100TWC - Day 68: Unsettling Revelations

Robert slipped his key into the lock carefully. Gently, soundlessly, he opened the front door and stepped into the hall. He stood for a moment, listening. The house was still. At this time of the morning he would have expected some activity. Baking, a radio, a vacuum cleaner. His wife's car was still in the drive. If she had been out he would have continued on his way to work, disappointed but resigned to try another day. There would always be another day, and on one of them he would catch her.

Today might still be that day.

He removed his shoes to avoid any possibility of squeaking rubber on the polished hall floor and climbed the broad sweeping staircase to the first floor. Half-way up he heard the first faint sounds that confirmed what he had known for... how many months? Nine? Ten? The tell-tale sound of a rhythmically bouncing bed.

He stood still again on the landing. His wife's voice came from the third bedroom -- the guest room -- sighing with passion. "Ohhhh. Yessss." He clenched his fist, but did not move from his position on the top step. Clever of her to avoid using their room. No chance of an errant stain or unfamiliar odour. No inexplicable movement of pillows or too-frequent changing of sheets. Robert never went in the guest room. Hardly ever. Twice a year maybe. Too rarely to notice any changes.

"Mmmm. MMMM!" moaned his wife through the closed door. Part of him wanted to catch her in the act, but another part cautioned patience. "Yes!!" she cried, clearly reaching her climax. "Oh Yes, YES, YEEESSS."

The sounds of movement ceased, and Robert moved forward again. He may have missed his chance to catch his wife and lover in flagrante, but he was not going to give them time to dress or dispose of any other evidence. He had not covered more than half the distance to the bedroom door before his wife began to moan again. Jesus Christ! What kind of a man was he, her lover?

Determined this time not to wait too long, Robert crept to the door. There was no longer any sound of movement, and yet his wife could clearly be heard on her way to another crescendo.

"Yes," she yelled again, "Ahh! Ahhhh!! Argh! Nnnoooo! Oh God!" Richard could wait no longer. He would never have a better chance. Her screams were now so loud they would drown out any noise from the hall or landing. He grasped the knob, flung wide the bedroom door and shouted "So! I was right!"

The final word died on his lips at the sight that opened up before him. His wife, lying on her back, naked atop the bed, her legs spread wide and her arms flung back in what appeared at first glance to be passionate abandon. Between her legs the burnished bronze head of Oliver, the house robot, was apparently providing a secondary source of pleasure. As the full horrific detail of the scene filtered through to Robert's numbed mind, he realised his wife had not responded to his dramatic entrance. Her eyes, their gaze still fixed on the window, had not moved but seemed instead to have developed an unnatural glaze. Her smile, which Robert had initially taken to be one of mechanically-induced ecstasy, now looked instead to be a rictus of horror.

Reacting at last to his master's presence, Oliver turned his head toward Robert. His face glistened bright red and small globs of flesh and pubic hair clung to his mouth. The scene faded to grey before him as Robert lost consciousness and fell to the floor, his last thought a sickening realisation that Oliver must have completely misinterpreted the command "Eat me."