Horror - Short

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious and any similarities to actual persons, locations, or events is coincidental. This work cannot be used to train artificial intelligence programs.  No AI tools were used in the writing of this story.

All rights reserved. Obey and We'll Be Happy Copyright © Eddie Generous 2026

OBEY AND WE’LL BE HAPPY

Macy stood at the jewelry counter of Sears, feeling melancholy and pointless. She was nursing a shocking, unexpected parting from her boyfriend of three years. A pain she’d never felt before.

There’d been a pipe burst at work a week ago, and though it did not affect her department, the store was closed early. She arrived at their apartment, bubbly over the surprise afternoon off, with a pizza from Luigi’s and a liter of Coca-Cola in a weepy glass bottle. She’d opened her mouth to call out to Wayne, her boyfriend who long-hauled pigs across the country but had four days off just then, and closed her mouth when she heard the animalistic grunting of a woman.

She did not want to see but had to see, and what she saw, hardly demands explanation. Wayne didn’t even try to explain himself, even went so far as asking her to leave so that he and Brenda could have a little privacy. Macy being who she was, did leave, going to the park around the corner of the apartment building to eat pizza she wouldn’t recall eating and drink pop she wouldn’t recall drinking. Strangely, she did recall a newspaper page that stopped at her bench before blowing by, a headline declaring that Carrie Fisher and Paul Simon were through.

Her emotions roiled like waves beneath clashing stormfronts. Eventually—granted only seven days had passed—she settled on melancholy and pointless. Who was she without Wayne? Most of their friends were his. Most nights they went out were up to his having an idea. Without him, Macy felt like she was nothing more than a peg set to a hole, ringing up customers and going home to feed her cat, McGavin.

“Excuse me, any chance I can ring this through your till? There’s a mean line out front.”

Macy lifted her head and met the dreamy brown gaze of a tall man in a fine suit. He was fidgety and seemed nervous. She wondered how a man so good-looking and so well-dressed could possibly be nervous. Men like this owned the world, and most times, they damned well knew it.

Macy took the four-slot stainless-steel toaster and checked the tag.

“It’s for my wife. It’s her birthday.”

Macy, overwrought and exhausted, tittered, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s twenty-six bucks. Best toaster you have.”

“Sure,” Macy said, and when she met the man’s now defeated looking eyes, she laughed again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Is it bad?”

Macy took a deep breath to halt any untoward reactions. “Not if she loves toast.” The helpful breath became moot as Macy burst into uproarious laughter.

The man, his hands shaking, lifted the toaster from the glass counter. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what kind of gift I should buy her.”

The fun drained away at the pain and discomfort clear in the man’s expression. Macy knew of wives who did this to husbands and wondered just what kind of woman could do this to a man with so much going for him.

“Please,” he added.

“Well, you can get her the toaster, but you also need to get her more frivolous things. Flowers, perfume, chocolates, things like that.”

He nodded slowly. “Can I leave this here—what kind of perfume?”

“I’ll watch this,” Macy said, putting a hand on the toaster. And now, she needed him to come back so that she could check on his gift progress—this man was proving himself a fantastic distraction from the gaping hole in her life. “You’ll have to smell some to choose.”

“There’s hundreds!”

Macy nearly laughed again.

“What do you wear?” the man said, leaning in to smell her. He took a great inhalation through his nose. “You smell wonderful.”

Macy blushed. “I’m not…that’s just my shampoo.”

Perfume had become a luxury item the moment Wayne cleaned out his things and left her the sole household income earner. She had a bottle on the go, but until things steadied concerning her budget, it would have to be saved for special occasions.

“Oh.”

“But…Charlie’s good, by Revlon. My favorite ever is Coco. Whenever there’s an ad sample…” Macy trailed, blushing.

The man was nodding. “Okay. Okay, and what kind of chocolates?”

“Anything in a box or a tin, really. And before you ask, we don’t sell flowers, not real ones.”

The man scrunched his cheeks in a squint. “That’s okay, though, right? Perfume and chocolates and the toaster’s good?”

Macy said that it was. Half an hour later, the man reappeared with two boxes of Laura Secord chocolates and two bottles of Coco by Chanel.

“She’ll love these,” Macy said as she tabulated the total: $131.94.

The man put one box of chocolates and one bottle of perfume on top of the toaster after paying and accepting his change. He then pushed the two remaining boxes toward Macy.

“Thank you,” he said, then added, “You’re very beautiful.”

—

“I’m sure he’ll be back.”

Macy was in the breakroom eating a tuna sandwich and chatting with Kendra from the cosmetics department. Kendra was twice divorced and went very few weekends without a date, often having two dates with two different men in the matter of two nights. Compared to Macy, Kendra was the Einstein of the opposite sex.

