Looking for a short horror story from 70s or 80s (Del Rey series maybe?)
"Ladies in Waiting", a 1975 short story by Hugh B. Cave. It has appeared in a number of anthologies, though not in a Del Rey; maybe one of these covers will ring a bell.
The excerpts below are copied from pp. 97-108 of the February 1979 Jove/HBJ edition of the anthology Whispers edited by Stuart David Schiff.
I'm looking for a story about a husband and wife who get caught in a house during a storm.
The storm is backstory. They are returning, at the wife's insistence, for another look at the house where they had been trapped by a snowstorm four months earlier. (This time they are detained by an inexplicable flat tire.)
Halper, the village real-estate man, said with a squint, "You're the same people looked at that place in April, aren't you? Sure you are. The ones got caught in that freak snow storm and spent the night there. Mr. and Mr. Wilkes, is it?"
"Wilkins," Norman corrected, frowning at a photograph on the wall of the old man's dingy office: a yellowed, fly-spotted picture of the house itself, in all its decay and drabness.
Various creepiness ensues,
He knew where she must be. In that cursed room at the top of the stairs where he had seen the look on her face four months ago, and where she had tried so cunningly to conceal the truth from him this time. But the room was hard to reach now. A swirling mist choked the staircase, repeatedly causing him to stumble. Things resembling hands darted out of it to clutch at him and hold him back.
husband wakes up to find wife gone and monsters in bed with him. I remember that the closing line is the husband realizing that a creature is riding him and his screams turning to insanity as he saw three more waiting their turn.
He must buy this house, as Linda had insisted. Of course. She was absolutely right. With a sigh of happiness he closed his eyes and relaxed, no longer made reluctant by a feeling of guilt.
But—something was wrong. Distinctly, now, he felt not two hands caressing him, but more. And were they hands? They suddenly seemed cold, clammy, frighteningly eager.
Opening his eyes, he was startled to find that the misty darkness had dissolved and he could see. Perhaps the seeing came with total surrender, or with the final abandonment of his guilt feeling. He lay on his back, naked, with his nameless partner half beside him, half on him. He saw her scaly, misshapen breasts overflowing his chest and her monstrous, demonic face swaying in space above his own. And as he screamed, he saw that she did have more than two hands: she had a whole writhing mass of them at the ends of long, searching tentacles.
The last thing he saw before his scream became that of a madman was a row of three others like her squatting by the wall, their tentacles restlessly reaching toward him as they impatiently waited their turn.