Old Habits are Hard to Break

This is something written in a writing class several years ago, a short story in the horror category. JohnnyGalt helped tune it up. My thinks. No sex except inferred.

Old Habits are Hard to Break

"Norma told me that Betty's husband, Frank, left her for a younger woman," Frieda said. "Can you imagine that? After twenty-nine years of marriage, - boom - he's gone. She gave him the best years of her life and he throws her away like an old dish rag for some floozie with boobs. Is that fair?"

Frieda expected no answer. Ernest, or Ernie, as he was known to his friends, retired seven years previously. He told her after the retirement dinner that 'he'd done his time in the salt mines, and wasn't going to do it any more,' and he was a man of his word. He subscribed to the Wall Street Journal for financial news, the Washington Post for political and national news, and the Miami Herald, for local news, and spent a good part of the day at the kitchen table, reading all three, front to back.

"I'm not going to become an ignorant jerk like all those other retirees," he had said. "I'm going to stay informed and on top of things."

And so he did, although as he rarely spoke with anyone else, his wealth of information was generally unknown. At least, he did not sit in front of the TV all day. He no longer exercised, but he nibbled on his food, so other than a small potbelly, he looked pretty good. His once thick, brown hair was thinner, shot through with gray, and somewhat scraggly since he refused to pay ten or more dollars for a haircut. Frieda cut it for him and she never claimed to be a hairstylist.

Frieda had put on a few pounds herself over the years, but Ernie did not seem to mind. Her hair was still mostly glossy black hair, with a few strands of silver mixed in, bright brown eyes and a bit of a figure, although it all sagged more than she liked. She talked about having her face lifted to rid herself of the lines and creases the years gifted her with. Ernie wouldn't hear of it.

"Those wrinkles are a sign of character," he said. "They prove that you've overcome all that life has thrown at you, from a miserable husband to ungrateful kids."

He was not all that miserable, really. He still came to bed after the news, about an hour after she retired and wrapped her in his arms. Occasionally, he would want more. About once a week, usually on Friday, Ernie would pull up the bottom of her nightgown and slide into her, slowly thrusting until he was finished. Unlike the beginning, the excitement was not quite there anymore. But it pleased her to hear the quickening of his breath, the small gasps of his completion, and submit to his tender caresses afterward as they spooned, front to back.

It felt good that Ernie still needed her. Many of her friends either had no sex life, or their husband had left them for younger women, like Frank. Why, just last night, he was feeling his oats. She accepted him into her body and rocked slowly, back and forth, under his gentle prodding until it was over. She needed to speak to him about his hygiene, however. He smelled a little strong last night, like he forgot to shower for several days.

Except for the riffling of pages, the occasional disgusted grunts when he read something that upset him, or when he forced himself to respond to something she said, Ernie was quiet. Frieda accepted the silence as normal. There was the quiet satisfaction of his company as recompense.

Frieda filled the stillness with endless commentary about the neighbors, picked up from her daily conversations with Norma, the gossip maven of the retirement village. Ernie seemed to accept her noise, just as she accepted his reticence.

Ernie would let her know he had half an ear cocked in her direction with an occasional "uh-huh," or "yes, dear." If she really wanted a response from him, she usually had to rattle the newspaper a bit.

"Are you listening to me?" she would say.

"Of course, dear," he would answer back. "I always listen to you."

Except he usually didn't unless she got his attention first, or she couldn't tell if she had it.

It bothered her a little, she admitted to herself, but his quiet companionship was better than his running off with a younger woman. Where would she be without Ernie? Just a lonely, bitter old woman, like Betty. Poor Betty! She deserved better than Frank, but where would she find it at her age.

That would be the worst thing; being alone. She told Ernie ten years ago that he better not ever leave her. That if he did, he might as well kill her before he left, because she would die if left alone.

Ernie had laughed. "You don't have to worry about that, honey. No one else would want me and I don't want to be alone any more than you."

"What if you die before I do?" Frieda asked, reassured.

"Then I'll hang around until you're ready to go yourself."

"I'm serious, Ernie. I don't want to be left behind."

"I know you're serious. So am I. You can have me stuffed and set me in the kitchen here by the window. Stick a paper in my hand and you'll never know I'm gone."

