Jim and Pam Jenkins, Smithsonian<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nTap. Tap. Tap.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\nI felt my own head swaying. The rattle sounded like loose pebbles jostling in my skull.<\/span><\/p>\nTap. Tap. Tap.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\nWhen the reptile struck, the slam against the glass was a gunshot. Jack and I staggered back. Ken and Barbie, too.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nAlone among us, the old shopkeeper had stayed in place, unfazed, his hand still on the glass. The tapping of his ring had now ceased, as had the unsettling rattle from the terrarium.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhere is it?\u201d Kenneth\u2019s question gave me a fresh shiver. I cast anxious eyes to the floor as if the snake had somehow escaped from the enclosure and was ready to slither up my pants leg.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI see it,\u201d Jack said. \u201cBack where it started.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nNone of us had noticed when the rattlesnake retreated to its earlier position. Had our attention been diverted by shock? Had time passed while we shook off the reptile\u2019s hypnotic trance?<\/span><\/p>\nThe proprietor finally dropped his arm from the glass. He turned around, stared at each of us in turn. \u201cAny you fellas care to make a wager?\u201d He adjusted the ring on his finger. \u201cDon\u2019t suppose my missus would mind if I let you borrow my wedding ring for a moment or two.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019m not afraid,\u201d Kenneth said, but he didn\u2019t step toward the offered ring. \u201cIt\u2019s just that I don\u2019t like snakes.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nSo much for his frat-boy bravado.<\/span><\/p>\nBarb stepped forward, but the proprietor stopped her before she could say anything.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI can\u2019t even let you try, little lady.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n(Feminism was strong in those days, Celia, but so was old-fashioned condescension — disguised as chivalry, of course. She didn\u2019t argue with the old guy.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nIt\u2019s also possible she didn\u2019t really want to go against that rattlesnake. Who could blame her?)<\/span><\/p>\nThen Jack stepped forward, his hand outstretched for the ring. It made sense that he\u2019d rise to the challenge. He\u2019d made fun of the other couple earlier, cast them as toys. As a perfect, plastic couple. Once he\u2019d made that visual joke — even to me, in private — he\u2019d set up a competition with them. He\u2019d cast himself as the clever one in the crowd. The risk-taker.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cLet me guess,\u201d Jack said. \u201cTo win the bet, you have to keep your hand against the glass while the snake strikes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThe shopkeeper nodded.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cThe glass holds,\u201d Jack said. \u201cShould be pretty simple.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cShould<\/span><\/i> be.\u201d The old man had heard similar comments before, no doubt.<\/span><\/p>\nJack turned to me, gave an over-confident wink meant for Ken and Barbie\u2019s benefit as well. \u201cMy friend and I can both get free admission to the safari?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYep. But if you flinch, if you jump back or pull your hand offa the glass\u2026you each pay <\/span>double.\u201d<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n\u201cIt\u2019s a bet.\u201d Jack reached forward, not for a handshake, but to accept the ring from the shopkeeper. He closed his fingers around the ring, shaking his fist the way a craps player might shake dice for luck. He glanced at the glass enclosure, focused on the spot where the snake blended in with its surroundings, and took a deep breath to steel himself for the challenge.<\/span><\/p>\nThen he turned around and handed the ring to me.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGo ahead, Shawn. I know you can.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019d accepted the ring without thinking, mostly because I was in shock. Why would Jack volunteer me for such a task?<\/span><\/p>\nAnd why was Jack\u2019s face contorted into a dance of nervous twitching? If the others glanced at him, they might assume he was having an epileptic seizure. Instead, they were all looking at me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nI imagined throwing the ring to the floor and running from the room. Maybe I could wait in the car until this portion of the show was over; I certainly wasn\u2019t going to be the star.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cThe old guy made it look easy,\u201d Jack said. His facial twitching had ceased, but he squinted his eyes a bit, just shy of winking. He leaned in as he spoke, coaxing me. \u201cThink of it like a movie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThe small ring felt heavy in my hand. I wanted the metal to grow warm, burn its way through my palm before I\u2019d submit to this ridiculous challenge.