Guest Write - Christopher Grant - Happy Birthday, Honey

Many of you know my "story." I am an ex-corporate dweeb who had my creative juices sucked dry daily. All the while, I was fending off pencil pushing geeks and countless mobs of know-more-than-you-do bosses for years.

Deep down inside of me, a writer was dying to come out. I dabbled at it, I kept journals and often would go on tears, mostly when on vacation, writing up a storm. I never published or even thought about sharing my work with others.

18 months ago I ditched the corporate world for good. I went to Queens University here in Charlotte and started taking creative writing courses. I got incredibly lucky and landed a gig writing a weekly column for the Charlotte Observer in the Sunday edition on local neighborhoods, people, places and events.

I discovered flash fiction and the tremendous number of outlets, like minded writers and huge international community of generous, supportive, encouraging writers, editors, readers and friends. You have inspired and motivated me at every turn of my developmental journey.

One of those incredible people is a guy from my home state of Minnesota. He is the editor of a fantastic Crime and Noir site called A Twist of Noir. An accomplished writer in his own right, his stories are featured at Thrillers, Killers 'N' Chillers, Powder Burn Flash, and The Flash Fiction Offensive. His Greta (and now Lily) stories are wildly popular and eagerly anticipated.

Christopher Grant showcases many of the best and creative writers flashing today. An editor in the truest sense of the word, Chris works with writers and points out where their stories can be improved, tightened up and polished for greater effect.

The blogosphere doesn't afford writers and editors the opportunity to sit across the table from each other, it's all done virtually. Chris doesn't let this stand in the way of establishing real rapport with those that write for his site and as such has established a steady stream of great writers who love to post there, in addition to a large readership and following of this wildly popular genre.

The NOT is truly pleased to pay homage to Christopher Grant, and return his many favors to me by featuring his uniquely twisted tale of a birthday party that turned out to be quite a surprise. Please enjoy Christopher Grant's Happy Birthday, Honey.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY
by CHRISTOPHER GRANT

Will was pretty sure that Janet was asleep. He'd laid awake for two hours
just to make sure. He tested out his assumption by shifting slightly in the
bed. Janet didn't move a muscle. A couple more moves and still nothing.
Finally, Will sat up and looked over his shoulder.

Janet was asleep.

He pushed off the bed with his hands and stood, slipped his bathrobe on and
stepped into his slippers and slid through the opening between the bedroom
door and its jamb, the door slightly ajar in case the kids needed something
during the night.

He went to Darcy's room and opened her door a bit, stepped inside. His
eyes needed to adjust to the darkened room, even though he had been moving
around in the very same conditions for the last two minutes. Will stared at his
daughter's bed and could finally make out a shape. Darcy's little chest
rose and fell. Will shut the door and went on down to the boys' room.

Trent and Victor were as dead to the world as their sister. Will smiled
and made his way to the staircase. Down and then out of the house altogether.
Will headed for the two-car garage.

He opened the side door and reached around the doorframe to flip on the
light. In addition to the single car parked in its space, there was what Will
had made into a lounge space on the other side of the garage. A fridge,
couch and television made up that area. Will got himself a beer. He looked at
the clock, two in the morning, shrugged and opened the pop tab, took a swig.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Will smiled and rose,
crossed the floor to the door and opened it up for Brandy, his next-door
neighbor.

"We only have about an hour," Brandy said to Will, passing by him and
getting a beer for herself. "Roger will be up for his run then."

Will set his beer on the floor, took off his robe and said, "Let's get to
it, then."

*

Janet couldn't sleep. No one could blame her if they knew everything she
knew. Her husband, Will, was having an affair. Worse still, it was with
their next-door neighbor and Janet's best friend, Brandy.

Brandy was hot, Janet would give Will that much. A tight little package of
tits and ass, all wrapped up in mocha skin and topped off with dreadlocked
hair.

How he could do this to her, though, after all the years they'd spent
together, the kids and the I Love Yous and all the little things...

Janet had watched them one night, a couple weeks ago. First, Will left
their bed and made his way out to the garage. Twenty minutes later, Brandy
showed up in sweats and a t-shirt.

The light inside the garage had gone off thirty minutes after that and the
two had come back out. Brandy had told Will what a good time she'd had and
that she'd see him in a few nights.

