Scratch (5 page)

We got out of the truck. Jeff loaded his rifle and motioned me forward. I followed along behind him, clutching the handgun. Soon, the road disappeared beneath our feet, and cold water rushed into my boots. The floodwaters were halfway up my shins, and still rising. The current pulled at me, and I had to struggle to keep my balance. It was like walking through fast-flowing cement. The roar of the water was deafening.
 

“This isn’t going to work,” Jeff yelled above the din. “We’ll have to go around. This way!”
 

He led us up the hill and into the woods. I wondered if he should be shouting like that, but decided that if Old Scratch heard us, maybe we’d get lucky and frighten it off before it could hurt Thena or her kids. Then again, maybe we’d attract its attention instead. I wondered if we’d even be on time. I wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed since we’d spotted the creature. It seemed like forever.
 

The forest was a mess. Even though the rain was finished, water still dripped from above. Droplets rolled off the leaves and kept splattering my glasses. Although the mist had dissipated somewhat, thick wisps of tenacious fog still floated at ground level, obscuring everything below our knees. Between that and all of the fallen branches, our progress was slow and treacherous. Both of us stumbled several times.
 

“Maybe we should unload the guns until we get there,” I suggested, fearing an accident if either one of us fell.
 

Jeff shook his head. “We need to be ready. What if it rushes us? I’m sure as hell not facing down that thing with an empty rifle.”
 

I took a deep breath and tried not to puke.
 

When Dylan was six months old, he got sick one night. It was the weirdest thing. He’d been fine all day, happy and cooing. Then, night came and he started throwing up. His fever spiked, refusing to go down. We’d rushed him to the emergency room and watched, helpless, while the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong. Marlena sobbed. I felt numb—stunned, like someone had smacked me in the head with a hammer. In the end, everything turned out okay. He’d caught a bad case of the flu. They got some liquids in him and arrested his fever and we took him home. A few days later, he was back to normal. But I’ve never forgotten it. I remember that time well, because I’d never been more scared in my life.
 

Until now.
 

We reached the top of the hill, and the mist cleared. Thena’s shed was just a few paces away from us, right on the edge of the woods where her backyard ended. Beyond the shed, on a slight downhill slope, sat her house. It was silent, and there was no sign of the snake—or anyone else. I glanced across the swollen creek and caught a glimpse of my own home. It seemed very far away at that moment. I glanced up at the sky and wished the clouds would part and the sun would come out in full and burn the rest of the fog and the gloom away, but it didn’t.
 

Jeff raised his hand and motioned me forward. He readjusted his grip on the rifle, and nestled the stock between his arm and shoulder, holding it at the ready. Maybe he was trying to project confidence or bravado, but the whole thing seemed ridiculous to me. We weren’t soldiers. He was a retiree in his sixties and I was a pudgy comic book artist who got winded if I ran more than a quarter mile. But there was no one else to help Thena, or her kids, and helping is what neighbors do. Like it or not, it came down to us. If the situation was reversed, I’d want my neighbors to do the same for me and my family.
 

We stepped out of the tree line and crossed through the yard. The grassy slope was slippery, so we moved slowly. The only noise was the ever-present floodwaters, and Jeff’s heavy breathing, which sounded very loud in the silence. Thena had a dog, a small Beagle named Henry. I used to see him running around in their yard with Derrick and Josie. He had the most annoying bark in the world. When Henry wasn’t running around barking at ducks in the creek or taunting Sanchez from the other side, she kept him tied out back, in a small doghouse between the shed and the house. I wondered why we didn’t hear him now. Surely, Henry would have sensed the presence of the snake, just like Sanchez had done. Then, we rounded the corner past the shed and I saw why. Henry was missing. The doghouse had been flattened. A steel chain lay in the wet yard. One end of the chain was attached to the pile of splintered lumber. The other end was attached to an empty dog collar.
 