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cA movie is just images,\u201d Jack said. The ghost of the wink was entirely in his voice now. \u201cImages that aren\u2019t real. All in <\/span>your<\/span><\/i> head.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nHe put that strange emphasis on <\/span>your,<\/span><\/i> which would only make sense to me.<\/span><\/p>\nOh.<\/span><\/p>\nJack had figured some kind of angle. He decided he could rig the game in our favor, but needed me to take the lead.<\/span><\/p>\nI still didn\u2019t want to do it. Couldn\u2019t I be like Kenneth, say \u201cI don\u2019t like snakes\u201d and step aside? Pay the regular admission, like everybody else?<\/span><\/p>\nThey were all looking at me. The shopkeeper smiled, certain he\u2019d hooked another sucker. I remembered his wry comment that \u201chuman nature\u201d rigged the game in his favor.<\/span><\/p>\nIn that moment, I considered all the previous visitors to this roadside attraction, all the men with foolish bravado who stepped up to the glass only to be embarrassed in front of their wives or girlfriends, or proud fathers made to look weak in front of their disillusioned children. Maybe some of those men screamed in terror afterwards, or wept humiliating tears. If Jack had an idea to break that chain of indignities, I guess I could try playing along.<\/span><\/p>\nThe ring didn\u2019t fit me on the proper finger. I moved it to my pinky, where I could slide it past the second knuckle.<\/span><\/p>\nI stepped up to the glass, assuming the position the shopkeeper had occupied previously. The smell of unkempt reptile cages seemed to reflect off the warm glass. The old man\u2019s handprint was still there, one section slightly distorted by an imprint of the snake\u2019s head. How often had that hand stood in the same spot, with that thunderous force attacking from the other side? Over time, mountains erode from wind; at some point, weakened glass won\u2019t be able to withstand the next strike.<\/span><\/p>\n\u00a0\u201cPut your hand right there,\u201d the proprietor urged. He slapped his hand on the spot for emphasis, then backed away.<\/span><\/p>\nWithout realizing it, I\u2019d placed both hands behind my back, fingers interlaced. Reluctantly I loosened my grip and placed my hand near the glass.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGotta lay it flat, then tap the ring.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGive me a minute,\u201d I said. The instructions weren\u2019t necessary, since I\u2019d seen everything he\u2019d done earlier.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cLet the light catch the ring,\u201d he continued. \u201cThen start tapping. One, two, three. One, two, three. Queenie likes the rhythm.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThis running commentary was part of the old man\u2019s strategy, I guess, making things more stressful than they already were. To spite him, I planted my palm firm against the glass. On contact the ring made a louder click than usual, and I worried I might have chipped the glass a bit.<\/span><\/p>\nThis could be the time,<\/span><\/i> I thought, <\/span>when Queenie finally breaks through.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\nI heard a rustle that may have been behind me, Jack or another spectator gasping or shifting their weight, or one of the half-dead lizards sliding through woodchips. I stared ahead at the pile of leaves where the coiled rattlesnake lay hidden.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cNo fair keeping your eyes closed,\u201d the shopkeeper said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nI hadn\u2019t been blinking, but wondered if that was the old man\u2019s trick for avoiding the flinch. Or maybe he just had bad eyesight, and used that to his advantage.<\/span><\/p>\nI tapped the ring. Tried those triple beats the man suggested. For a while, nothing happened, then the rattle started. I could swear I felt it first, through a vibration in the glass. Then it filled the room — as if amplified through speakers, brought close through tightly-fitted headphones. It shook my palm, conveyed a rhythmic tremor through my whole body.<\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\n(Celia, I\u2019d mentioned earlier how terrifying that sound was, evoking an overwhelming, primal sense of fear. Well, that\u2019s how it felt the first time. Now that I was closer to the source, after I\u2019d seen how fast the snake could strike, the fear was many times worse.<\/span><\/p>\nI bet more than half the challengers lost the bet at this point, when things had barely gotten started.<\/span><\/p>\nBefore the snake began to raise its head\u2026)<\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\nThe old man\u2019s taunts continued: \u201cKeep tapping,\u201d and \u201cDon\u2019t flinch, now, or you\u2019ll pay double.