The Birthday Party

The Birthday Party

From his knees, Ben leaned the shovel against the nearest gravestone and reached across the fresh mound of dirt for his most prized possession.  Using both hands, he lifted the yellowwood sapling and placed it gently in the freshly dug hole.  Ben had taken close to a year to decide which variety was worthy of this spot.  At the northernmost point of the graveyard, his precious yellowwood would see both the first light of morning and then continue to bask in the glorious hues of each evening’s sunset.  With a barely stifled grunt, he climbed to his feet and with hands on hips he closed his eyes. 

“You’ll be such a beauty” he said, admiring the view years from now in his mind’s eye. 

The dirt road that traveled in a crescent around his property would allow the yellowwood to be a beacon for passers-by.  His most recent accidental visitor was the first in over a year.  The golden autumn colors of the yellowwood would add a seasonal radiance to the statues and stones that had been missing.  It was the perfect birthday present.

“And you will have the best view, my darling,” Ben said looking lovingly over his shoulder at the gravestone supporting his shovel, a jagged piece of limestone.  Surrounded by other small trees of various sizes and ages, the stone was the least ornate of the fifty or so in the graveyard and had fresh chisel marks across the front.  Ben could remember well the hours it took to lovingly hammer in the inscription.

A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, pulling Ben back from his reflection.  As it lit across his face, warming his abnormally large, bald head and then slid past his misshapen ears, he smiled.  “Well everyone, it’s almost time for the party.” 

He knelt back down, and after a few minutes of filling in the yellowwood’s base and making sure it was stable, Ben stood again and lumbered back through the rows of gravestones toward his house, the buckles of his dirty overalls rattling with each disjointed step.

Leaning with one hand against the fading wood siding of the house, Ben kicked off his work boots and then pulled open the screen door.  “Don’t worry Becky, I’ll be quick!” Ben shouted as he hurried through the kitchen, past the ragged furniture that decorated his living room, and into the back bedroom.  A haze of dust rose behind him, clouding the last rays of sunlight able to permeate the grimy windows.

Within a few minutes Ben emerged from the bedroom wearing a tattered gray suit, quite dirty and two sizes too small.  Stopping to look in a large broken mirror hanging on the wall, he clipped on a faded bow tie and then stepped back to admire himself. 

“Not bad at all” he said, grinning a wide black-toothed grin.  He turned and hurried back through the living room but did not go back outside.  Instead of heading back out the screen door, he turned left in the kitchen toward the faint sounds of whimpering.

The kitchen consisted of a wooden table with one rickety chair, a rusty stove, and a matching refrigerator that gave off a steady hum.  Dirty plates and empty cans were scattered across a countertop that lined the outside wall and created a mound of filth in the sink.  The sheer number of bugs no the counter made the dishes seem to have an unstable, flowing quality.  A door in the far corner rested open a few inches, hanging slightly askew from barely attached hinges.

Ben took hold of the door handle, but then he stopped.  He looked down and smiled, shaking his head.  “Of course you’re coming too.  It wouldn’t be a party without you.”  Ben took a few steps back toward the kitchen table and, reaching down, gently lifted a small black poodle from the shadows under the table.  Oblivious to the layer of cobwebs and dust spread across the poodle’s stiff form, Ben gave it a loving kiss on the head and then tucked it under one arm, its legs never moving.

Ben returned to the basement door, opened it and started down the squeaky basement steps.  As he reached the bottom candlelight met his eyes, casting more shadows than it dispersed.  Ben couldn’t help but smile at the quivering form in the middle of the room.  A hook held her rope-bound hands above her head, stretched to the point that the toes of her feet reached the floor.  A blindfold covered her eyes and a dirty rag was stuffed in her mouth.  She must have heard his approach because the whimpering increased and she began to thrash from side to side.

“Becky, I know you’re excited too but you must be careful” Ben said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.  “I’d hate for you to hurt yourself before your birthday party, especially when everyone is waiting.”  Becky abruptly stopped moving and her body sagged, hanging limply and swaying slightly back and forth.

“Silly girl, see what you’ve done.”  Ben reached up, poodle still under his arm, and with seemingly little effort lifted Becky’s hands from the hook, letting her fall roughly to the floor.  Producing an old wooden wheelchair from against one wall, Ben roughly lifted and sat her slumped body upright in the seat.  He secured her arms, legs, and waist with worn leather straps, the leather stretched tight against the wooden frame.  “Wouldn’t want you to fall out,” Ben said and stood the poodle on Becky’s lap.

After backing the wheelchair up the stairs, Ben pushed it out the back door, the screen bumping against Becky’s feet on the way out.  The contact with the screen door combined with the soft autumn breeze brought Becky back to consciousness.  As she shook off the grogginess and weakly lifted her head, Becky realized her blindfold had been removed.  The scene before her slowly came into focus.  The sun was just sinking below the horizon, stretching shadows reaching for her.

“Everyone’s here my love,” Ben said.  “They all came to help celebrate.”

Becky stared in horror as they passed row after row of graves, each with a fresh mound of dirt and an open casket protruding from the ground.  The naked grins of corpses in various states of decomposition smiled at her as she passed.  The scream that built inside and then burst forth was almost entirely muffled by the rag. 

They stopped at the northern point of the cemetery, next to what looked like a freshly planted tree.  Ben plucked the poodle from Becky’s lap, sitting its stiff form on the ground next to the closest headstone.  It rocked to one side as only three legs kept contact with the ground.

After undoing the wheelchair straps and despite her weak struggles Becky was tossed abruptly into a large hole in the ground next to the tree.  A moan of fear escaped her as she realized she was actually not lying on dirt but on wooden boards.  She tried to sit up but the casket lid slammed into her head as Ben tossed it into the hole.  Her palms beat against the lid as Becky’s last view of the world through the gaps in the boards was that of her gravestone, a limestone shard with jagged lettering.

Rebecca Hart
January 1, 1968 –
Forever Mine

The last bit of glowing sun fell below the horizon. Ben quietly hummed the birthday song as he drove nails into the wood around the edges of the casket, paying no attention to the rustling and banging coming from inside.  He stood and began shoveling dirt back into the hole, the sounds from within slowly fading away.  After the grave was filled and Ben had patted the mound flat, he kneeled down and reached for the chisel lying next to the gravestone.

Stars twinkled overhead as Ben leaned back and smiled. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday party Becky,” he said.  “We’ll do it again next year.”

The faint sounds of tapping echoed from the graveyard and throughout the surrounding fields, as by the light of the moon he Ben began to chisel today’s date into the limestone.
The End

Word Count: 1374
Prompt:  Sept - American Gothic; Quiet "Soft" Horror

My next edit will be to add more emotion to Becky but would really appreciate any other ideas and criticism. Thanks for reading!