A Horrific Birthday For Pam

I had just gotten off the phone with Marsha Kramer. She was my sister’s best friend and my best irritation—like a rash. Marsha has that high-pitched baby voice that I find as grating as nails across a chalkboard and she has the nasty habit of speaking in ’up-talk’. Not to mention her perpetually greasy hair, her horrific halitosis, and her constant hugs. She included me in the planning of Pam’s surprise birthday party, however, so for the sake of my sister, I was going to be cordial while we worked together.

Marsha arranged for the celebration to be at ‘Kunk’s Tavern’, a restaurant down the street from our house. My task was to get my sister there without her suspecting anything. I also needed a gift, and I had no idea of what to give her, time was running out. My best bud, Greg, suggested that I give Pam something that would remind her of her younger days.

We marched up the creaking steps that led to the attic. As soon as I opened the door, I felt the difference in the atmosphere; the air felt thick and humid. A single sunbeam streamed through the glass windows in the far wall, and I reached up to pull a chain dangling from one of the strategically placed light bulbs. The uneven wood floor was strewn with discarded furniture and boxes of holiday decorations.

Greg found some milk crates packed with old photo albums. “Look at this.” He was hysterical, and his laughter was infectious even before I saw the photo.

A twelve-year-old Marsha and Pam were standing hip to hip. They had mirroring side ponytails and wore Bailey Barr t-shirts, a couple of typical barrettes. That’s what the 14-year-old music sensation Bailey Barr’s female fans were called, barrettes. I personally always saw her fascination as a “young and naïve” enthrallment, and I supposed she saw my disdain for the kid as a jealousy of his success.

Bailey Barr’s lack of singing ability and cheesy songs, along with his multiple attempts to come off as masculine by smoking weed, hanging out with rappers, and trying to grow a mustache, were laughable. He came across as an arrogant little brat. I heard that he spit off a balcony outside of his hotel room on screaming teenage barrettes and barettas below.

Pam’s favorite song was ‘Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice.’ I found an old mixed tape of hers with that song on it in one of the boxes of things Pam left behind when she moved out. Other favorite songs of hers from her pre-teen years were also recorded on it. I gave the cassette to Greg to hold until the party and he slipped the tape into his shirt pocket. The clock chimed; it was 5 p.m.

After Greg and I had dinner with my parents, he left, saying he’d see me at the party. The plan was that Pam’s husband, Ken, would tell the birthday girl that he was working late, and he and Pam would celebrate her birthday the following weekend. I would pick her up at about 7:45 p.m. and take her to ‘Kunk's Tavern’ for a birthday drink with her dear brother.

I drove to Pam's house to pick her up. During our short ride to the restaurant, she complained non-stop about her husband working late on her birthday, so I knew she had no idea about the party. I cranked up the radio.

By the time we arrived at our destination, the parking lot was pretty much full. The only available parking space was behind the establishment near the tree line, and the lighting was dim since the lamp lights do not extend that far back. As we got out of the car, we heard a groan coming from within the wooded area. I said it was probably a couple of drunk patrons. We argued about the cause of the noise. Pam was more worried than I was, she gave people the benefit of the doubt too often. I eventually caved and cautiously pushed aside bushes and bramble to investigate. I only trekked ahead about four yards before I saw him—and it.

Greg was sticking out of the maw of a giant snake. His lower legs were wedged in the creature’s jaws; I could almost see his feet bulging the back of its pliable head. I grabbed my friend’s flailing arms, clamping onto his wrists, all the while yelling for help. Suddenly, Pam was behind me, she grabbed the waist band of my jeans and pulled. I didn’t know if she was helping me save Greg or trying to save me from being swallowed as well.

I’ll never forget the sound of Greg’s bones crunching like a bag of pretzels as they crushed under the pressure of the reptiles constricting body. That sound was what convinced me to let go. Pam and I fell to the ground and scuttled backward until Pam’s back hit a tree. I quickly scrambled to my feet and yanked her onto her feet so hard; she almost tumbled forward, knocking me over. We ran into the bar and everyone yelled surprise.

The police were not quick to believe us, nor anyone else. But three days after the incident, the officers came to my house with a copy of a police statement made by Joshua Kane. I read:

Joshua L. Kane’s police statement:

Anyone who takes care of an in-ground swimming pool knows that anything from flying insects to creepy crawlies can get caught in the skimmers. I check mine every day, ever since a year ago when I found a dead grasshopper in one of them. It must have floated in there and gotten trapped. One day, when I found a live five-inch snake, I kept it in a fish tank, read all about creating a proper habitat for it.

It was growing, and after four months I transferred it to a large reptile enclosure that I built myself. A painted steel structure with plywood panels, Plexiglas front doors and a living space 60 inches high, 48 inches long and 28 inches wide. It was a beautiful piece of furniture. Zak, that’s what I called him, lived there for almost a year, continuing to grow in both length and width.

When he grew too large for the terrarium I built, I did some remodeling to the enclosed patio attached to my house and fashioned an adequate room for Zak. The room is adjacent to the kitchen so I’m always careful to keep both the door to the kitchen and the door leading outside secure. But this morning, as I was working in my garden, I heard the door to the patio bang shut from a strong gust of wind. Startled, I moseyed over to the enclosure to make certain Zak was there, sure enough he was. I also saw a dried pancake of vomit with this cassette caked in it.

After reading the statement, I blurted out the word “Kaiju.” I must have exclaimed it a little too forcefully because one of the officers handed me a tissue.

End