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFinally, a supporting voice joined in. \u201cChrist\u2019s sake, let the poor guy concentrate.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019d been wondering what Jack was doing all this time. Thankfully, the shopkeeper finally quieted down.<\/span><\/p>\nThe rattle grew even louder in the silence. An overhead light flashed on the moving ring, and a corresponding flicker brightened the snake\u2019s greenish-yellow eyes. Those eyes were higher now. Level with my neck.<\/span><\/p>\nMy tapping ring finger echoed in the room like footsteps. Like the sound of me backing away from the glass, tap dancing out of the room in triplet rhythm.<\/span><\/p>\nThe snake\u2019s head bobbed in that mesmerizing rhythm. I tried to blur my vision, let the image inside the terrarium fade into a brown fog of dirt and dried leaves. But the cruel pinpoints of green-yellow eyes shone bright through the fog.<\/span><\/p>\nAnother touch of light intruded on the scene, a vertical sliver that expanded into a tall rectangle. Initially I thought the effect was a reflection on the glass, but I soon realized a door had opened in the adjoining room.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nA hunched shadow obscured the light of the doorway as a hunched figure stepped into into the room and lurched toward the opposite side of the terrarium. If siblings mimic each other\u2019s movements, this was the shopkeeper\u2019s twin. The only difference was an extra wobble in his right step, his gait altered by a large basket he balanced on his hip.<\/span><\/p>\nNo, not a twin, but the same guy: he must have stepped away once Jack shamed him into silence, his departure masked by the rattle and my taps on the glass. If the shopkeeper wasn\u2019t allowed to talk, apparently he had another strategy to sabotage the bet.<\/span><\/p>\nThe large basket was in similar shape to the store\u2019s other items. Sections of the rattan weave were missing, and the contents were partly visible through the holes.<\/span><\/p>\nThe shopkeeper pressed the basket against the opposite side of the terrarium, held it in place with his right hip. The contents shifted. Squirmed.<\/span><\/p>\nHe lifted the lid of the terrarium and then reached into the basket. The snake\u2019s bright eyes broke their rhythm and its head turned toward the back of the glass enclosure.<\/span><\/p>\n(A friend of mine who kept a pet snake once mentioned how he fed it baby mice. Owning one horrible slithery pet means you\u2019ve got to store a pile of other unsavory creatures in your household as the food supply.<\/span><\/p>\nSo naturally, Celia, I\u2019d assumed from an apparent glimpse of dirty white fur, and the chewed-up-from-the-inside condition of the basket strands, that the old guy kept a heap of mice on hand to toss into the cages of his bigger reptiles.<\/span><\/p>\nI was wrong.)<\/span><\/p>\nThe wriggling bald thing the man raised in his hand looked less like a mouse, and more like a large albino tadpole. Veins showed through the body, as if through the translucent skin of a boiled shrimp, and there were small bristles of hair along the back (if I could distinguish which part was the back while the tiny creature flailed in the old man\u2019s fist). The creature\u2019s face twisted into view, its fish-pucker mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. And the strangest detail of all: the suggestion of dirty white fur I\u2019d glimpsed through the holes of the basket turned out to be an approximation of a diaper, somehow fastened tight around the creature\u2019s tapered torso.<\/span><\/p>\n(That diaper changed everything for me, Celia. The writhing lump of snake food reminded me, in the most uncomfortable way, of a human infant. A disgusting but helpless infant, advanced enough to sense its fate, its mouth with disturbingly red lips trying not simply to breathe, but to scream.)<\/span><\/p>\nThe shopkeeper tossed the creature into the terrarium and it landed on a section of dirt and wriggled there, an inverted comma in diapers. Another creature followed, the size of a boneless chicken cutlet. The man\u2019s hand returned to the basket, scooped out several plump morsels at once and dropped them into the tank. A wide grin spread across his face, distorted by the layers of glass between us to the point where he appeared almost demonic. He seemed pleased about the slaughter that would inevitably follow.<\/span><\/p>\nI should feel grateful that the rattlesnake had turned its attention away from me. It shifted position in the terrarium floor, away from the height of my neck and closer to its fresh, writhing buffet.<\/span><\/p>\nAlthough the tadpole things were disgusting, I couldn\u2019t banish the suggestion of human infants. Infants born too soon, their mothers living too close to a nuclear power plant, a factory pumping chemicals into the local water supply. Horrible, but infants nonetheless.