Beaser.”
She smiled at Herb. I’ve got a story to tell you, Herb.”
“A, uh, ghost story?”
“A story about me and you.”
She took off her robe. Her little frame was strong and tightly wound. Miss Brookwood sat on her three-legged stool and opened a big black book. Tonight, like most nights, he couldn’t get concentrate on the page. Maybe the bulb had gone bad. That’s why they came in the first place. “Are you going to hang onto that old thing the entire way home?” Herb’s wife said. “Is that better?” she said. “That woman IS a witch,” she said. Inside she was smooth and tight, as good as he’d have imagined. He had half a mind to skip the knock and just barge right in. “We fucked like polecats half an hour ago, then you cut me up like a rib eye and I don’t appreciate it,” didn’t sound quite right.
