Button, Button: Uncanny Stories Read Online Free PDF

over.
    "You want to order now?" he asked.
    "What? Oh." She picked up the menu and looked at it for a moment. "I'll have the same thing, I guess."
    The man went back to the stove and broke another egg on the edge of the black pan.
    Jean listened to the sound of the eggs frying. She wished Bob would come back. It was unpleasant sitting there alone in the hot, dingy cafe.
    Unconsciously she picked up the glass of water again and took a sip. She grimaced at the taste and put down the glass.
    A minute passed. She noticed that the man in the back booth was looking at her. Her throat contracted and the fingers of her right hand began drumming slowly on the counter. She felt her stomach muscles drawing in. Her right hand twitched suddenly as a fly settled on it.
    Then she heard the door to the men's washroom open, and she turned quickly with a sense of body-lightening relief.
    She shuddered in the hot cafe.
    It wasn't Bob.
    She felt her heart throbbing unnaturally as she watched the man return to his place at the counter and pick up his unfinished sandwich. She averted her eyes as he glanced at her. Then, impulsively, she got off the stool and went back to the front of the cafe.
    She pretended to look at a rack of sunfaded postcards, but her eyes kept moving to the brownish-yellow door with the word MEN painted on it.
    Another minute passed. She saw that her hands were starting to shake. A long breath trembled her body as she looked in nervous impatience at the door.
    She saw the man in the back booth push himself up and plod slowly down the length of the cafe. His cap was pushed to the back of his head and his high-topped shoes clomped heavily on the floor boards. Jean stood rigidly, holding a postcard in her hands as the man passed her. The washroom door opened and closed behind him.
    Silence. Jean stood there staring at the door, trying to hold herself under control. Her throat moved again. She took a deep breath and put the postcard back in place.
    "Here's your sandwich," the man at the counter called.
    Jean started at the sound of his voice. She nodded once at him but stayed where she was.
    Her breath caught as the washroom door opened again. She started forward instinctively, then drew back as the other man walked out, his face florid and sweaty. He started past her.
    "Pardon me," she said.
    The man kept moving. Jean hurried after him and touched his arm, her fingers twitching at the feel of the hot, damp cloth.
    "Excuse me," she said.
    The man turned and looked at her with dull eyes. His breath made her stomach turn.
    "Did you see my-my husband in there?"
    "Huh?"
    Her hands closed into fists at her sides.
    "Was my husband in the washroom?"
    He looked at her a moment as if he didn't understand her. Then he said, "No, ma'am," and turned away.
    It was very hot in there, but Jean felt as if she'd suddenly been submerged in a pool of ice water. She stood numbly watching the man stumble back to his booth.
    Then she found herself hurrying for the counter, for the man who sat drinking from his water-beaded bottle of beer.
    He put down the bottle and turned to face her as she came up.
    "Pardon me, but did you see my husband in the washroom before?"
    "Your husband?"
    She bit her lower lip. "Yes, my husband. You saw him when we came in. Wasn't he in the washroom when you were there?"
    "I don't recollect as he was, ma'am."
    "You mean you didn't see him in there?"
    "I don't recollect seein' him, ma'am."
    "Oh this-this is ridiculous," she burst out in angry fright. "He must have been in there."
    For a moment they stood looking at each other. The man didn't speak; his face was blank.
    "You're-sure?" she asked.
    "Ma'am, I got no reason to lie to you."
    "All right. Thank you."
    She sat stiffly at the counter staring at the two sandwiches and milk shakes, her mind in desperate search of a solution. It was Bob-he was playing a joke on her. But he wasn't in the habit of playing jokes on her and this was certainly no place to start. Yet he must