Honey, We Have to... Burn the Bitch

Honey, We Have to... Burn the Bitch

© Ribnitin, 2025

My entry in the 750-word challenge.

It was supposed to be a quiet Saturday afternoon. I spent the morning mowing the lawn, changing the AC filter and doing other mindless chores that come with home ownership. Sweaty and grumpy, I went upstairs for a shower. I planned to spend a few hours reading online erotica; it always ramped me up for a good time with Sherri, my wife of sixteen years. Sometimes we tried things from stories: cuffs, gags, ropes...

Not that I needed extra inspiration to make love with my beautiful wife. She had nothing sagging from giving birth to our two children. Both were at sleep-away camp, giving us lots of time for frolicking. Unfortunately, a variety of crises at work had sapped my energy during the week, and household chores exhausted me on the weekend. Sherri hadn't complained, but let me know she wanted more action. Hence the online erotica.

When I came out of the shower, Sherri was in the middle of getting undressed. I couldn't understand why she was taking off her clothes in the middle of the day, unless she was getting ready to mess around. I went to my closet, grabbed a t-shirt and shorts, and turned around to discover that she had put on one of her nicer dresses. The surprise on my face was obvious. The grumpiness from my chores, less so.

"Why are you dressing up, Sherri?"

She smiled, walked over to me, and took my hand. "Honey, we have to talk."

I've read that story, I've read a hundred of them. I stepped over to my bureau and pulled out the handcuffs we sometimes played with.

"Maybe later, George. We don't have time for that now."

"We'll make time," I barked. I cuffed her hand, then dragged her over to the bathroom, and snapped the other cuff onto a towel bar.

"What are you doing, George?" There was fear in her voice. "He's coming in fifteen minutes. Let me go! We have to talk."

"Sure, let's talk." I walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Wow, Sherri had some nerve, inviting her lover over, giving me only fifteen minutes notice. I went to my gun safe, pulled out and loaded my.22 pistol. It wasn't a powerful weapon, but it was enough to defend my house and family. It would do for now. I sat down in the living room, waiting for the guest.

He was right on schedule. The young man, dressed in a suit and holding a briefcase extended his hand. "Mr. Mirvis? Nice to meet you." I took his hand and pulled him inside, closing the door. "Will Mrs. M--" His expression changed as he saw the gun pointed at his chest.

"On your knees! Open your mouth!" I shoved the gun between his teeth, then used the barrel to tilt his head backward. This was another thing I learned from those stories: shooting downward into his gut kept the mess contained inside his body. There would be less to clean. I knew I was being silly as I pulled the trigger. The mess would not be my concern.

An end table had matches in the drawer. I lit one and held it to the living room drapes. I lit another and held it to a shelf holding serious-looking books that we never read. I lit one more match and threw it on the carpet just for good measure. I could hear Sherri's muffled screams and smiled. She had said we had to talk. I think I expressed myself clearly.

This didn't feel right. I had a queasy feeling as I leaned against the wall. I looked at the corpse, I listened to my wife, and inhaled the smoke. I knelt on the floor of the vestibule, my mind exploding. I put the gun in my mouth, pointed upward, and pulled the trigger.

++++

"Mrs. Mirvis, I'm Detective Wolff and this is Inspector Shore of the Arson Squad. The doctor told us the extent of your burns and asked us not to stress you. Can you tell us what happened?"

"My mother-in-law is too weak to live alone. I spoke to a Senior's Living Consultant about what would be her best option. We made an appointment for him to talk to George and me about her choices, but I didn't mention it to my husband until that afternoon. When I tried to tell him..." She broke out sobbing.

"I'm sorry, she's too weak. I'll call you when she's stronger."