“How can you be so sure?” Macy said.

“No man spends that kind of dough on a stranger without expecting something, eventually. He planted seeds and he’s waiting for you to grow.”

Macy huffed. “He’s married.”

“As if that ever stopped a man before.”

“I don’t even know his name and he doesn’t even know mine.”

Kendra popped a striped candy into her mouth before standing. “He’ll be back. Trust me, he’ll be back.”

—

Macy glanced to her watch, then to the doors outside. It was a miserable day: cold, rainy, and windy. People were walking by the doors on a lean, hidden behind umbrellas that could only abysmally impede the rain’s slantways effort. She felt cold all over.

“Can I give you a ride home, when your shift’s done?”

Macy turned and there he was. He wore a long woolen peacoat with water drops dappling the shoulders. The smart move would’ve been to say no.

“Okay, I’m off in eighteen minutes.”

The man nodded, nearly bowing. “I shall return.”

He did return and Macy had to swallow a swarm of butterflies parading up her throat as she clocked out. On her way by, Kendra gave Macy a gentle elbow and a playful smirk.

“I’m Sidney, by the way. Sidney Blue,” the man said a moment before opening his umbrella and pulling Macy close by his side.

Macy was about to offer her own name but realized he’d almost certainly read it on her nametag. She instead said, “Hello, Sidney Blue.”

He gave her a timid smile then pushed open the door. Immediately, the weather battered them. No words were spoken all the way to his car: a Lincoln Continental. Macy fell onto the plush seat after Sidney opened the door, and before he could go around and get in, she felt the soft, soft leather. It was like a fine jacket rather than a car seat. The moment the door opened, her hands went to her lap.

“Do you like coffee and pie?” he said.

Of course she did; who didn’t? Sidney drove them to a small diner not far from her apartment called Ginger’s. They each shook out a coat before sitting. She asked what kind of pie he liked, her mouth moving automatically to fill the weighty silence threatening to build between them.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said.

Of the four options, Boston cream was her favorite and he smiled at her, revealing teeth white as pearls. She blushed. His presence felt like a light beam, somehow heavy and all too revealing. She lowered her face and on the way down saw his wedding band. A little of her fluster crashed and died.

A waitress came by. She was plump with enough moustache that even a nun would’ve felt the sting of pride to pluck. Macy gave her order and Sidney asked for the same. The woman left and was back in less than a minute. The pie looked fantastic and the coffee smelled wonderful.

With something else to focus on and keep her grounded, Macy decided it was best to do away with the elephant sitting in some other room, some other building, and yet, there all the same.

“You’re married. What does your wife think of you taking out women from the jewelry department?”

At the mention of his wife, Sidney paled and his demeanor shifted. He became fidgety and nervous.

“She doesn’t know,” he said after five long seconds of silence between them. He began studying a bit of pie he’d carved from the slice. “It’s complicated with her.”

Macy suddenly felt in charge, suddenly felt like sticking it to this man for being just the kind of man Wayne had been—maybe. “Explain it to me, because it really seems like you’re out looking for side action.”

Sidney lifted his face, his expression agonized. Macy now felt very guilty for her assumption, felt awful about being so brash. This man was not Wayne, had done nothing but be more than nice to her.

“She’s…sick.”

Now Macy felt even worse. “Ah, geez, I’m sorry.”

He waved her away. “Let’s not talk about her. Let’s talk about you.”

And they did. She told him about her upbringing, an only child to an insurance salesman who’d died of cirrhosis and a maid from the town’s Marriot who let a pack and a half a day habit of Player’s Lights carry her into eventual oblivion. She got to Wayne and glossed over her heartbreak and the unwelcome changes to her life. She explained how she’d gone from high school directly to Sears and that someday she thought she might go to community college or night school, but for what, she didn’t know. Lastly, she got to McGavin who was waiting at home for her to come fill his dish.

Sidney offered up but a modicum in comparison. He was a scientist working in a field she was sure to find boring—she’d eventually get out of him that it involved autonomous mechanics…whatever that meant. He said his parents lived on the East Coast, both holding doctorates—one a psychologist and the other a geologist. He lived north of the city—Macy could guess the neighbourhood by how flippantly he described being a scientist, and by his attire, and by his car, and by the gifts he’d bought her seemingly effortlessly.

More than an hour after taking their seats, Sidney offered to drive Macy home. Once into the apartment building’s parking lot, Macy invited Sidney upstairs for a drink. Though she’d been heartbroken by Wayne, it was the physical presence of a man she’d missed lately.

“All right,” Sidney said as he pulled between the faded and deteriorated white lines of a visitor parking space.

