The Best Birthday Present Ever A Short Story By Curt Collier
“Which do you think it was?” Maryanne’s mother read the last line as she closed the book. She laid the book in her lap and leaned over to kiss Maryanne’s forehead saying, “Happy Birthday, Little One. Good night and sweet dreams.” “G’Night, Mama,” she said as she gave into a yawn that threatened to stretch her mouth to epic proportions; epic, that is, for a five year old girl. Her mother stood up and carefully pushed the rocking chair in which she had been sitting back into the corner. It was a large wooden rocking chair with wide slats for a back and across the crown of the chair was carved one of Maryanne’s favorite scenes: the Mad Hatter’s tea party from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It was a recurring theme throughout Maryanne’s bedroom. Her bedspread featured the Disney version of Alice, one of the many princesses in their repertoire. She had matching curtains on the sole window through which a harvest moon now shone. Maryanne’s dresser was white with painted gold accents and a homemade decoupage of the White Rabbit covering its top. A pine and glass china cabinet had been converted to a display for dozens of figurines ranging from the Dormouse to the Walrus and Carpenter to little replicas of the fantastic landscape of Carroll’s Wonderland. But the centerpiece of Maryanne’s collection was a freestanding pewter-framed looking glass that her mother had found at an antique store a few weeks before and had held in reserve for Maryanne’s birthday present. The Red Knight and the White Knight stood back-to-back composing the stand and suspended between them was the mirror. The mirror itself was an oval almost six feet tall, and its dull gray border was shaped to represent many of the Maryanne’s favorite characters, each frozen in a pose from one of the Wonderland tales. Maryanne had cried when her mother unveiled it at her birthday party earlier in the day. In the few short hours since, it had been given a place of honor in Maryanne’s bedroom: in the corner across from the head of her bed where she could lie in the bed and gaze at it until she fell asleep. Maryanne’s mother replaced the blue book in the little wall-mounted bookshelf and left the room, blowing a goodnight kiss to Maryanne as she quietly closed the door behind her. * * *
As Dinah walked down the hall from Maryanne’s room to her own bedroom, which she shared with her husband Brad, strains of intense music accompanied by the rat-tat-tat of a raucous gunfight, floated up the stairs from the living room below. Shadows and colors danced along the wall by the staircase thanks to the big screen television from which images and sounds emerged. She shook her head and rolled her eyes upwards as she entered the room and shut the door. “I know he’s your father, Brad, but really, how much longer is he going to stay here? Your parents have been married for almost fifty years and they really need to patch things up so we can all get back to normal. I mean, seriously, what do they have left to fight about? Surely after fifty years all of the kinks ought to have been worked out, right?” she said as she flopped down on the bed. “Did you say something, Dinah?” Brad asked above the din of the shower, “I can’t hear you.” Like you’d listen to me if you could, she thought. They were going on the third week of Brad’s father’s extended vacation and she was almost at her breaking point. Walter was a nice enough man, but living with him was such a chore. He had worked the third shift at the John Deere tractor plant for thirty years and there was simply no way he would ever be off that schedule. He stayed up all night watching movies and then slept until mid-afternoon, which would not have been so bad except when he got up he set about fixing himself breakfast – and making a proper mess of the kitchen – just as she was beginning preparations for the family’s dinner. They had given him the guest room but more often than not he fell asleep on the couch or in the recliner and Dinah would have to creep around downstairs in fear of waking him until he decided it was time to get up. He told the same eight or ten stories over and over whenever he felt he had a new audience, from Maryanne’s playmates’ parents, to Brad’s and her dinner guests; he had even wandered outside and confiscated some of their neighbors for a few chatfests. While Brad finished his shower, Dinah set about preparing herself for bed. She turned down the comforter, folded down the blanket and sheet, set the decorative pillows on the chest at the foot of their bed and fluffed the utility pillows for sleeping. She then stripped off her clothes and put them in the hamper. Just as she was closing the hamper lid, Brad emerged from the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another hung around his neck that he was using to dry his hair. Just like clockwork, Dinah thought. In another twenty-five years we’ll be our parents. The thought did not give her the warm fuzzies like it did for the first few years of their marriage. “Bathroom’s all yours,” Brad said as she brushed past him. For just a second she recalled the old Warner Brothers cartoon where two sheepdogs passed each other at a time clock at the beginning and end of the workday and took turns beating up on Wile E. Coyote. “Mornin’, Fred,” one would say just as the other passed him saying, “Mornin’, George.” She would have laughed if it had not been so sad. * * *
