Nancy A. Collins, page 17
Cindy drew her hand back as if it had been burned. Where was the snake? She did not remember seeing upon entering a tank or box the huge python could be resting in. She glanced back up at the mirror before her and saw something emerging from the clutter of steam trunks and cardboard boxes behind her, its skin shimmering like jewels laid against black velvet.
Panic rose within her, thick as honey and blood, and she tried to scream, but it stuck in her throat like a wad of cotton. She did not want to turn to face it, but watching its reflection as it raised itself up behind her, its great head waving back and forth as if to some unheard tune, was even more horrible. Slowly she turned to face the monster snake.
It sat there, coiled about itself, as proud as an idol, blocking her escape route, watching her with eyes as deep and dark as mountain nights. She had known the creature was huge, but there was no way it could have been this big. It was as if the snake had doubled its width and length in a matter of hours. It peered down at her from a height, the top of its skull nearly pressed against the low ceiling of the trailer. Cindy wanted to look anywhere but at the mammoth serpent coiled before her, but she could not look away. The great snake emitted power, which stank like blood and hot metal, as if underneath the dabbling of gold and shadow, under the muscle and scales, lay secrets undreamed of.
And then, to Cindy’s surprise, the snake spoke to her, its voice as quiet and dry as wind in high grass.
“Yesss. Oddbody was correct. I wish to meet with you.”
A sea change rippled through the serpent’s upper body, remolding it into the likeness of a human woman. Although the features were classically beautiful, there was a slyness to the face, like that of a child forced to grow up fast.
Cindy watched the transformation in stunned silence, both transfixed and terrified by its beauty. She knew now, however belatedly, that Lamia was not the name of the woman seated before the mirror.
“Be not afraid, my child,” whispered the serpent queen. “I mean you no harm. Indeed, I have but the kindest of intentions towards you. I can offer you many things, my dear. I can give you lifetimes, and a chance to die in beauty, like a flower snapped from its stem in fullest bloom.”
“W-why me?”
The snake woman smiled with her lipless mouth. “Ah! Such courage! There is a tragic daring about you, like that of a moth chasing flame. I knew you were suited to my needs when I first saw you. You are bold, in your way, my dear. Bold as a dying saint. And we gods must have our saints.”
“G-god? You’re a god?”
“Godesssss,” Lamia corrected, the word escaping like air from a tire. “There was a time when I was worshipped throughout the civilized world, in lands far distant and more warmer than this one I am now condemned to wander. It is like a long hopeless homesickness… missing those young days.
“Mine were the healing arts and the secrets of fertility. Libations of milk and sweet wine were poured in my honor. Brides prayed to me to fill empty cradles. My temples were filled with the perfume of burning braziers.
“My priestesses writhed, boneless as poured water, as my divinity merged with their mortality, transported into ecstasies unknown by the priests of this age’s pale carpenter. And, as befits a goddess, there were blood sacrifices. The child-flesh I gorged upon wed me to your kind, linking me forever to this world, even lung after my worship ceased.
“Time has its way with us all, gods and mortals alike. I have watched over the centuries as my followers were overcome by invaders, my religion debased, and I was turned from goddess to demon to monster to, finally, myth. However, while I may no longer be worshipped in every house, that does not mean I am without my servants.”
“Is that what she is?” Cynthia asked, pointing at the woman seated before the vanity. Despite all that was going on, the dancer seemed unperturbed, still rubbing cold cream into her face. She acted as if she was alone and not sharing the cramped confines of the trailer with a snake-woman and a teenaged girl.
Lamia’s face lost its slyness and something like the affection crossed the demon-goddess’s features.
“Ysss,” she sighed. “Poor Thea. It is within my power to grant those who serve me eternal youth. Unfortunately, even gods and goddesses have their limitations. While I can bless my priestesses with physical immortality, I cannot prevent the ravages of age from affecting their minds. My sweet, loyal Thea has served me faithfully for over one hundred and twenty-five years-but she now suffers from profound senility. For the last few years I have guided her movements with my own. It is I who dances with her, not the other way around. Without me to ride her shoulders, she’s little more than an animated husk. The time has come for her to be…retired from duty.”
“And-you expect me to replace her?”
