Who's Been Sleeping in Your Bed...

Who's Been Sleeping in Your Bed...

In the glow of the living room's dim lamp, Stan lounged in his recliner keenly aware of its spell. How those invisible arms embraced him forcing sleep upon him. The sounds from the big screen television soon became distant murmurs in the back of his mind. He'd had a hard day in the field preparing his crops ready for harvesting, and his body insisted on rest at the moment. He drifted off.

His eyes popped open and stared at the television. A guy spouting off about the feature inside his new Dodge truck had wakened him. Damn commercial. It was his cue to take his tired butt to bed. His knees popped as he stood, but he paid it no mind. He switched off the television, and for a moment, surveyed the living room to find his way upstairs in the dark before switching off the lamp.

Feeling confident he wouldn't trip over anything to wake his wife, a groan escaped once he switched off the lamp. Darkness enveloped the living. A lonely stream of light from a streetlamp was the only illumination. He stayed sure footed as he climbed the stairs, grabbing the railing. On the landing, he turned toward the bedroom door and felt around for the knob.

He twisted it and gave a gentle push. The his and her alarm clocks sitting on nightstands on each side of the bed lit his way. He tiptoed not wanting to wake his wife, but he heard the covers shift.

"Stan, where'd you go?"

"I'm sorry, honey. I was trying not to wake you."

"I felt you get out of bed a little while ago."

"But I just now came upstairs."

"No, you were lying next to me then you got up."

"That wasn't me."

"Then who was it?"