Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror by David Bernstein

belt, but the man had never lifted a hand to his
face. The hatred in his father’s eyes was frightening, worse than
any punishment he’d ever been given. Holding his hand to his
blistering cheek, Billy watched as his father rose from his chair
and cocked back his fist.
    “Howard,” his mother yelled.
    “We have to protect the family. We have a
daughter. Remember her? The one away at college?”
    Billy shrank back, confused. What the hell
were his parents talking about? Protect the family? He closed his
eyes as his father’s fist came at him. The impact was like a steel
pipe colliding with his head before everything went black.
    He awoke upright, his head bruised and
pounding. Opening his eyes, he saw hundreds of people standing
before him, all staring with somber faces. They were the adults
from the neighborhood. He tried moving, but found his arms were
tied around a wooden post behind his back. His ankles too. Two
torches, alight with flame, stood a few feet to either side of him.
Night had fallen, the sky was clear, the stars shining bright. The
air was humid, and the gentle breeze that was blowing did little to
relieve the heat emanating from Billy’s body. His father stood
before him.
    “Let this night be a lesson to us all,” he
said.
    “Dad . . .” Billy said, eyes beginning to
tear.
    “Keep yourselves and your children away from
the lake. Let the wanderers and outsiders supply the Mogroth with
food. The pact must not be broken. We’ve stopped having to
sacrifice our own by letting the creature take outsiders.”
    “Dad, what the hell is going on?” Billy
asked, crying and struggling against his bindings.
    “You will be quiet, boy,” his father said,
slapping him across the face. His father turned to face the crowd.
“We must be vigil in our lives and honor the pact our fathers and
their fathers before them made.” He observed the crowd, catching
the eyes of many.
    “This,” he pointed to his son. “This is what
will happen to your children if you don’t keep them away.” Half the
onlookers appeared frightened, others angered. “Or worse, the
creature will curse us all, leaving our lands and families in
ruin.” He raised a fist in the air. “Have you forgotten the history
of our community?”
    The neighborhood knew well the story of its
past. Shortly after the village’s forefathers settled the land the
people began dying. Children didn’t live past the age of four.
Crops and commerce all but ceased as if the lands were cursed.
Something needed to be done.
    The people prayed at church on Sundays, but
nothing ever changed until a witch came to town. She was passing
through, had made plans to stay, but said it was a place of evil.
The town’s elders begged her for help, which was unusual, as most
witches were driven away or worse, killed.
    The witch told the town’s elders that a
powerful spell would be needed to keep the evil at bay. She
gathered a sample of blood from every town resident and made her
spell. Using one of the dead and a water serpent, she created the
Mogroth.
    The Mogroth was a supernatural creature that
lived in lakes and swamps, surviving on human flesh. The town would
need to sacrifice a human to it at least once every four months, a
small price to pay. In doing so the town’s residence would never
become sick. Cancer, influenza, plague and all other ailments would
never befall them. Their children would grow up healthy and live to
an old age and business would always be profitable. The witch
warned them against ever raising a hand to the creature, for the
consequences would be dire. If a town resident ever meant to harm
the Mogroth then that individual would have to be sacrificed to the
creature or the entire town would fall into ruin. Incurable disease
would befall everyone, crops would die, and prosperity would cease.
No matter where they fled, the curse would follow them until
death.
    Having given the crowd time to reflect,
Howard continued. “Let this sacrifice keep