Lamia’s inhuman eyes sparkled with a strange light, like fire kindled within ice. “Long centuries ago, my priestesses were scattered to the four corners of the world by cruel invaders who feared my power. Over the years, my prodigal daughters bred with the sons of man. On the outside, their descendants are no different from any other mortal woman-save that they hold within their hearts an unborn snake. The moment these prodigal daughters are finally brought before my divine presence, the serpent inside uncoils.”
Lamia’s eerily beautiful face moved closer, bobbing gently on its endless neck like a helium balloon, until she was mere inches from Cindy’s own. The goddess smiled, her forked tongue flickering forth and caressing the tip of the girl’s. The touch was as light as that of a butterfly’s wings.
“Did you not feel a strange stirring within your breast the moment you first laid eyes on me? Did not your very heart ache, as the snake within you hatched? If not, then why did you flee the male’s touch? Why did you come to this place-if not to receive my blessing-?”
Cindy shook her head in confusion. “You’re trying to hypnotize me…”
“If you do not believe me, then look to your heart, and see the truth that lies within.”
Cindy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached within herself, like reaching inside a sack. What she found within herself was cool and scaly to the touch. As the fingers of her soul dosed about the snake inside her heart, it was as if the heavens were showering her with light in its purest form.
She opened her eyes and saw Lamia’s half-human face, shrouded by a nimbus of holy fire. The awe she felt in the presence of the snake goddess was both ecstatic and crippling, dropping her like a baton to the back of the knees. She fell before the coiled splendor of the goddess, prostrating herself before her living god.
“Look upon me, my child,” Lamia whispered.
Cindy raised her head and stared into the eyes of the goddess. Lamia smiled and, with the swiftness of a striking cobra, looped itself about the young girl, holding her tight within her gleaming coils. Instead of being afraid, the young girl’s heart lifted like a wave at her mistress’s smooth, dry touch.
“Sssindy-“ Lamia whispered. “The love of a god is a transforming thing. Once experienced, you can never go back to what-or who-you were before. There are but two choices open to you-to serve me or die. Do you understand and accept this truth?”
Where a few minutes ago, such an ultimatum would have sparked fear and horror within her, what she felt was as strong as the sun, as deep as the sea-and more certain than any truth she had ever been told. There was no hesitancy, no fear, and no anxiety to her actions.
Cindy lifted one hand and stroked Lamia’s cheek. The goddess’s eyes dimmed as an inner lid slid across her dark orbs. The serpent queen’s coils tightened, and although Cindy knew that the slightest increase of pressure could turn the embrace into a suffocating death grip, she was unafraid. The goddess smiled at her new acolyte, exposing fangs as delicate and exquisitely formed as pieces of white jade.
Lamia struck so swiftly there was no time but for anything but a tiny cry of surprise, as the dripping fangs sank into the soft flesh of Cindy’s throat. She could feel the venom spread through her like ink dumped into a well, but instead of paralysis and pain, there was an ecstasy as warm and rich as wine. Then the darkness claimed her.
000
Cindy did not know how long she lay unconscious on the floor of the trailer, but when she finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of Thea’s bare feet disappearing down Lamia’s gullet as the serpent-queen realigned her jaw and swallowed convulsively one final time, pushing the contents of her meal down into her midsection.
Cindy did not experience any revulsion or horror at the sight before her. Indeed, it seemed only right that one who had served Lamia so loyally and so well for so many years would join with her in such a fashion. Indeed, Cindy prayed that one day she, too, could serve her mistress in such a primal fashion.
000
Cindy staggered over to the vanity, dropping into Thea’s recently vacated seat to stare at herself in the mirror. Outwardly, she seemed little changed from the girl who had entered the trailer earlier that night. The only obvious difference were the twin puncture marks on her neck, clotted with blood and a thick, yellowish fluid. The bite throbbed dully, but she did not mind the pain.
Cindy smiled crookedly and glanced over her shoulder at. Lamia. She did not need to be told what to do next or how to go about it. The knowledge was part of her, transferred to her by her mistress in her kiss.
She stripped herself of her clothes and took a pair of sharp scissors to her driver’s license permit and Social Security card, turning it into laminated confetti. Come the dawn the carnival would be on its way to somewhere else, and Cindy Crockett would be no more. She paused in her destruction of her identity and cocked her head to one side.
