Birthday Chapter

As far as he was concerned, the room could have been empty. The clown in front went on and on, telling jokes and the kids around him laughed. A lot. This was boring him. There was nothing funny here, no laughter to be used. Yet the clown went on and on. He made some shapes with balloons and gave them to he kids in the front row. He was sitting in the back row, staring at the clown.

It was his birthday, but he was sitting in the back row. His mom was a little concerned with his melancholy, but she knew it would pass as soon as his father returned later that day. He was always like this when his dad was away. She had invited the majority of his kindergarten class. She didn’t think that she would be able to distinguish between the kids her son really liked and didn’t like, so she just ended up inviting any that he had shown the slightest bit of interest in. It was a phase.

The kids loved the clown, every kid except him. Why wasn’t he the least bit amused? He was always like this when his dad was away, she told herself again.

Though the boy found little more interest toward it, the clown had pulled out a large story book and had begun reading from it. The Three Billy Goats Gruff. The story's more scarier parts were overshadowed by the author with colorful illustrations, and the clown's voice diminished the monster to a squeaky antagonist. The clown made the sound for the hooves going over the bridge, gave the goat's a "baa"-ish voice, and by the end the children all said the chorus in unison. "'Who's that tap-tap-tapping on my bridge?' said the grumpy old troll."

All the children but the child that is. He was always like this when his dad was away.

The clown left around five, and the children were treated to a tray of pizza. This was more of a mess than a meal, but it was necessary. For the mother it was necessary to feed the children and continue with the party. With her son it was necessary to get his father home. First the clown then the pizza then the cake and ice cream and then the presents and then dad came home. Somewhere around then, at least. He didn’t see why there should be a party, anyway. He had a vague recollection that his mother had talked him into it because of the presents.

The pizza was soon over and a crowd gathered around the wooden table in the kitchen in anticipation. A dozen and a half kid ran about the place, some chasing one and other, some just running for no reason. The mother left the room or a moment and another adult switched off the lights. Very carefully, the mother returned, carrying a large white cake with his name written on the top in green gel. The room was filled with an off tune version of happy birthday. The child forced a smile for the crowd of kids, but mostly for his mother. He knew she worried when he wasn’t happy when he should be.

When the crowd launched into a second verse, not all in with the same words, he sighed and rolled his eyes a little, mostly for show. Some kids were singing something about a “gurl friend’s fist name”, some sang about looking like a monkey, but most finished at different times or forgot the words and he blew out his candles before all had finished. While the cake was being cut by his mother, the other children brought over their presents, one by one.

Even though they didn't open them until after dessert, the presents surrounded the boy as he sat and ate his cake and ice-cream. It was pure, unadulterated anticipation that is difficult for an adult to feel, being surrounded by objects wrapped festively in paper and all of them are for you. No necessities, no disappointing clothing or half-hearted thank-you, just presents.

As soon as the plates were being collected, be began opening them, each child shoving his or her gift into the boy's field of vision and demanding that he open theirs next. He readily complied and opened one after another. As he opened each one, his smile grew a little more true and a little bigger. Not just because of all the gifts, but because he knew his father would be coming home soon.

As the clock reached eight, and the summer sun began to set, the last present was opened. He was surrounded by the discarded packages and various toy and trinkets that were now his. He moved from one to another while the rest of the children played with the others. He was happy now, and he knew his mother was happy too.

And she was. She now sat with a few of the other mothers and discussed their school, hear-say about other children and their parents and the child's toys. It was here though that the mother was somewhat baffled. Midway through his opening, the boy had unwrapped a gift that no one now lay claim to. An Ouija board. None of the four other mothers there had purchased the game, and they assumed that one of the children whose parent wasn't there had given it to him. Yet, none of the kids said that they had brought the gift, and they attributed the gift to a forgetful child. After all there were so many children, and it could not have appeared out of thin air.

The parents all agreed that it was an inappropriate gift for a child so young, and the meaning of it would be more baffling than fun to the children.

Yet as with all the presents, the board eventual was taken out of it's box and placed on the table. Though none of the children actual read the manual, the pictures on the back of the box explained closely enough. After a few attempts at trying it with seven children, four were successful in starting the ball rolling, so to speak. However, they didn't know of the "letting it move on it's own", and eventually all four kid were tugging on it in four different directions. Eventually it was given up and left as it was on the table.

Now, however, the mother was getting a bit worried. The father was now late, yet she tried to continue on as if nothing was wrong. He was not very late, only a half an hour, and he had been later before, but she had wanted him to return before the party ended.

The boy did not feel such, though. To him every minute that passed was a minute closer to seeing his father. That was enough for him.

It was nine and completely dark out when the mother was showing concern. The other parents gave words of comfort, and they had even called the small airport in town to see if his plane from Buffalo had left on time. It had already touched down and he was on his way home, they assured her.

Five minutes passed before the lights went out.

It was nine-fifteen when they went dark. The kitchen was not on the side of the house that was facing the street, so it was pitch black. It happened with a bit of a surge beforehand, one or two lights overloaded and emitted popping noises. The knock on the door followed within seconds. It was harsh and loud, making the children jump and one of the parents let out a small scream of surprise. But no one went to the door. The knock come again, only this time it was louder and more menacing than before, not asking to be let in but demanding it.

"Whose that tap-tap tapping on my bridge!", a child said out of curiosity and short-term habit, not sensing the adults’ tension.

Suddenly, the birthday candles, which were sitting unlit and burnt-down in a bowl on the table, sprang back to life with fire. At first the mother though it was scratching that was coming from the table, but soon she saw the board.

It moved with ferocity across the alphabet, spelling out again and again

ME ME ME ME ME

With each letter, the knocking grew louder. The children now realized the adult's fear and quickly latched onto it. No one spoke, one cried, the scratch and the knock continued for what seemed like minutes. Yet it had only been forty or so seconds before the boy stepped up to the door.

His mother let out a stiff cry, as he turned the handle. The Ouija‘s magnifying glass flew off the table, hit the wall and shattered into hundreds of small grains and shards, covering the children nearby with minor cuts.

The doorway was empty. The lights came back on, and the spotlight that shone into the backyard showed nothing but the beginnings of dew on the ground. The candles had been burnt into stumps and thin, blue smoke came from them. Several of the children who had been near the wall when the glass had shattered had begun to cry.

The doorbell rang and everyone jumped a little, except the mother, who had fainted and fallen to the ground, uncaught.

The boy stood alone in the doorway, staring out at the empty lawn.

He stood there while the men in the olive uniforms and blue suits came in.

He stood there while an ambulance was called and the children's parents started to come.

He stood there and stared out into the trees that lined the other end of the yard.

He stood there and imagined he could see the troll from beneath the bridge watching from behind a tree, grinning.

When a parent finally came over and put a hand on his shoulder, his knees gave out and he fell to the ground, weeping.