—

Macy watched him leave, his silhouette like a ghost in the moonlight pouring through her bedroom window. He put on his shoes, his coat, rattled his keys as he walked. Once she heard the door close, she giggled, then screamed a little, kicking her mattress beneath her in glee. Never had a man of Sidney’s caliber ever taken her out, and certainly none had ever shared her bed.

That was the closest Sidney ever came to spending the night.

—

They saw Ghostbusters, Gremlins, Cannonball Run, The Karate Kid, Star Trek III, and Revenge of the Nerds inside an eight-week courtship. They went on picnics. They went on two trips: Seattle and Banff. Sidney bought her things, nice things like jewelry and flowers, but also useful things like new shoes and groceries.

They always ended up back in her apartment, and always he left before midnight. She begged, cajoled, made wild offers of a sexual nature.

“I love you, I do, but I can’t stay. I’m married,” he said, eyes moist with emotion.

“Just leave her,” Macy said, her own tears budding. “Leave her and marry me!”

“I’m sorry.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to demand him out of her life for good, but she never voiced it, didn’t dare. He was the best thing in her life for as far back as she could remember. Better than Wayne by a longshot. Better than the three men she’d dated before Wayne. Better than all the stolen kisses at high school dances.

At work, Kendra was little help, simply because she did not understand the depth of the connection that had been made.

“Give him the ultimatum. He’ll dangle you along forever if you don’t.”

Macy could only shake her head to this. It felt like betting your home and job on the Canucks to win. What happened when he held firm?

“It’s not the worst thing, to be a…mistress,” Macy said, feeling the exact opposite.

Kendra huffed. “That wife of his must be something.” The way she said this was almost a question, almost a challenge.

“I guess.”

Kendra’s jaw dropped. “You don’t know?”

Macy shook her head. Sidney had made it clear that she would never meet his wife, as she was housebound, and Macy must never, ever visit his home.

“Why not?”

“He forbade it,” Macy said, face downturned, suddenly embarrassed for what might seem like a weakness when really it was a strength. To keep from driving to his house and snooping took a tremendous effort on her part.

“Girl, he doesn’t own you. You can go anywhere—say, I’ve got the car today, let’s go see his marital nest.”

Macy was incapable of saying no. It reminded her of the first time she drank vodka, coaxed into action by a fellow thirteen-year-old. That night ended in tears and vomit.

—

“He lives in this house?” Kendra said.

They were parked on the street with the windows down and the engine off. The August heat was pleasantly moderate and the humidity was low. There were no kids on the block. The lots were all three and four times the size of lots everywhere else in town.

“This house?” Kendra said again.

Everybody had seen the huge place with sterile grey paint, a tall wooden fence around the yard, and wrought iron gates. Many called it the fortress; others called it Hitler’s Compound. Nobody knew anything about the inhabitants, so they made it all up.

“You’re sure it’s this house?”

“It’s what was on his license,” Macy said, shrugging almost to her ears.

—

133 days after meeting Sidney, Macy dreamed she’d taken a stand and Sidney crumbled beneath her will. He promised he’d leave his wife, but Macy had to break the news to the woman. Macy was suddenly standing at the yawning gates of Sidney’s home. She knocked on the door, pounded on it with righteous wrath. The door opened. The woman, Sidney’s wife, had no face, otherwise she was identical to Macy herself. The sight was so jarring that Macy rocketed from bed.

It couldn’t be put off any longer, especially not with the happy accident now growing in her womb. She would simply take a cab and visit Sidney’s home to meet her competition.

—

The gate was closed but the position of the horizontal bars offered sufficient space for toeholds. She scaled. At the top, she got a little dizzy, suddenly questioning just what in the hell she thought she was doing. It also fell far too late to turn back; the allure of a mystery satiated commanded like the drive to breathe. Stepping down the backside of the gate happened with frightening quickness.

She moved closer, seeing only the hint of lights on within the building. It really did seem like a fortress. She sprinted to the wall of the home, now imagining guard dogs and tripwires. There were two floors and a basement. The basement wasn’t fully submerged and gated windows appeared every eight or so feet. The windows were narrow, the bars over them thick and rusty.

Macy stopped at each window of the basement and main floor, trying to steal a peek. Curiously, the windows of the second floor were barred as well. She imagined an old money scenario, family heirlooms worth small fortunes in each room. Silliness.

Around the side of the home was a small shed. A wheelbarrow was parked by the wall next to one of the basement windows. The bars over this window were doubled, the window itself more than twice as long. At the center between the bars was a padlock…an open padlock.

Seconds mounted as Macy stared at the access point. She wanted to see this woman who claimed so much of her man, had to see this woman, but was it enough to break into Sidney’s home like a thief on the prowl?

