Motto: Writers Helping Writers
Text Box: TERROR AT TWO A.M. By Dee Taft The illuminated, digital clock on the dresser said, “sob.” My sentiments, exactly. A squint corrected that reading to 2:06. Darn! I rolled out of bed for my nightly trek down the hall. Soft light seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door revealed my lay preacher husband was still up working on a message. I, practically sleep walking, stepped out into the hall and put my bare foot down on something … that felt … cold and clammy, and … Oh, my word, did it move? My eyes flew open! In the dim light from the computer room I saw… jumbled at my feet … “AAIIIEEEHHH! A SNAKE!” My sixty-six year old feet cleared the floor and I found myself across the hall in the computer room. Harry, face the color of cotton, shot out of his chair. I receded into the small room as far as possible and stared, paralyzed with fright, at the loathesome creature still jumbled at our bedroom door. A hundred thoughts came flying into my head and all frantically vied to get out at the same time. “Lord, help us!” “Is that a snake?” “Is it real?” “Am I dreaming?” “Is this a nightmare?” Then, accusingly, “Harry, did you put that there?” (The last in reference to his fondness for startling me with fake critters.) He patted my shoulder as his saucer like eyes stared past me at the intruder. “Calm down, Honey. Yes, it’s real. No, I didn’t put it there. Come on; calm down before you have a heart attack!” His eyes darted around the office, but the pads, pens, and paper clips offered little in the way of defense. Suddenly, I sprang into action. “I’ll call 911,” I said, snatching the fax phone from its cradle. “What’s the number? Oh, right!” I quickly dialed and waited but nothing happened. I hung up and dialed again. Still nothing. “This phone’s dead!” Did that shriek come out of me?

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Motto: Writers Helping Writers

Rome Area Writers

“Terror at Two A.M.”