The ground around the doghouse was pretty muddy, and a long, wide trench led from there to the house, and then disappeared around the side. I shivered. I’d seen trails like it before. We had lots of black racer snakes and garter snakes on our property. Sometimes, if I was under deadline and put off mowing the yard, and the grass was higher than normal, they’d leave tracks like this. Except smaller. Much smaller. The track we were looking at now was at least five feet wide and one foot deep. It was more of a furrow than a trail. Again, it didn’t seem possible, but when confronted with the evidence, I had no choice but to accept the reality, no matter how outlandish or horrifying it might seem. My apprehension doubled. My temples throbbed. My stomach was in knots and my palms grew sweaty. The pistol slipped in my grasp, and I fumbled with it, almost dropping it in the mud. We paused, staring at the creature’s wake, and I stuck the gun in my back pocket and wiped my glasses clean again. They were fogging up, due to the weather and my own hyperventilating.
 

“You okay?” Jeff whispered, looking concerned.
 

I nodded. “Steady now, Evan. I need you with me on this.”
 

“Can I ask you something?”
 

“Sure.”
 

“What are we going to do when we find it?”
 

Jeff grinned humorlessly. “All snakes in Pennsylvania are protected by Fish and Boat Commission regulations, but I think the game warden will make an exception in this case.”
 

I tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked whimper.
 

“Evan, if it helps, just know that I’m scared shitless, too.”
 

It didn’t help, but I smiled and pretended that it did.
 

We crept up to the back porch. The snake’s path crossed over onto the cement patio, leaving behind a trail of mud, before going back into the yard. Had it stopped here, investigating the house, looking for a way inside? Maybe it had looked through the windows and seen Thena or one of the kids in the kitchen. I shuddered at the image, imagining the snake’s tongue flicking in and out, and those inhuman eyes staring through the glass, watching Thena cooking, or maybe Derrick and Josie sitting around the kitchen table, eating their dinner. Watching them without blinking.
 

“I hope they’re okay,” I whispered.
 

“Me, too.”
 

We tiptoed around the side of the house, following the rut in the yard. Jeff pressed his back against the wet aluminum siding and peeked around the corner. He started forward, rifle raised, and I followed along behind him. We reached the window, and heard a muffled thump coming from inside the house. We paused, listening, but the sound wasn’t repeated.
 

At some point before the snake’s arrival, Thena’s window had been broken. Maybe it happened during the storm, when the hail was falling, or maybe it had occurred before the storm. In either case, she’d tried to repair the damage by taping clear plastic sheeting over the gaping hole. By the look of things, Old Scratch had pressed right through it, ripping it free. The plastic hung from one corner of the hole, flapping with the breeze. The window frame was bent, as if a bulk wider than the opening had been squeezed through it. Something was stuck to the bottom of the windowsill. At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It looked like parchment or cheesecloth, fluttering in the wind. Then I took a closer look, and reached out to touch it.
 

“It’s skin,” Jeff whispered. “He’s shedding. He’s goddamn shedding ...”
 

Recoiling in disgust, I jerked my hand back. I turned to Jeff and mouthed,
‘What now?’
 

He pointed at me and then at the window. I shook my head. We repeated the exchange again. Then, sighing, Jeff handed me his rifle and carefully climbed through the broken window, brushing the snake skin to the ground as he did. When he was inside the house, I handed him the gun and then clambered through after him.
 

Suddenly, I had to piss really, really bad. I considered doing it. After all, my pants were already wet. It would be hard for Jeff to tell. But if I was going to die, I decided that I’d rather not do it by pissing myself.
 

The kitchen was a scene of mass destruction. The table and chairs had been overturned, and one of the chairs had been smashed. A beautiful antique china cabinet lay face down, the wood splintered. A few candles lay scattered. Luckily, they’d gone out when they toppled over, rather than starting a fire. Broken glass and shards of pottery littered the floor. The tiles were covered with mud, water, wet leaves, blades of grass—and blood. Not a lot of it, but enough that we noticed the droplets amidst the wreckage. My grip on the Taurus tightened. Whose blood was it? The thumping sound started up again, soft but insistent. They were followed by a strange crackling sound, like wood popping in a campfire. The noises were coming from what I guessed was the living room. We headed towards it, cringing each time a piece of debris crunched beneath our feet. The sounds stopped as abruptly as they’d started. The silence was unsettling. It wasn’t natural. At the very least, we should have heard Thena, Derrick, or Josie shouting for help. But there was nothing. Even the roar of the floodwaters outside seemed muted now. My pulse pounded in my ears.
 