A few nights later, it happened again, only this time, instead of a pair of
sweats and a t-shirt, Brandy showed up in short-shorts and a tank top.
Granted, it was a muggy seventy-five degrees, not ideal sleeping weather in the
least.

Janet had decided that night to sneak out and go to the garage, if for
nothing else than to listen.

Will had been so considerate as to crack the metal garage door open just a
bit to allow some air in. Janet heard the whore that she considered one of
her close friends giggle and tell Will "it's so big" and that he needed to
"put it there now."

Tears stung Janet's eyes that night and she'd made up her mind that she
needed to do something the next time it happened.

Will thought that he was so smart, that she was fast asleep and that he was
free and clear to go to his rendezvous with his cheap little tart.

Ten minutes after he left their bed, Janet got dressed, stripping out of
her nightgown and pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She slipped on
some tennis shoes and then reached into the very back of the closet to the
shoebox. The Nike Swoosh met her eyes and she carefully lifted the top, took
the contents of the box and dropped the box onto the floor.

Janet went downstairs, opened the front door and paused. She knew she was
doing the right thing. She wasn't going to hurt anyone, just confront them.
Make it clear to Brandy that she was Will's wife and that she knew all
about them. Then she'd confront Will and lay it all out for him. How she was
throwing him out, how she was suing for custody, how he had broken her heart
and... Janet started to cry, bit her lip and forced herself to get a grip.

She wondered briefly if Roger, Brandy's husband, had any clue what his wife
was up to and what his reaction would be if he ever found out.

Janet shut the door behind her and slowly walked toward the garage, making
sure to keep to the shadows. Brandy hadn't arrived yet and she wanted to
catch them in the act. The tree that Will had wanted to cut down for years
still remained. Janet loved that tree, now more than ever as it shaded her
from view from the garage.

And, like clockwork, here she came. Sluttier than ever, wearing a silky
pink nightgown that couldn't really be called such by anyone that had taste.
The hem fell to mid-thigh and Janet was sure that Brandy wasn't wearing any
panties underneath. She knocked on the side door and Will opened it,
ushered her in, before he looked around outside.

Janet ducked back behind the trunk of the tree. Had Will seen her? When
he shut the door behind him, she knew was safe.

Janet waited, counted to twenty, trying to sort her thoughts, trying to
slow her breathing and her heartbeat. If she didn't calm herself, she felt
certain she was going to either pass out or have a heart attack. Her head
throbbed already.

Twenty...

Janet went around the trunk of the tree, crept up to the edge of the garage
and listened carefully. All she could hear was the slight breeze rustling
the leaves on the tree.

There was a low thump from behind the garage door. "Oh, Christ!" Brandy's
voice sounded, echoing, thundering in Janet's ears. The way she had uttered
those two words left no doubt in Janet's mind what was happening inside of
her garage. She started to tear up again.

No! No fucking crying, Janet told herself as she flung the side door open
and took aim with the gun.

BLAM!

BLAM!

It had gone off twice, by itself, it seemed. It shook in her hands and
then dropped to the concrete of the garage floor. Janet screamed and bawled
and went to her knees.

Even though she had been oblivious to everything as she'd squeezed the
trigger, she understood now, staring at the results of what she had done.

*

Will looked down at his hand, clutched tight against his stomach. Red,
darker than he had ever seen it. Blood. No mistake about it. It was roiling
up and out and spilling over his fingers, coating the garage floor, making
strange patterns across the concrete. Too much there, not enough here. It
hurt. And then he felt his legs give.

He mimicked his wife, who was kneeling, as if in prayer. Was that a scream
that she was emitting from her mouth?

Will's eyes moved rapidly, searching for something. Brandy. That's what
he was searching for. Was that her name? She was laid out on the floor, her
eyes frozen, half of her skull gone. Her mocha skin was turning pale, her
nightgown had ridden up, revealing the smooth skin of her naked buttocks.

Will felt himself starting to lose the already-tilted battle, his eyelids
growing heavy and his breathing slowing down. He needed to lay down. His
head hit the concrete floor and he was gone.

*

A giganitc purple box, with white trim and a white ribbon ending in a bow
at the top, sat on the tool bench, one of its sides crushed beyond repair.
Hanging above the bench were streamers and banners that read Happy Birthday!

Janet, seated on the floor and propped against the doorframe, remembered
idly that she turned thirty-nine today.