By Dee Taft

 
Text Box: I looked around frantically, but I knew that our other three phones were on their chargers… in other rooms. A fact I made known in another shriek. Still looking for something, anything… Harry opened the closet door and spotted a three-foot square remnant of plywood left over from a remodeling project. He grabbed it and positioned it between us and the snake so I could get into the sitting room to another phone. As I dashed by, I saw that our nocturnal visitor was writhing its way toward the dining room. The 911 dispatcher finally came on the line and I screamed into the phone, “There’s a snake in my house! Please send somebody out right away to…” I quickly gave the address. “What did you say?” What’s in your house?” “A SNAKE! Please hurry!” “Ma’am, calm down. Is there someone with you?” “Yes, my husband is here. Will you please hurry?” A slight hesitation, then, ever-so-politely, “Ma’am, did your husband see the snake, too?” No, Lady, I’m drunk and hallucinating. “Yes, my husband saw it! Will you please get somebody out here?” “We’ll be there, soon. What kind of snake is it?” I don’t know snakes! “I don’t know. It’s black.” “How big is it?” “Easy, five feet long and rounder than a quarter. Are you sure somebody is coming?” “Yes, ma’am, they’re on the way.” “They’re on the way!” I called to my beloved, whom, I suddenly realized had disappeared. “Harry, where are you?” “In the kitchen.” “Where’s the snake?” 3 “I don’t know.” “What do you mean, you don’t know? You let it out of your sight?” Soon, every light in the house was on. We, then boot-clad, looked high and low for our uninvited guest, each hoping the other would find it. We eventually gave up, and after turning the furniture upside down, Harry took to his recliner and I to the sofa, feet tucked under me, to wait; but every few seconds checking the floor and the cracks between the cushions. Two loooong hours later, a member of our city’s finest showed up with a flashlight and did a walk-through, offering the distinct impression he was relieved he didn’t find the snake. “What did it look like?” he asked, edging toward the front door. “It was black, six feet long and big around as a half dollar,” “It probably went out the way it came in,” he said, his hand on the knob. I found no comfort in that thought. “Which means it can come back!” There was that shriek, again. He advised us to call an exterminator and left. Harry went to bed, but I, phone in hand, returned to my perch on the couch. The sun came up, at long last. Mr. Coffee did his job, and the aroma roused me from a fitful sleep filled with dreams of vicious varmints. Both eyes peeled for ‘Lucifer,’ I pried myself off the couch, stretched out the kinks and went to the kitchen. Armed with the coffee, my cell and the phone book, I cautiously opened the front door. Satisfied every snake in the valley wasn’t waiting on the front deck for Lucifer, I ventured out to what I prayed was a safer place. Promptly at eight o’clock, I dialed our pest control and was informed they didn’t do reptiles. “Can you recommend someone?” “Yes, but he works out of Tennessee. Would you like that number?” Oh, great! We could be hugged to death or swallowed up whole by the time he gets here! “Yes, please.” At nine o’clock, the reptile man returned my call. “Can you describe the snake?” Visions of the monster crowded my mind. “It was seven-feet-long, fat as a golf ball, and black!” “Hmmm. Tell you what. I’ll come, but it’ll be evening before I can get there.” Oh, well. Guess I can hang out on the deck all day. “Okay, but please try to hurry. By the way, what do you charge?” “My rates start at two hundred dollars. It depends on the size of your home and what I have to do. I’ll start by going underneath to look for openings.” “Oh, dear. Our house is small but I’d better not make that decision by myself. I’ll talk to my husband and call you back. Let me get your number. Oops! I don’t have a pen. Hang on a minute.” Phone still to my ear, I cautiously crept back inside. About to round the corner into the hall, I came face-to-face, again, with last night’s nightmare! My scream should have woken the dead, but not my beloved. Apparently, he was lying on his good ear. Backtracking to the front door, I yelled into the phone, “He’s back! He’s back! I don’t care what you charge! I’ll pay you two thousand dollars! Just come get this snake out of my house!” “Take a deep breath and calm yourself,” said the reptile man. “Where are you? Can you still see the snake?” I shuddered. “Yes, I see him. He’s in the hall moving toward the dining room.” “Okay. Now stay back, but look closely and describe him to me.” I tried to pull myself together. “He’s black, between five and six-feet-long and bigger around than a quarter.” “You’re doing great. If you can see his head, tell me if it is round or diamond shaped.” “I believe it’s round.” “Okay, that’s good.” He gave a sigh of relief. “It’s probably not poisonous. If it were, at least in the U.S., it would have a diamond-shaped head. Do you see any markings on the body?” “I don’t think so. I can’t tell from here.” “It’s probably a harmless rat snake.” I’m not so sure. In my book, a snake is a SNAKE! After his promised to come as soon as possible, we hung up. Still bordering on hysteria, I yelled for Harry, but he was catching up on missed sleep. Helplessly, I watched as the snake rounded the corner, stretched himself out against the dining room wall and stopped … no doubt to plan his attack. I tiptoed across the living room, and then, a rush of fear-induced adrenalin sent me tearing down the hall and into the bedroom, shrieking, “Harry, get up! The snake is back! Get up!” My beloved didn’t stir until I gave his foot a yank, and then he awoke with a start. Bleary-eyed, he sprang out of bed, retrieved his trusty square of plywood and warily sidled down the hall toward the dining room. I stayed behind to storm heaven on his behalf while Faithful Hubby approached Lucifer with his makeshift weapon and gave him a whack on the head. Unfazed, the black, tubular traveler defiantly raised his head and resumed his journey along the wall. The plywood still between them, Harry trailed along until they reached the back door, at which point he turned the knob. Lucifer calmly passed through and down the back steps. Once he reached the ground, he slithered through the grass and out of our sight. “He’s gone. You can come out, now,” Harry called to me. But the other possibilities: Snakes always travel in pairs and What if there’s a nest? invaded my mind and I was not convinced. I insisted we thoroughly search the house; an action I almost regretted when I found a freshly shed snakeskin wrapped around a bookcase in our sitting room! Dear Lord, Please make the nightmare stop! Encouragement finally came when the reptile man’s evening inspection turned up no possible entry points. He concluded the snake had gone out the same way it came in. Hats off to the policeman! The only problem with that theory is that several days had passed since Harry had left the back door open while transferring tools to his work shed. No, I won’t let my thoughts go there! It‘s been a year now, but the memory of my two a.m. terror still springs fresh with each nightly trek down the hall. A mere shadow, or the glimpse of a dark lamp cord in a dimly lit room, can stop my heart. It is then I am hard pressed to heed the advice of my daughter-in-law, “Mom, you should keep a sharp hoe handy; preferably right next to the head board.”