears flowing from the corners of her eyes. Brian watched as
the minutes turned to hours, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her
fear filled him with power as if he were taking a piece of