Read the conclusion of my short story, "The Man Who Cuckolded Himself"
Part 4 (the conclusion) of my short story “The Man Who Cuckolded Himself” is now posted at Terror House Magazine.
What follows is an excerpt from part 4 (the conclusion). The portion may be read in full here.
Like Poe’s unnamed murderous narrator in “The Telltale Heart,” who tormented his elderly charge by sneaking into his room and making presence felt several nights in a row, that the poor man might know an escalating sense of horror, in order that his eventual killing would become all the more delectable for the sadistic narrator, so, with predatory stealth, did I dwell near my young wife without actually initiating any sort of contact. I rode with her to her kindergarten job, but always in the backseat; I stood (invisibly) next to her in class; I accompanied her and my young self at mealtimes, unobtrusively occupying an empty chair at the table; I propped myself up on the sink as she showered, then stood in the corner of the bathroom and watched her apply makeup in the morning.
The only occasions in which I made sure to remove myself was when she and my younger self engaged in marital relations. I withdrew during these moments in order that my ineffable absence might be felt just as keenly as my ineffable presence was during all of those other times; just as absence can “make the heart grow fonder,” it can, under certain circumstances, exorbitantly inflame the loins.
Though I little reflected upon what I was doing during this interval, I never deviated from course. What motivated me to embark upon such a ruinous gambit, given my strange and surreal state of consciousness, finding myself living as a phantom in the past (or some form or fashion of said “past,” anyway), dwelling invisibly among my younger self and his younger wife? Why, while finding myself in such a curious circumstance, did I wish to pull my wife away from the affections of my own oblivious youthful self, years before that tragic loss of affection took place in the timeline of my own memory?
Oddly, I never questioned myself on these matters. I rather sensed a certain intimation of inevitability, and found myself propelled along by something that felt a bit like destiny.
XI.
My young wife was clearly growing more agitated with each passing day. Though she certainly didn’t comprehend things fully (and even wondered at intervals if she were losing her mind), she knew that something was seriously amiss. As for my younger self, however, he remained blissfully ignorant. I was incredulous, in fact, at how little he comprehended the developing disaster that threatened to obliterate everything that he took for granted.
Then again, had I myself not been just such a man? Having my wife grow totally disillusioned with me was not an eventuality that I had ever contemplated as even a remote possibility, until, to my dismay and incredulity, it wound up happening. Maybe the “me” in this “past” would learn the exact same lesson, but sooner, and perhaps that would be the best thing for the poor, deluded lad.
By shamelessly indulging in such carelessly callous sentiments, I disregarded the very one for whom I had shed such copious tears of pity and compassion upon our initial “meeting”: namely, myself. In fact, I gave him very little thought from this point forward; all of my faculties were instead determinedly focused upon the task of becoming the consuming obsession of my young wife.
I knew things were building to a crescendo; I needed to be patient, and allow events to run their course. I was in no hurry: time was on my side.
In fact, I wouldn’t have to wait much longer at all.
Read all of part 4 (conclusion) of “The Man Who Cuckolded Himself” here
Read all of part 3 of “The Man Who Cuckolded Himself” here
Read all of part 2 of “The Man Who Cuckolded Himself” here
Read all of part 1 of “The Man Who Cuckolded Himself” here