Walter was reclined in the overstuffed La-Z-Boy with a remote control in one hand and a bottle of Dos Equis lager, which had gone warm, in the other. He really liked the Mexican beer, especially the acidic bite it left in the back of his throat, but Edna put up such a fuss about the cost of the beer – “Walter, you can get just as drunk off a can of Schlitz. All you’re doing is wasting our money on a name!” – that he seldom bought it any more. The first thing he did when Brad and Dinah said he could stay with them for a while was go out and buy a six pack of Dos Equis; but somehow the enjoyment was no longer the same. He had been a guest here for almost three weeks and this was the last bottle of that original six pack. Just one more thing you’ve sucked the life out of, Edna. He knew he ought to pack up and go back home, but he could not bring himself to swallow his pride. When he left, the last words Edna had said to him were, “Fine. Run away, Walter. But if you walk out that door, do not come back until you’re ready to admit you were wrong!” And he was in no wise ready to admit that, because he was not wrong. Somehow, Edna had gotten it into her head that he was having an affair with their neighbor down the street. Addie Mae Flowers was a friendly woman and Walter often stopped off to talk with her as he took his evening constitutional – not really for the exercise, but just an excuse to get out of the house for an hour or so each night – but he had no intention of pursuing anything more intimate than a momentary exchange of greetings and gossip. As he had aged, Walter found that he had more in common with the old bull the rancher had made into a steer: his mind had been changed from ass to grass. So, after a few nights of Edna’s anger, which ran the gamut from heated raging to frozen silences, and after his third night on the couch, Walter decided that if he was going to be sleeping on a couch he might as well sleep on one that had a companion big screen television. Now playing on that big screen was the Director’s Cut of Pulp Fiction. It was the first of three Quentin Tarantino movies he planned to watch tonight. Next would be True Romance, the Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette shoot-em-up road romance. He would round out the evening with From Dusk Till Dawn. Salma Hayek’s portrayal of Santanico Pandemonium, the Mexican vampire stripper, went a long way toward distracting his mind from grass. Upstairs he heard the shower turn off and after a few moments of muffled steps wandering across the floor, he knew that Brad and Dinah had settled in for the night. He had the house all to himself; Well, I’m not totally alone, he thought, Santanico’ll be here shortly. He smiled and took a sip of his warm lager, settling in for the duration. * * *
It was an unrealistic expectation to place upon a five-year-old girl to fall asleep on time after a full day of birthday activities. Maryanne tossed and turned in her bed. She was simply too excited to sleep. She turned back toward her new mirror and stared into it. The light from the street lamp outside shone through the curtains and was reflected in the surface of the mirror. For just an instant, Maryanne thought she saw another little girl and two kittens, one white one black, sitting on the floor in the mirror room. The little girl looked up from her kittens and smiled at Maryanne before she disappeared. “Are you Alice? Where did you go?” Maryanne asked of the reflection. She slid from underneath her covers and padded barefoot across the floor to stand before the mirror. “Hello? Alice?” As she looked into the mirror, at the top of the reflection there was a little sparkle. In the mirror, the book her mother had been reading glowed. It floated off the bookshelf and hovered in midair before Maryanne’s eyes. It opened itself to the last page and lines from the poem lit up. Then the book abruptly shut itself and floated back to its rest on the shelf. Struck with inspiration, Maryanne hurried across the room and looked up at the bookshelf where her own copy of the book was housed. It was just out of her reach, so she pulled the rocking chair across the floor and climbed up into it. Standing in the chair she could just reach the book. She took it from the shelf, climbed down from the chair and sat on the bed. She opened the book to the last page. The light through the window was just bright enough for her to see the words. Being five years old, she had just enough skill with reading to puzzle out the poetry. Quietly she read:
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said, "I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head. Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be Come dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen and Me!"
