Home Stories Poems Site Reviews Writing Tips Charlie Fish
FICTION on the WEB short stories by Charlie Fish

Snakes
Snakes
by Charlie Sundt 1999

View or add comments on this story

Carly lay alone in a wide double bed, unable to sleep. She pictured the menacing, twisted organs of an evil monster surrounding her, as if the house itself was digesting her like a morsel of raw meat. She shifted uncomfortably, bare underneath her flimsy sheet and feeling very vulnerable.

The beast's inescapable stomach grumbled ominously. She shivered. The noise had been a door creaking open. It creaked again. She wrapped herself in the sheet like a cocoon. She wished her husband were here, so she could pretend to sleep while he went downstairs to scare away the intruder. She listened acutely for footsteps.

She heard only the secret of a breeze. The distant door creaked again. A draft. Maybe she had left a window open. She turned her head to look out of the bedroom window, careful not to let the heat escape from her little cocoon. Only a swaying branch in the garden interrupted the crisp fullness of the moon. The eerie orb cast a dim blue light over her foetal figure.

The monster's stomach complained again. Carly curled up tighter for a moment, then let go. She cast the white sheet aside as if it had been her prison, and crept out of bed. She felt the blue light invade her flesh. She tiptoed hastily across the large room and pulled her silk robe off the door. It slithered around her like a temptation.

Quietly, without breathing, she pulled open the bedroom door. An insidious waft of cold air sneaked its way through her, chilling her. She retreated slightly, looking over her shoulder as if the gust was a ghost. She timidly peeked around the door, which she was gripping tightly, and allowed her eyes to take in every detail of the dark hall.

Nothing was out of place. No sound. Except the creaking again, quietly conspiring with the whisper of air to raid Carly's delicate soul. She breathed again. Her naked feet floated forward, snakes of silk enveloping her fragile form.

The floorboards creaked below her, as if warning her, and she hesitated for an instant of eternity. Her arms were crossed over her breasts, holding the folds of robe in place, as if the gloomy darkness threatened to rend the silk off her skin. Defenceless. Exposed. She felt her nipples firm up as the drafts of air cooled her core.

She descended the stairs like a wraith, her face twisted in anxiety. Her big chestnut eyes wide and trembling. She approached the creaking door agonisingly slowly, cocking her ear towards it, but keeping her eyes fixed solidly on its frame. An urge to look over her shoulder was building up inside her, but she feared what she would see. She sped up almost imperceptibly.

She could swear she felt strange eyes explore her. The compulsion to turn her head and check that she was alone reached a crescendo. Her eyes shimmered and her chin tensed as she snapped her head back to face her nemesis. Nothing there but the monster, breathing gently.

She scurried to the creaking door, running away from the enemy that wasn't there. With agitation, she glanced behind her, across the hall, into the room with the creaking door. She noticed the open window. It cast a long, indistinct shadow across the room, which was lit by the same pale blue light as the bedroom.

She breathed deeply, her bosom heaving, tickled by the liquid silk. She let her arms drop to her sides. She strode with all the confidence she could muster, though her face belied her, across to the open window. She quivered in the draft. Her lean hand reached out to the window latch, grasped, and gently tugged. It was stuck.

Her other hand, with its ruby wedding ring, submitted itself to the blue light, helping to pull the window closed. There was another creak from behind her. She leaned further out, trying to pull the whole window now instead of just the latch.

A muscular hand grabbed her intimately between the legs. She inhaled to scream, just as she was hoisted out of the window. The owner of the murderous hand peered out of the window, nodded to himself and removed the small rock that had wedged the window open, throwing it after her.


Rob was enraged when his best friend, Steve, told him that Carly was having an affair. He remembered the cancerous fury that he felt growing inside him. His own wife. The thought of her tender skin being coveted by some faceless snake disgusted him even now. The thought of some infernal demon licking her velvet flesh, stroking her fluid hair, infecting her innocent soul, puncturing her cherished being.

