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

disgruntled murmurs from people in the waiting room
as his name was called within minutes of his arrival. Skipping the
waiting room was about the only perk his surgery came with.
    “Corbin,” the doc said, entering the small
examining room. “How’s it going?”
    “Until a week ago, great,” Corbin said,
hating the doctor’s office, more so since his surgery.

    “Let’s have a look.” The doctor reviewed
Corbin’s chart, flipping through pages and rubbing his chin.
    The stethoscope was cold on his back and warm
by the time it reached his chest.
    “No congestion or blockage,” the doc said
before moving onto other instruments. He checked his temp again
even though the nurse had already done so, his ear canals, and
nasal passageways. All were fine.
    “Been taking any new over the counter
medications?”
    “Nope.”
    “Eat any new foods?”
    “Nope.”
    “Go anywhere new? Out of the country?”
    “Nope.”
    The doctor held his finger under his chin as
if in deep thought. “Everything on my end checks out. I’ll send you
over to Doctor Rein’s office to get an MRI of your head. We’ll take
some blood before you leave and should have the results in a day.
Rush order for you, Corbin.” The doctor winked.
    “You don’t think it’s the transplant?”
    “Definitely not. It’s taken to you like it
was yours all along. Hardly a blemish on it.”
    “Thanks, doc.” Corbin said, feeling a little
better.
    “No problem. The nurse will be in shortly to
get your blood and I’ll phone Doctor Rein’s office that you’ll be
there within the hour.”
    The next day the doctor called Corbin on his
cell. The blood test and MRI were normal on all accounts.
    “Any idea what it could be?” he asked.
    “Who knows? Could be the weather or stress.
Either way I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Take a few days off
from work, get some rest. Any more problems, give me a call.”
    “Thanks for the speedy service, doc, I really
appreciated it.”
    “For you, Corbin, not a problem.”
    Corbin had placed a lot of hope in doctors’
hands before his surgery and wasn’t about to stop now. He hung up
the phone feeling assured that he’d be fine.
    That night he had a dream he was driving in
his car and stopped at the Hunter and Gun Depot just outside of
town. He’d never had an interest in guns, never owning one, but he
went into the store nonetheless.
    The place was a hunter’s haven. Camouflage
jackets, t-shirts, hats, and pants lined the isles. Some items were
mixed with a roadside orange, giving the matter a cautionary ware.
Displays for bows and riffles and turkey callers assaulted him from
everywhere. A few customers patrolled the isles. Corbin approached
the glass counter. Knives of various sizes, compasses, and numerous
other survival equipment lay inside the glass counter’s
display.
    .30-30’s, SKS’s, .22’s, shotguns of varying
gauges, all lined the wall behind the counter, locked together like
a chain gang in a coma.
    Corbin wasn’t sure how, but he knew the names
of the guns and the one he wanted.
    “May I help you,” an elderly man said. He had
bushy white mustache, red, white, and blue striped suspenders and a
hat that read, “Rob Me and Die Trying.”
    Unsure why, but feeling compelled, Corbin
said, “I’ll take the .12 gauge single pump action and a box of
buckshot.” Why had he just asked for a gun? And how the hell did he
even know what to ask for, let alone the type of ammo? The elderly
man rang Corbin up.
    Corbin placed the items in the trunk of his
car before settling into the driver’s seat and slamming the door
shut, immediately awakening to the relentless beeping of his
clock-radio’s alarm.
    He remembered the dream as if it had been
real, its vividness haunting long after waking. What were these
strange dreams he was having? Corbin, needing answers, got in his
car and drove to the Hunter and Gun Depot store.
    He parked out front and went in. His mouth
hung open like a sedated psych