Clock or Cake

Hoo! Hoo!

Brandon looked out his bedroom window. The setting sun radiated pink through the leafless trees as it crashed into the horizon. It was pinker than usual, or maybe Brandon hadn't caught the sunset in a while. He always meant to watch it, everyday, but it slipped by.

Brandon rolled away from the nuclear explosion of pink. The clock his mom got him for his twenty-third birthday projected the time onto the ceiling. His eyes adjusted to the dim blue numbers: five PM exactly.

It was handy, Brandon thought, but is this what his mom envisioned of for him? Laying in bed watching the world pass by through ceiling? Maybe there for good intentions, but it set him up for failure. Brandon sighed turning over to look at the clock.

It was a silvery plastic, the projector could be directed vertically, along the walls or ceiling. There was a built in speaker with a dock of an iPod. It was old. He was old. He ran his hands along the top, feeling the pin prick indents of the speaker. He turned his hand over, gray from dust, shining in the oppressive pink light. Hadn't he just dusted, he asked himself. Just last week, he was sure. Brandon rolled out of bed, stiff.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he joked aloud to no one as he opened his bathroom door. Truthfully, it was probably five o'two now. He turned the light on. His bare feet, cold on the bathroom tile, betrayed his untrimmed toe nails. Where had he left his clippers?

Apprehensively, he looked up to face his bathroom mirror. Instead of his tired eyes, he was met with a dull, blurry copy of himself. Hadn't he just cleaned the mirror? What was this layer of grime? He brushed his hand across the surface, and the smear of grime distorted his reflection more. His palm came back silvery.

"Mirrors don't do this," he reassured himself and headed to the kitchen for Windex.

As he stepped into the kitchen he did a quick glance of everything on the counters. It was hard to tell if things were clean. The pink of the setting sun beamed through the sliding glass door to the porch.

And there it was. The blinds were gone. Not "gone" gone, but he was one-hundred percent sure he'd closed the blinds last night. How long had he been asleep? Had someone broken in and messed with his stuff? Put dust on his clock and left out the back door?

He marched up to the glass door and tried to open it, locked. He walked down the hall to front door and jiggled the handle. It was as sitff as he was. He was losing his mind, or blacking out, or both. He was sure of it.

Hoo! Hoo!

That noise, that's what woke him. He stepped more carefully to the glass door again and peered out. He scanned the empty trees one by one to no avail.

"Nothing," no answers to his situation, what was wrong with him. Nothing. He turned around defeated.

HOO! HOO!

The sound was behind him now, he fell to his knees, afraid to turn around.

HOO! HOO!

It's just an owl, it's just an owl, it's just an owl... but it's so familiar.

HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO!

It was calling for him, he couldn't ignore it.

HOO! HOO! Hoo-appy birthday.

Brandon shot around. That voice...

Standing on his porch was a tall feathered man, maybe seven feet tall. The feathers were brown with black speckles mostly, but lighter around the eyes and belly. He hadn't aged a day since the last time they met, though he wasn't exactly sure what that would look like.

"Reginald, do we have to do this every year?"

"Hoo-appy Birthday Brando," the bird man pressed his palms into the glass and leaned in with every word. "You know the roo-ules."

"I'll be honest, this one snuck up on me."

"Tough year? Short year?"

"I don't know, yes. Can we get on with this?"

"Brand-HOO! Your birthday surprise is a new game. Spot the differences in your hoo-ome, of which there are five. I've replaced your belongings. I saw how you wasted your year watching those Real or Cake vide-ooos."

Reginald pushed off the glass and the door disappeared. His feathered steps were silent as he filled the room. He pointed to the knife block.

"You best get gooooo-ing Brando, you don't want to sleep through your birthday again. HOO! It's a big one."

"Yep, got it," Brandon pulled the longest knife out annoyed.

"Need any cloooo-ues?"

Brandon had already made his way to the bedroom. He stared at his clock for a moment, and then waved his hand over the projector. The projector was really shooting out light. He guessed owl demon's could make really convincing cakes. He felt his presence in the doorway.

"What do yoooooou think? Real? Or cake?"

Brandon swung the knife down without hesitation. What he thought was plastic minutes ago was a silvery fondant. He had dusted.

He stepped into his bathroom, and looked in the mirror. Obviously mirrors don't do that. He sunk the knife in unceremoniously.

"TWO! TWO! Slow down Brando, I spent a whole year on this."

Brandon looked around his room again. He knew Reginald, he would only do one per room to be cute.

"Brand-HOO are there anymore in here?"

"No," he pushed past Reginald into the hall and made his way to the front door.

He jiggled the door handle again, it wouldn't budge. He crushed it in his hand, revealing chunks of yellow cake.

Reginald stood at the other end of the hall, slumped.

"Brand-hoo, you used to be a lot more fun when you were younger."

"Maybe it's time to move on."

"We'll get that spark back. This could be our year."

"Can I get a clue on the next one?"

"Hoo, that could be fun. This one took the most time to set."

"Oh, it's the sun?"

Reginald feathers puffed out as he sighed.

"Maybe it really is time to moooo-ve on."

"Last one, are you a cake?"

"Brand-hoo, okay. You can wake up. Sorry for bothering yooooou."

"Hey Reginald?" The demon's sad eyes lifted slightly across the hall. "This was a really thoughtful, thank you for coming back every year."

The owl man's posture straighten and he let out a finally hoot with his toothy grin.

"HOO-appy birthday Brando!"

"I was just kidding, please leave me alone."