He chided himself for thinking of her as a carnal object. And became even angrier when he then realised that she must have loved that evil thing. Externally, he showed none of his searing pain and emotional conflict. He merely became very quiet. But it was eating him alive. He could hardly look at his wife, let alone talk to her about it. His own wife. He began to plot a violent revenge, herding the hateful thoughts that assailed him.

He set up a careful alibi, allowing his wife to believe that she had a weekend with the house to herself. He sneaked back into the house that Saturday night, unseen, and quietly wedged open the window in the library. He didn't care who came down to close it. In his blind passion he would push either of them out onto the tarmac two stories below. His wife or the snake.

He remembered crouching in the darkness, silently watching his wife's beautiful silhouette creep nervously down the stairs and into the library. He remembered sneaking up behind her, reaching out his muscular hand and grabbing her vulgarly between the legs. She inhaled to scream, just as she was hoisted out of the window...

He remembered pulling the window closed behind her, suddenly full of devastating regret. He had started sobbing with abandon, his knees buckling beneath him. He had suddenly felt a compulsion to kill the snake. To avenge the defilement and death of virtuous Carly. To make her his own again. He picked up a small but heavy bookstand from one of the shelves and ran frenzied up to the master bedroom, as if he was possessed by the demon he was out to destroy. He found the wide double bed empty.

Now Rob lay alone in that spacious bed, unable to sleep. He felt terrible. So guilty. So sorry. So much grief. He should have gone to prison. But there was not enough evidence; his simple plan had worked well. He should have confessed. He cried softly, as he had done every day for a month now.

How could he have believed that his beloved Carly had been unfaithful? Why had Steve betrayed him by telling him such a crushing untruth? Now he lay alone forever. He shifted uncomfortably, bare underneath his flimsy sheet and feeling very vulnerable.

He heard a subtle creaking noise. He remembered how his beautiful Carly would wrap herself in her sheet like a cocoon. He wished she were here to comfort him. The distant creak sounded again. It was a door being blown open by a draft. Maybe he had left a window open.

Rob cast the white sheet aside as if it had been his prison, and crept out of bed. He walked through the bedroom door, along the hall and down the stairs. The floorboards creaked below him, as if warning him, and he hesitated for an instant of eternity. He approached the disquieted door suddenly cautious, cocking his ear towards it, but keeping his eyes fixed solidly on its frame. It was the library door.

With agitation, he glanced into the library. He noticed the open window. It cast a long, indistinct shadow across the room, which was lit by the same pale blue light as the bedroom. He breathed deeply. He looked behind him quickly, then entered the library, closing the door behind him.

He walked up to the window, and checked to see if there was a stone lodged in its frame to wedge it open. There wasn't. He laughed under his breath, though his face showed no signs of mirth. He leant out to pull the window closed.

The door slammed open behind him. He whirled around, and gasped. His best friend Steve towered in the doorway, a poker resting in his left hand, a look of madness flickering across his frowning face.

"This is how you killed her, isn't it?" yelled Steve. Rob was stunned. "You pushed her out of this window, didn't you? Bastard! You bastard! I loved her! I love her!"

Rob's tumour of rage exploded. He leapt forward, knocking Steve to the ground. The poker skidded across the hall beyond the door. Rob hit and hit and hit, until Steve's protests ceased. Until the snake was stilled. Rob kept hitting until his bloodied hands hurt, bellowing out foul curses and despaired cries. He kept hitting until he was physically unable to continue, his body racked with sobs and his fingers broken. He lay next to the snake for a long time, weeping.

Just before dawn, when the full moon lay fading high in the sky, and the air was chilled, Rob got up and walked shakily over to the library window. He held the folds of his robe in place with one hand, and reached out to close the window with the other.

An icy cold hand grabbed his arm from outside. A vice grip. Rob opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. He watched as a familiar ruby wedding ring on the strong lean hand that held him bled its precious crimson, veins of red snaking over the cold ghostly hand and over his own arm. He finally released his pent-up scream, just as he was hoisted out of the window.

View or add comments on this story

Back to top
Back to list of stories
Home

Google
 
Web www.fictionontheweb.co.uk

www.fictionontheweb.co.uk

Home Stories Poems Site Reviews Writing Tips Charlie Fish