The Unpleasant Surprise

Tearing off the white duvet, I frantically moved to the window to see what intruder had sounded off the alarm of our home well past the witching hour. I quickly checked the bedside clock, realizing that it was officially now November seventeenth, the day of my thirty-fifth birthday. 

 “Honey, it’s him,” I whispered frantically to my sleeping husband.

Rubbing his eyes and reaching for his wire rim glasses, he lets out a yawn, “It’s who?”

I see it, the white sprinter van that nearly took me down earlier in the day. The driver of the van nearly obliterated my tiny Honda Civic on the freeway after he attempted merging into my lane and into my car. Had I not swerved to avoid the collision, I wouldn’t be here to hear this god awful ringing that is now filling the house.

 I wrapped a fluffy robe tightly around my midsection and tugged my groggy husband out of bed. He seemed quite unbothered by the screeching alarm that left my eardrums bleeding. 

“Someone is in the house Travis, I’m calling the police,” I said. 

Travis shook his head and kissed my forehead. I scoffed at him, disappointed at how relaxed he was despite the gravity of the situation. 

“You stay here, I’m going to call the police and check the house. Just stay here and lock the door,” he said. 

Grabbing the baseball bat under the bed, Travis disappeared into the shadow of the hallway. What a great way to start off my birthday, I thought. A near death driving experience and a home invasion, what could be a better present? I stood with my ear against the door, waiting to hear something. The anticipation was biting at me and nervousness pricked the back of my neck. Within a moment, the alarm was turned off. Silence echoed throughout the walls and my head was spinning from the now absent noise. 

“Travis?” I called out. 

I peeked my head around the door, waiting to see him emerge from the stairs to tell me it was a false alarm and that I was just paranoid. Plenty of people have white sprinter vans, it’s not an uncommon vehicle. Although, it is widely used and commonly associated with kidnapping and other illegal affairs. 

The floorboards beneath my feet let out a squeak and I immediately regretted choosing mahogany instead of carpet for our bedroom. I called out again, and only silence was offered back. I tiptoed down the staircase, feeling a cool rush of air tickle my bare legs. A breeze trickled in, but I wasn’t certain where from. 

Rounding the corner, I peeked into the empty kitchen. Sweat gathered on my brow and I clenched my tiny fists, ready to attack someone lurking around the corner. Grabbing two kitchen knives, I brave the rest of the house. 

“Travis? Where are you?” I call out again. 

But this time I hear a loud crashing noise, followed by a thump coming from the library. Charging down the hall and past the study, I see that a stack of books have toppled over. I wince, noticing the disarray of my collection. My signed first edition Harry Potter novels, strewn across the floor. The room looked like it had been intruded by an overly careful burglar. Someone who was aware of what they wanted, but didn’t want to disrupt the state of the house in the process. 

In the corner of the library, a wine glass had toppled over. A semi organized pile of glass sat cluttered under the desk, like the burglar had taken the time to organize his mess. I squinted in the pale light of the moon flooding in from the window. The stem of the wine glass was painted a light blue color, and it was certainly not a glass we had in our cupboard. 

My heart lurched like a bird reaching for freedom in its cage. Panicking, I retreated to the bedroom to grab my phone. If Travis had called the police, they would have been here by now. Just as I reached the top of the landing, a door creaked from beneath. I wait, holding my breath in my lungs. 

With the tiniest bit of courage I had, I ran into the bedroom and scanned the room for my phone. I tap the screen, squinting from the harsh light. Just as I tap in my pin, a dark hood envelops my view. I am suddenly bound by my wrists, my attacker moving swiftly and silently in the night. A weak scream leaves my mouth before a hand quickly stifles my voice. My body is guided down the stairs, I let my body go limp as an attempt at breaking free of my captors grasp, but my feet are grabbed by another set of hands. Wiggling and scrunching my body like a worm, I try buying time and make it difficult for them to carry me. 

I hear the whoosh of the front door open and the click of a car door. I note the direction I’m being shoved, turning right out of the driveway. If I was correct, that meant we were heading toward that same white van that I had suspected was surveying the house moments prior to my kidnapping. 

My mind raced with thoughts of Travis. Was he hurt? Did they have him too? I attempted to focus on my breathing and keeping my composure so I could form an escape plan. A door swings open and my bound body is tossed into the back. I am surprised to feel that the back of this van is spacious and padded with what feels like blankets. What kind kidnappers I had. 

After two doors shut, the engine roars to life and the van speeds off. My body rolls back into the door and I attempt to feel for the window with my feet. If someone can see my feet tied up, they might be inclined to call the police and report the van. My heart sinks after I remember the windows, blacked out and tinted to the max. 

The van comes to a halt, we have reached our destination. The sliding door opens and the back of the van is now exposed. I feel hands reaching for my ankles and my hands, hoisting me up in the air. I’m carried for a few brief moments until my body is placed carefully on the ground. My toes feel at a scratchy surface that mimicked a welcome mat. Fingers are at my ankles, snapping the zipties that have held me together. A hand is on the small of my back, guiding me forward. I hesitantly step forward, feeling for a step. I walk into what must be an open room or home of some kind. I can feel the buzz in the air, a cluster of warm bodies. The ties on my wrists are suddenly freed and the hood over my head has been unveiled. 

“Surprise!’ 

A group of my closest friends circle me, smiling warmly and grinning with pleasure. Travis was smiling weakly in the corner, holding a beer in his hand. The room was decorated with streamers and clusters of balloons littering the floor. They had succeeded in the birthday game, no one was safe. It was a ritual, every year one person in the friend group would become the victim and the rest, the attackers. I should have known, realizing that my time was coming. 

I shook my head and tossed it back with a laugh. Once they saw my faux amusement, they began sharing their own wicked anecdotes of the evening. It was all planned, the burglary, the white van, the cheap broken wine glass. All of it. 

I turned to Sarah, my closest friend, and smiled. It was just a game, we all knew that. But it certainly didn’t feel like a game. There was a hint of want and desire behind this cruel and unusual custom of our circle of friends. It was as if we were all secretly longing to play some sick kind of trick on our loved ones. A twinge of guilt wallowed in my stomach and I too was overcome with the desire of revenge. To see the look on their faces, to be victorious in my attempt to horrify. I had to admit, this year's trick was quite traumatizing, it must have taken a great deal of planning to pull off. 

I glance over at my husband who is nursing his beer. His kind brown eyes, so honest and open for the past ten years have so quickly deceived me. Perhaps he enjoys this sort of thing, reveling in the sweet temptation of trickery. Even though I have been deceived, I feel almost grateful for this sick little secret we all share. We know there’s a line and we do our best not to cross it. But how delicious it would be to cross that line, to pull off the best trick of them all. A birthday that would go down in history. Some would say this was the best birthday ritual event yet, as deeply methodical and planned out as it was. 

Looking at Travis and Michael, Sarah’s husband, I shook my head and a smirk spread across my lips. Michael pouted and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Michael, when’s your birthday again?” 

“January fifth, why?” 

“Just curious.”