The surface of the mirror clouded over. Mists of red and white circled each other around the middle of the mirror and from the center of this maelstrom popped a little white kitten. It sat on the floor, mewing and licking one of its paws. Maryanne was so surprised that she dropped the book and ran to the foot of the mirror and scooped up the little cat into her arms. No sooner was the white cat in her embrace than a black kitten followed. She took them both in hand and carried them to her bed. She sat on the bed with her new playmates as they frolicked and tumbled across the bedspread. She was so happy! This was the best birthday ever! She was too busy with the kittens to notice the other things that exited the mirror and slipped under the edge of her door into the house. * * *
On the screen, Marsellus Wallace had just promised to get medieval when Walter heard someone call his name. “Walter?” He paused the DVD, kicked down the recliner’s footrest and turned around in his chair to see who was calling him. Standing at the foot of the stairs was Addie Mae, dressed all in white, the white gown covered in diamonds and pearl buttons, her once-black-now-gray hair unbound and falling around her shoulders. She cut quite a pretty figure for a woman in her sixties. “Addie? How’d you get in here?” He asked. “Never mind that; what are you doing in here?” He stood up and walked toward her, his robe hanging open showing his flannel pajama bottoms and white undershirt. “You called me, Walter. Not with words, but with your thoughts,” she said and glided toward him. She placed a finger against his chest. “You called me from here,” and she moved her finger to his temple. The finger was cold as ice. “And from here.” She wrapped both hands around his neck and leaned against him, her body pressed close. “And from other places, too, Walter.” She kissed him lightly, her lips as cold as her finger. The hair on the back of Walter’s neck stood up and he pushed her back, the warm Dos Equis foaming up and running over his hand. “Now wait just a datgummed minute. I never called you, Addie Mae. God knows I’m still a married man and I ain’t never had no improper thoughts ‘bout you neither,” he said. “Oh, no, far be it from Walter to do anything improper,” someone said from behind him. He spun around to find Edna standing behind him. She was covered from neck to foot with one of those Hawaiian muumuus she fancied, solid red, blood red. “No, not Walter. He’d rather drink that expensive beer, watch his movies all night and fantasize about those hussies on the DVDs. He likes them because there’s no need to do anything to keep them happy or satisfied. They exist solely for Walter’s pleasure. Isn’t that right, Walter? Isn’t it?” The last two words were practically screamed and Edna’s face was turning as red as her robe. “Poor Walter,” Addie Mae said, “Such a conundrum you seem to be, dear man. Such an enigma. You want what you can’t have and what you can have, you no longer want.” As she spoke Addie Mae’s visage changed. Where she once stood, Walter found himself facing a tall middle-aged woman in a white evening gown, a silver crown on her brow, holding her snow-white hair back from her face. “Yes, an enigma. Or a riddle,” said Edna. Only it was no longer Edna, it was a twin of the white woman, this time cast in red. Her red evening gown matched the white one down to the little red coral buttons that replaced the white pearls in the other woman’s dress, and rubies in place of the diamonds. The red woman’s hair was blisteringly scarlet and a copper crown held it in place. “We do so love riddles, don’t we dear sister?” “Yes we do, sister. You know my favorite riddle don’t you dear Walter? Oh, you don’t? Well here it is. Divide a loaf by a knife: what’s the answer to that?” Walter stared first at one of the women, then the other. He looked as if he were watching a tennis match. With each turn of his head he became more and more scared. Something ain’t right here, he thought. Who are these women? Fear gnawed at his gut like a ravenous rat. He tried to speak but nothing would come out of his mouth. He dropped the bottle of beer and did not feel it as the spillage poured over his bare feet. He lost control of his bladder and the two yellow liquids pooled together on the floor. His right hand was gripping the remote control so tightly that the DVD player was skipping from chapter to chapter almost randomly. “You know, dear sister,” the Red Queen said, “Walter here bears a remarkable resemblance to a loaf, doesn’t he? Since he’s retired, all he wants to do is loaf around the house. Perhaps we should divide him with a knife and learn the answer to your little riddle, hmmm?” “Oh, we must, musn’t we? But he’s quite large, don’t you agree. We shall need a large knife,” the White Queen replied. She held out her hand and a long handled scythe appeared. It was taller than the White Queen and on the upper end was a wicked sickle-shaped blade that shone in the light of the television. The Red Queen clapped her hands and giggled, “Oh, that will do quite nicely!” The White Queen swung the blade and the remote control fell from Walter’s lifeless hands, the DVD resuming a normal play mode. As the blood ran from the two halves of Walter’s body, the Statler Brothers sang about an insane man in an asylum counting flowers on the wall. * * *