The answer came when she knelt and silently took away the lock, then spread the hinged bars. She tested the window. It slid with a quiet squeak that made her heart thunder. Hands on the window frame, she listened to the night.

Nothing.

She slid the window the rest of the way open and pushed aside heavy curtains. The space was dim, but not fully dark. Below her was a stack of cement bags. The floor had a great dip in its centre, about big enough for a hot tub. Macy turned and slipped down the wall like a spider in a shower stall. Her tummy scratched against the seams of the paneling, though the annoyance was short-lived. She climbed off the stacked cement bags and rushed across the space, eyes on her feet.

There was a hallway of skeletal framework beyond the staircase; obviously Sidney was in the midst of renovations, though a place that big and old was likely in a state of constant renovations. It was clear Macy would not even find a photo of the woman down here. She had to go upstairs.

On her fours, Macy climbed the carpeted steps. She paused at the heavy door, listening. A gentle glow played beneath, suggesting that it was unlikely anyone would be in the immediate vicinity. She reached for the brass door handle, halfway hoping it was locked, and turned. The door creaked open, and Macy found herself in the kitchen. Risen to her feet, Macy moved onward, pushing the door all but latched closed behind her. There were two options and she headed away from the light. The goal now was to locate a photograph, drink it up, and skedaddle out the way she’d come in, unnoticed.

She only just reached a hallway when she heard footfalls behind her. She pressed her back to the wall and waited, terrified over the sum of her daring and the possibility of being caught by a jealous wife, or even an angry Sidney. She so wished she hadn’t come here at all.

The footfalls drew nearer, but strangely, no kitchen light lit. Macy then heard the quick rushes of air, as if someone were sniffing.

“Coco by Chanel,” a woman’s voice said. It was tinny and droning like an automated message left for afterhours calls.

There was more sniffing, then footfalls came her way. Macy stumbled backward, deeper along the dark hallway. The footfalls continued in her direction. Macy lurched until she thumped lightly into a wall, a doorknob nailing her hip. She grabbed for it and broke into the dark room, closing the door without letting it latch. She listened for the footfalls and heard nothing through the heavy wood.

A sniff, sniff sounded from behind her. “Coco by Chanel,” a voice said, this one having the same tinny drone as the last, but obviously from a different set of vocal cords.

Macy burst back into the hallway. To her right, floating in the blackness, were a handful of small blinking lights. She turned left, swallowing a scream. What in the hell was going on? Ten feet ahead, a door opened and blinking lights hovered into view.

Sniff, sniff. “Coco by Chanel.”

Macy tripped trying to halt her forward motion and slammed forehead first into the baseboard. Footfalls and flickering lights approached. She curled her knees up and covered her face, feeling the blood trickle down next to her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

An overhead light lit. Macy saw three naked women coming toward her. Each wore a vapid expression, eyes like camera lenses, necks replaced by glass with steel brackets. Within the glass was a conglomeration of bone and wires, blinking lights.

Irregular footfalls tapped quickly over the carpet. Macy didn’t dare look, her face buried in the crook of her elbow, the only space of relief from this nightmare.

“Macy,” Sidney said, sighing the word. “We could’ve been happy…but you’re like the rest.”

Macy lifted her head upon hearing his voice. He was coming toward her with a needle in his hand.

“I expressly forbade you from coming here, from seeing my wife…wives.”

Sidney knelt. Macy was a statue in horror and shock. The needle pierced her skin and within a handful of seconds, her mind winked away.

—

Macy came to briefly. She was strapped to a table. Sidney Blue and his six wives loomed above her. All were busy with tasks, the women moving in slow, methodical motions.

“Soon all will be fine. I will marry you, my darling,” Sidney said.

Macy felt a pinch and was almost instantly relieved of consciousness.

—

“Thank you for loaning me your automobile,” Macy said, her voice tinny and droning as she held out the keys so that Kendra could take them.

“You okay?” Kendra said.

“Better than okay,” Macy said. “I am with child; Sidney and I have been wed and I no longer need to mind the jewelry counter. Our friendship has been important to me, but now I must go.”

Kendra scrunched her face. “Go? You’re quitting? Married? Pregnant? You’re moving into that place?” The words rambled from her mouth in a confused fury.

“It has been a pleasure to know you.”

“What?” Kendra shook her head, taking long, confused blinks. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I am wed and have moved in with Sidney. I forbid you from visiting me.”

“Forbid? What? What the—what’s with the scarf? It’s like a hundred degrees!”

“A gift from my love. Goodbye, Kendra.”

Kendra watched her friend walk away, motions stiff and slow. It was obvious something was fishy. This couldn’t stand, not on her watch. She really liked Macy. After her shift, she’d go right out to that freakshow of a house and get to the bottom of this.

XX