She punched him lightly on the arm, smiling. Ernie had picked up his paper and gone back to reading, giving a little 'ouch', a few minutes later in a delayed reaction to her playful blow.

They had been together a long time, having gotten married while they were both still teenagers. They were stuck in their ways, no doubt, yet Frieda still worried that something would happen. Every time she heard about another wayward husband, it brought back her fears of being alone.

Ernie was not like that, of course. Staying in all the time, when would he ever meet another woman? The time to be worried, was before he retired, when he had secretaries, and meetings and stenographers around every day. There had never been a hint that Ernie was interested in another woman, and Frieda thought she would know. Still, it never hurt for a woman to be reassured every so often.

"Honey, did you hear me?" Frieda asked.

The paper rustled as he turned the page.

"Ernie, Frank left Betty for another woman. You would never leave me, would you?"

It sounded like he mumbled, "Uh-uh."

Maybe he was paying attention, but she was never sure when he had a paper in his face. Frieda reached over and pulled the paper down.

She screamed.

It looked vaguely like Ernie. The eyes were sunken lifelessly into the sockets; his cheeks gaunt and tightly stretched over the bones like the pictures of starving POWs after the war. The lips had started to peel back so that the teeth seemed to protrude from his mouth. There was a fly buzzing on the inside of his mouth, finally landing on his tongue and rubbing its front legs together. The definite odor of rot and decay filled the air, to the point that Frieda wondered how she'd not smelled it before.

"Don't faint," she told herself. "You've to to get out of the house. You have to do something."

Frieda took off her apron and ran on tired old legs to Norma's house, right next door.

She began pounding on the door, panting and out of breath, as much from shock as the run.

"Norma, open up! Norma! Open up please, oh please, God, something has happened to Ernie."

Norma pulled the door open.

"Thank God you're home," Frieda said. "Call the police! Call an ambulance! Something is wrong with Ernie."

"Come in, Frieda, come in," Norma said. "I'll call. Don't you worry about a thing. It's as good as done now. Sit down. You're breathing so hard. Did you run over here?"

"Please call, right away. I'm so worried for him. He looked dead, Norma! He looked dead? I've been talking to him in the kitchen and I think he's dead!"

"Don't worry, Frieda. I'll take care of everything. You just sit here. The police will be here in a jiffy."

Norma went into her kitchen to use the phone. Frieda sat there wondering if she should have done something. Maybe she should have given him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But she never really learned how. What do you do when someone dies in your kitchen?

The place arrived about fifteen minutes later. By that time, Frieda had gotten a little of her breath back and went out on the front lawn of Norma's house to meet them.

"Hi, my name is Tony, and this is my partner, Mike. What seems to be the problem?"

"I think my husband is dead at the kitchen table," Frieda replied. "I was just talking to him and I pulled the paper down and he looked like he was dead."

"Did he have a heart attack?" Mike asked.

"I don't know. We were talking. Everything seemed all right, and I pulled his paper down so I could see his face and he...he."

Frieda began to cry. Norma had followed Frieda outside and she put her arms around her.

"He looked like someone from the Nazi death camps," she sobbed. "Like one of the survivors, except I don't think he was breathing, and there was a fly in his mouth."

"Okay, ma'am. Why don't you go in the house with your friend. We'll check on him. Which house is it?"

"Right next door," Norma replied, pointing. "Did you leave the door unlocked, Frieda?"

Frieda nodded, still sobbing, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.

The officers approached to house cautiously. One of them pulled the door open and the definite odor of death drifted out of the opening.

"Oh yeah. Definitely a dead person in here," Mike said.

"Shit! Smells like he's been gone for more than a little while." Tony replied.

"The kitchen wasn't it?"

"Yeah, the table I think she said."

They stepped into the kitchen and found the body seated at the table, today's Washington Post in his hands. They pulled the paper down and stared at the cadaver. A couple of flies buzzed around the gaping mouth and nostrils.

"Hell! He's got to be gone for a week at least. How in the world did that woman stand the stench?"

Frieda and Norma had followed the officers in through the front door a few seconds after they entered. Frieda was standing at the kitchen door staring at her husband.

"Ma'am, I've got to ask you," Tony said, "how long did you say he's been dead?"

"When I got up this morning, he'd already gotten the days papers, and he was reading them here at the table. I made us both breakfast, just toast and coffee, and he didn't eat much of either."

