The Mistress

Photo by David Beneš on Unsplash

The Mistress


Dylan Goodwin

The doorbell rings.

            “Honey, can you get that?” Ed shouted to his wife from the kitchen. He was answered with no response.

            “Honey!” He shouted louder, stopping his hands from cleaning the ceramic bowl, half-submerged in soapy suds. 

            No response.

            Heaving a sigh, he pulled off his dishwashing gloves as the bell rings again.

            “Coming.” He called.

            ‘I wonder where she could be?’ He thought to himself. ‘Oh, right, she took the dog for a walk.’

            He arrived at the door, extended his arm, and turned the round handle.

            The door passed across his field of view and to his surprise was met with a sensual voice, he knew too well. 

            “UPS delivery” The female deliverer winked.

            “What the fuck are you doing here?” Ed whispered alarmed. 

            “I was lonely and wanted company.” The woman dressed as a UPS driver said.

            “My wife could be home.” He knew she wasn’t, but he wanted her to understand the severity of popping around unannounced. 

            “No, she left with the dog. They walked into that bush track.” She indicated a close cluster of trees, hiding a well-worn concrete path.  

            “You can’t be here.” He looked frantic, felt short breaths and his hand started twitching. Anxiety was overtaking him. “I’ve always said you cannot come here. I love you, but you CAN NOT be here.” He emphasized.

            She didn’t care and pushed passed him. 

            This situation was quickly spiraling out of control. 

            “What if she forgot something? What if she comes back home early? What if-” 

            “You can say ‘what if’ as much as you want. I’m here, now do you want to do this or not?” She slowly unbuttoned the first of six buttons on her shirt.

            “I would if we had our usual meeting spot. But not here.” He said, eyes never leaving the path entrance. 

            “Wait.” She sounded confused. “In your text, you said we could, even if you acted like this. I don’t have all day; I need to get back to class.”

            “What.?” Confusion crept across his body, intermingled with the Goosebumps of realization. 

            “What did the woman look like?” he suddenly blurted out.


            “The woman walking the dog. What did she look like??” 

             Umm.. average height, slender, long blonde hair. Quite gorgeous hair in fact.”

            “You need to leave now. Right fucking now.”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “My wife has long brown hair.” He revealed. He knew the girl to be his neighbor, she often walked their dog. 

            “But you sent a text on Snapchat?”

            “I misplaced my phone this morning. I haven’t seen it all day.”

            Horror gripped Ed as he saw a familiar hand extend and grip the bicep of his mistress’ right arm. She screamed, lurching forward in fright, the tip of a thick butchers knife exploded out the front of her throat. Blood discharged from the wound, gushing down her slender throat traveling to her bosom and beyond. 

            Wide-eyed, shocked, and on the verge of hyperventilation; panic settled into Ed.

           The knife tip retracted through her neck with a sickening slither. The familiar hand clutching her right arm let go and the body stood for a second, staring at Ed, then crumpled to the floor. 

            Standing in her place, was the expressionless face of his wife. 

            Still gasping short rapid breaths, Ed stared into the now unfamiliar eyes of his wife of twenty years.

            “I love you.” Was all she said. 

            She looked down at the deceased body and knelt next to it. She began slowly slicing the right arm, at the elbow, just below the portion she had been holding. The amount of blood astounded Ed. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t move; his legs would not listen to any command his brain gave. He just stared. 

            His wife had reached the elbow joint. She jammed the tip of the knife into the crossroads of the Radius, Ulna, and Humerus. Wiggling the knife backward and forward, she was able to easily snap the bones out of place; one by one. 

            Watching in stunned horror, Ed saw her sever the rest of the arm and pick it off the ground. She casually strolled to the kitchen, blood leaking out of the grotesque limb. She pulled out a pan, turned on the stove, drizzled in some olive oil, and put the severed arm in place. As the heat rose, the arm began to sizzle. Ed watched on, paralyzed. 

            Ed slowly became aware of the smell, it tantalized him. He had never smelt anything like that before. ‘What is wrong with me?’ He asked himself as he found his mouth-watering; stomach growling. 

            He observed his wife seasoning the arm and turning it on each side. 

            Walking over to the head of the table, Ed took his seat. 

            Once the arm was cooked through, his wife grabbed plates, cutlery, napkins, and condiments, just like she did every night when preparing the table for dinner. 

            The arm smelt amazing to Ed. He was feverishly hungry now. 

            He watched his wife bring the arm over and plate it in the center of the table. She gave him a carving knife and sat down. He looked at the knife, then back at her. 

            “I love you.” He said, a sly grin creeping across his face. 

            He stood up, now having free use of his limbs again, bent over the arm, and carved it like a thanksgiving turkey. 

            The female body, still crumpled on the living room floor, oozed fresh blood over the hardwood floors. 

Ed and his wife said grace. 

Leave a Reply