<\/span><\/p>\nI tapped my hand on the glass harder, harder, the ring clicking loud against the glass. I banged so hard the glass could have shattered at any moment, but the snake ignored me. It bit into two of the deformed creatures at once, blood bursting around its venomous fangs and spraying into the air. Then it swallowed one of the tiny victims, and the shape of the creature slid like a bulge down the snake\u2019s body, to be digested later.<\/span><\/p>\nThere were so many of these fleshy, veiny infants, and the snake looked ready to consume them all. I wanted to stop it, kept banging against the glass.<\/span><\/p>\nAnd then the gunshot.<\/span><\/p>\nI felt the slam against the glass. I blinked, peered again into the terrarium where the snake pulled back from its lunge at my hand.<\/span><\/p>\nWhen Jack had demanded silence from the shopkeeper, he hadn\u2019t done it to help me. The silence was for his own benefit, so he could imagine terrible images and project those distractions into my mind. Horrified by the plight of those grotesque tadpole creatures, preoccupied by the alternate horrors Jack created, my hand maintained its position when the rattlesnake struck at the glass.<\/span><\/p>\nI hadn\u2019t flinched.<\/span><\/p>\nJack patted me on the back. \u201cWe won free admission, fair and square.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nI hadn\u2019t flinched, but I was still shaken up by those awful images Jack created. I loved him, but I wasn\u2019t always happy with the things his mind came up with.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nThe proprietor stood a few steps behind me. He\u2019d never actually left the room. \u201cTapping that glass like a crazy man,\u201d he muttered under his breath. \u201cAin\u2019t never seen that before.\u201d He looked into the cage, displaying that strange affection people could feel towards a dangerous pet. \u201c\u2019Bout gave Queeny a heart attack.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nOf course, no thought to the heart attack he\u2019d practically planned to give me — and countless patrons before and after.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGood work,\u201d Jack said, patting me on the back again. He nodded to Kenneth and his girlfriend to celebrate my bravery, though in that moment he probably saw me as a figurehead. After all, he\u2019d come up with the plan himself, had done all the heavy lifting behind the scenes.<\/span><\/p>\nTo be continued\u2026.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\nAuthor\u2019s Note<\/b><\/span><\/h3>\n![\"cover](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/hauntedattractions.jpg?resize=233%2C350&ssl=1\")
For the most part, I like to write in order. It\u2019s hard for me to leave sections blank or jump ahead to the end, because I want to see how the story unfolds as it goes along. For this particular adventure, though, I skipped over the first 20% of the story — the whole section with the roadside sign, finding the shop, the wager with the snake.<\/span><\/p>\nBecause I\u2019d already written that part. Sort of.<\/span><\/p>\nIn my years away from fiction writing, I spent time writing scholarly essays in graduate school, then detoured into poetry for about 5 years. My poems gravitated toward dark subjects (with titles like \u201cThe Heaven of Severed Arms\u201d or \u201cDead Animal Remover\u201d or \u201cApology to the Ape Girl\u201d), and at some point I realized I should go back to my first love as a reader and writer: horror fiction.<\/span><\/p>\nOne of the things I wrote during my poetry detour was called \u201cFlinch.\u201d It was one of my favorite poems from that time, based on an anecdote I\u2019d heard long ago from my high school chemistry teacher. The poem was composed in fragmented blank verse (broken iambic pentameter lines), with the idea that the words might twist and turn on the page like the slithering of a snake. Of course, online formatting being what it is, that effect might get scrambled in an online version, but I\u2019ll take the risk by reprinting that poem below:<\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\nFlinch<\/b><\/span><\/p>\nIf the billboard ever tempts you
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 to turn off
\n<\/span>at exit 33 to search for JAY’S
\n<\/span>REPTILE HUT
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0(a cartoon snake battening
\n<\/span>on the owner’s fading initial, a long forked
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 tongue
\n<\/span>flicking towards the possessive ess), then soon
\n<\/span>you will feel
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0the highway shift to sweltry dirt
\n<\/span>that spirits
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 off the tires, rolls
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0up the hood
\n<\/span>and hazes the windshield.<\/span><\/p>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Two wrong turns, then find
![\"banner](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/10\/CD-GenFreeFiction.jpg?resize=830%2C120&ssl=1\")
<\/p>\n![\"photo](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/rattlesnake.jpg?resize=800%2C534&ssl=1\")