When we reached the far side of the kitchen, Jeff flicked the light switch, but to no avail. Thena’s electricity was off, too. The narrow hallway that led from the kitchen to the living room was dark. We had some dim light coming through the windows, so we were still able to see. Jeff raised the rifle and started down it. I followed along closely behind him. The pistol shook in my hand. On the wall were framed pictures of Thena and the kids. They were smiling. Happy. Oblivious to what could happen to them in their own home. I looked away and closed my eyes.
 

Our feet made sloshing noises. Opening my eyes again, I glanced down at the carpet and, despite the dim light, saw that it was wet. As we reached the front of the house, I saw why. In addition to branching off into the living room, the hallway also led to a small foyer at the front door. Water streamed in from under the door, soaking the carpet and the floorboards beneath it. Like our own house and all the other homes along the creek, Thena’s didn’t have a basement. There was nowhere else for the water to go.
 

We paused at the front door. The living room was even darker than the hallway. Jeff took a deep breath and then stepped into the room. He stopped so suddenly that I bumped into him, pushing him further into the gloom. He scrambled out of the way, and I saw why he’d halted.
 

Like the kitchen, the living room was a disaster. The coffee table lay on its side and one leg was snapped off. The recliner had been knocked over and the sofa cushions were askew. The remnants of a potted plant lay scattered across the carpet. Oddly enough, the borders of the room seemed smaller than it should have been. As my eyes adjusted, I realized why. The snake was in there with us, occupying the far side of the room. Its tail was hidden behind the couch and part of its midsection was concealed by the curtains. But the rest of the creature was visible—and it was terrible to behold.
 

That was when I pissed myself. I couldn’t help it. Warmth flooded my cold, rain-soaked jeans. The stench was immediate, but I don’t think Jeff noticed. Like me, his attention was on the snake.
 

Now that I was closer to it, I realized that the thing wasn’t coal black like I’d first thought, but rather a mixture of gray and brownish-black, with dark cross-bands on its neck and charcoal spots on its back and sides. A few sections of its length were coiled up just far enough that I could see its belly, which had a vibrant pattern of white, yellow, and red crescent-shaped spots. It might have been almost beautiful if it hadn’t been so horrific.
 

“Oh, Jesus,” Jeff breathed. “Where’s the head? Where’s its goddamned head?”
 

The serpent tensed. A coarse, rasping sound filled the room. Then, slowly, a great shadow rose up from behind the toppled recliner.
 

I screamed.
 

We stared into the face of legend.
 

We stared into the eyes of Old Scratch.
 

And the Devil stared back at us.
 

The snake’s pupils were round like a human’s, and its eyes had a cloudy, bluish appearance. At first I thought that maybe it was blind, but then I realized that its eyes were full of lymph fluid, probably from the process of shedding its old skin. Its head was large and round, easily the size of a cow’s head. And its body ... Its body was
massive
. I wondered how it had managed to squeeze its entire mass into the tiny room.
 

Most alarming was its mouth, and what was sticking out from between its wide open jaws. We glimpsed pink and white musculature, and six rows of sharp, re-curved teeth. Most of the teeth were at least six inches long. A pair of skinny legs stuck out of its mouth. The knees were scabbed. One foot was bare. The other had a pink, frilly sock and a black shoe.
 

It was Josie, Thena’s daughter.
 

Her legs did not move.
 

Now we knew what that thumping sound had been—her death throes.
 

The creature’s throat was swollen and puffed out. Further down its body were two more large bulges.