Mike glanced in the sink and saw dirty dishes for two people and the trash contained a half eaten slice of toast.

"Then I called Norma after breakfast, and we talked about this other couple in the neighborhood where the husband left his wife."

Norma nodding her head in agreement.

"What couple is that?" Tony asked.

"One of our neighbors left his wife for a younger woman after 29 years of marriage," Norma said. "We talked about that."

"After hanging up, I started talking to Ernie about it," Frieda said. "Well, mostly I talk and Ernie listens, but he grunts, or says 'yes, dear,' every so often to let me know he's listening."

"Ernie is the deceased?" Mike asked.

"Yes. Ernie's my husband."

Mike looked around the body some more and peered at the face. There seemed to be toast crumbs around his mouth.

Tony said, "I don't think it's possible you were talking to Ernie today. He's been dead at least a week, maybe closer to ten days. Don't you smell how bad he stinks. That's decay. His body is rotting. Has been for some time."

"That's just not possible," Frieda said. "I know he got the newspapers this morning. Look, he's reading today's paper. I didn't get them. I haven't left the house until I went to Norma's and we called you."

"Has anyone else seen him in the last week?" Mike asked.

"I thought I saw him a couple mornings ago," Norma volunteered. "Of course, it was early and still fairly dark, but I'm pretty sure it was Ernie. Whoever it was wore Ernie's clothes and waved at me like Ernie does."

Mike tried moving Ernie's arm. It was stiff and resisted any pressure he put on it. Rigor mortis should have ended a couple days ago, at least. He didn't understand why it refused to move.

"Listen," Tony said, "the coroner has got the final say on time of death, but I've seen a few dead ones in my time, and this one's been gone a week, at least. There's no question in my mind."

"Why that's just ridiculous, young man. My Ernie came to bed last night and put his arms around me just like always."

She glanced at the body.

"He was even feeling a little frisky and we had..."

Frieda stared at his sunken eyes, the yellowing, protruding teeth, the flies circling around, and fainted dead away, crumpling and spiraling gracefully to the floor before anyone could reach her.

******

The ambulance came and took Frieda away, and Norma went home to call a few of the neighbors with the exciting news about today's events.

Mike and Tony were pondering the same.

"Did you hear what the old lady was screaming when the ambulance took her away?" Mike asked.

"Hard not to. Something about having sex with the dead guy last night."

"Kinda spooky, huh?"

"No one could complain he didn't give her a stiff one, though," Tony replied.

"Tony, you're warped, you know that?"

"Tell me something I don't know."

"So what do you think really happened?" Mike asked.

"My guess is the old geezer died a week or so back. They've been married so long she couldn't bear the thought of being alone, so she snapped. She started pretending that he was still here, putting food out for him, bringing the paper in and sticking it in his hands. Probably died right there at the table. That's where he spent most of his time, according to the neighbor."

"Pretty weird, huh? How the mind plays tricks on you?"

"Yeah. What did you do with the body anyway?" Tony asked.

"I laid it out on the living room floor," Mike said. "His fingers were gripping the paper so tight, I could barely pry it out of his hands. The coroner is sending someone over to pick up the body now. We might as well take off and do the paperwork on this one. Be interesting to get the report and find out how long he's really been dead."

"How are they going to get into the house?" Tony asked.

"The neighbor, Norma, said she'd keep an eye out for the hearse and let them in when they get here. She's got a key, for checking on the house when they were gone, visiting the kids."

"Then let's go. The old guy is stinking the place up."

*****

Norma opened up the door and let the two men from the coroner's office in, then went home to prepare supper for her husband. The two men looked in the living room for the body, and didn't see it anywhere.

"Didn't the police say they were leaving the body in the living room?"

"That's what they told me."

"Well, it's obvious he isn't here and the door was locked, so he's got to be around here someplace. Where the hell is he?"

"Let's look, maybe I misheard."

They went through the dining room and into the kitchen.

"Look at that. They got some real sick bastards on the police force now. Used to be they showed a little respect for the dead."

"Lighten up. It's just a joke. The stiff doesn't care anymore."

Ernie was seated at the kitchen table, paper stuck in his hands, the breeze blowing through the window riffling the pages.