A Day of Love

  Francis Beaker was a short, stocky man, likened to a smiling meatball on legs. He was amiable, gregarious and all-around loved by his friends, cohorts, family and neighbors. And his wife, his wife was usually the subject of jealous whisperings of other housewives, the prettiest on the blocks - or, indeed, several blocks. They got along well; Francis never raised his voice or a finger to Michelle, nor she him, and he always let her get her way, spoiling his wife with gifts upon gifts upon gifts.
   But all was not well. Michelle Beaker was having an affair with the lawn-keeper. It was known to many in the neighborhood, seemingly all except Francis. But in actuality, he was merely keeping it to himself; he had known about the affair and happenstance for a long while now. He was a quiet man who kept to himself, seeking peace above strife, and would so deal with it as he saw fit.
   He came home one day, on Valentine's Day, a batch of roses and a case of chocolates in one hand, a glass of imported French wine in the other. He entered the house quietly, wishing to surprise his love. So he set the goods down on their coffee table in the state room and crept up the stairs as stealthily as his gait would permit him and he stole away into the bedroom, which was empty, though the built-in bathroom's door was open, belching forth great plumes of steam from the active shower. He smiled softly, for it was a day of love and he was glad to be with the one he loved most.
   He entered the bathroom and quietly opened the medicine cabinet there, pulling out his grandfather's old fashioned straightedge razor. He flipped it open with a steely click and drew close to the alabaster shower curtains. The soft hum of his wife's voice came from within, mingling with the sound of running water and the hiss of steam. Growing bold, he seized the curtains and threw them aside and took to his wife with the razor, hacking in wide, broad slashes. When he was done, the tub water was a livid scarlet with her blood, the pretty Michelle unrecognizable by the brutality of her husband's attack.
    Francis Beaker was a peaceful man and dealt with things as he saw fit.

Reviews

[Bare trees]

Wild! This was really good. It smells of Alfred Hitchcock yet has its own voice. I like the calmness he exudes during the story until the end when he lets loose. Great write in the horror genre.