The bouncy movement of Brad turning over woke Dinah up. She exhaled sharply in a wordless attempt to impart to Brad her displeasure at being awoken so roughly. He must have turned in his sleep because he was no longer moving. Oh, yeah, he sleeps like a rock and now I’m awake. Jerk, she thought as she closed her eyes and tried to relax enough to fall back to sleep. “Ssshhh, he’s coming,” someone whispered. Dinah jerked upright with a startled squeal to find a little boy standing at the foot of her bed. He was dressed like Little Boy Blue, down to the little blue beret on his head. Across his right shoulder was a short sword with a serrated edge and a hooked point. Blood was dripping from the end of the blade. The little boy looked at her, raised a finger to his lips and repeated, “Ssshhh, he’s coming.” Dinah screamed and shook Brad, “Brad! Wake up! Brad!” She shook him harder and her hand slipped from his shoulder down to his neck; or more accurately, where his neck would have been had he still had one. His head and neck were gone and the ragged stump between his shoulders was pumping viscous blood across the pillow. Dinah lunged from the bed, her side soaked in Brad’s blood and stood beside the bed, her fists held stiffly at her hips, and screamed over and over. The little boy looked disappointed and said, “Now you’ve done it. He’s heard you.” The bedroom door crashed inward and the thing that slithered through it drove the last vestige of sanity from Dina’s mind. It was fat around the middle with a long serpentine neck upon which sat a head that looked like a cross between a pterodactyl and a falcon. The hooked beak opened and the creature caw-caw-cawed at Dinah. Leathery wings that could in no wise lift the bulbous body from the ground drug behind the monster as it entered the room on three-toed clawed feet. Its eyes glowed a malevolent red as it extended its head toward her. The head stopped less than an inch from her face and the creature’s rotten breath washed over her. From someplace far in the back of her mind she recalled the story she had been reading Maryanne before bed and as she collapsed to the floor in hysterics, the little boy whispered, “Beware the Jabberwock…” * * *
The autumn sun shone brightly as the movers loaded the last of furniture into the trailer. The driver closed and locked the twin doors and walked across the yard to the old woman sitting on the steps. At her feet a little girl of perhaps five years sat playing with two stuffed kittens, one black and one white, making the toys jump at each other and cavort across the bottom step. A well-worn blue book lay on the step next to the little girl. The old woman stood as he approached and accepted the check he offered to her, then briskly shook his hand. “Once again, ma’am, please let me express my sorrow over your loss. You must be devastated to have lost both a husband and a son at the same time,” he said. “Yes, it’s horrible. I wouldn’t wish this on the most terrible person in the world,” Edna said. “And your daughter-in-law? She’s in the hospital, right?” “Yes. Poor Dinah. I can’t bring myself to blame her. The doctors say it was an illness, that it wasn’t her doing those terrible things, but the sickness. She couldn’t help herself. The doctors say she might recover one day, but I don’t think so. Whatever it was that drove her to do those horrible acts of violence, I just can’t see her ever getting over it,” Edna wiped her eyes and continued, “I’m just glad little Maryanne was spared. They found her, you know, the police; they found her the next day still sitting up in her bed happily playing with these two stuffed kittens. She had no idea what her mother had done. Thank God for small mercies.” “Yes, ma’am,” the driver agreed. “And you’re selling everything, and taking your granddaughter to live with you?” “Oh, yes, I’m all the family she has now. The house is on the market, but with all the new disclosure laws, I don’t believe anyone will be interested in it. Eventually someone might buy the lot and raze the house.” She walked back up the stairs and locked the door, depositing the key and the folded check into a pocket on her dress. She continued talking as she went, “We sold everything in the house, you know, except for a few of her toys and one of her books,” Edna said. “Oh, and a beautiful free-standing mirror Dinah gave Maryanne for her birthday. The child refused to part with it. She said it was her best birthday present ever. I just couldn’t break her heart, not after everything else that’s happened. A child must have at least one beautiful thing to hold on to, right?” The driver shook his head in agreement. “I had it shipped to my home last week and I imagine we’ll find it there waiting on us when we get home tonight. We’ll unwrap it before supper. Won’t that be nice, Maryanne?” The little girl looked up at her grandmother and smiled, “And then I’ll show you how I can read from my favorite book. OK, Gramma?” “Of course, dear. We’re going to have such a good time.” The Best Birthday Present Ever was originally published in
Threshold
Copyright © 2010 by Curtis Leon Collier
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the express written permission of the copyright holder except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-0-9826669-0-6
www.curtcollier.com
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