She would need a new name to go with her new self. Cassandra was a good choice. Had not Cassandra been given the gift of true sight when a serpent kissed her ears?
There was a flickering tickle at her heel. She glanced down and saw Lamia, who had shed her divine aspect and reverted to her earthly avatar, coiling her way up her bare leg.
Of course. It was time for Lamia to go for her nightly ride on the Ferris wheel. The one that never stopped to let its passengers on or off. Smiling indulgently, she reached down and lifted the monstrous python onto her shoulders. Although it was incredibly heavy, she did not grimace or grumble under her burden. After all, it was a great honor to serve as the serpent queen’s arms and legs. Without any further hesitation, she stepped into the night, naked save for her god.
JUNIOR TEETER AND THE BAD SHINE
When most folks think of Arkansas, they think of the Ozark Mountains and hillbillies sitting on the front porch with a pig under one arm and a jug of moonshine under the other. If they’re political minded, they might think of President Clinton. Or if they’re sports-minded, they might think of the University of Arkansas Razorbacks.
But one thing they never think of is swampland. Nestled down in the far butt-end of the state, flanking Mississippi and Louisiana, is what is referred to as “the Ark-La-Miss”. What isn’t bayou is farmland-cotton and rice, for the most part. And fertile land it is, too. As part of the Mississippi River Delta it’s some of the choicest, richest soil this side of the Tigris and Euphrates.
There’s not many places on God’s green earth more out-of-the-way than Choctaw County, Arkansas. There’s little in the way of industry in the area, since most of the jobs are in agriculture or what’s referred to as “agribusiness”-tractor dealerships, fertilizer salesmen, feed-n-seed stores and the like.
Hard times and skinny wallets have always been common to this part of the country. Things weren’t much different in Choctaw County before the Depression and they haven’t gotten much better since. That’s not to say there aren’t rich folk in Choctaw County—far from it. But them’s that poor outnumber them’s that rich four to one-and them’s that poor tend to stay that way.
Seven Devils is the county seat. The reason its called Seven Devils is because of the seven bayous that surround it. When the area was first settled, the founding fathers dubbed the bayous “the Seven Brothers”-but come the first flood season, they got to calling them something else entirely.
Indeed, Bayou Baphomet cuts through the very middle of town. The old city hall was built on a brick and iron platform so the bayou could flow right underneath. Which is one reason city hall smells like a mildewed sock.
Since it is the county seat, Seven Devils serves as a defacto hub of business, including those that have nothing to do with agri. It has the Bijou, a couple of restaurants, a honky-tonk, a corresponding number of churches and package liquor stores, three gas stations, a switching yard, a couple of car dealerships, a Wal-Mart and a fast-food joint. So, if you live in Choctaw County and you’re looking for something to do on the weekend, then odds are you end up in Seven Devils. It’s no Babylon, but it’s the best they can do, Cradle of Civilization wise.
Most of the people living in town were burn in Seven Devils, grew up in Seven Devils, and most likely than not, will die in Seven Devils as well, if they don’t move away after graduating from the local high school. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know their ass from a teakettle when it comes to how the world works.
People who live in the suburbs and big cities have real funny ideas of what does and doesn’t go on in small towns like Seven Devils. They expect it to be what they see on TV—like Mayberry RFD or Smallville, USA. In their minds rural America consists of slow-moving, slow-talking, slow-thinking folks with nothing better to worry about but the Fourth of July Parade and apple-pie judging at the County Fair. And, to a certain extent, that’s true.
But there is a dark side to small town life, just like every rock has its dirt-side. But for some reason, the worms that come crawling out when you turn over that rock always seem a lot more disgusting. People expect crime and sin to be in big cities like New York and New Orleans and Houston-but it’s hard for them to understand that the seven deadly sins are no respecters of clichés. And they certainly don’t give two hoots for the size of a town.
Take Junior Teeter, for instance.
The Teeters had lived in Seven Devils since fish had legs. At least, that’s how it seemed. Harald Senior was a hard-working sort. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but a good man for the most part. His wife, Jo-Lynne, was a nice woman, from all accounts. But after the doctor told her that Junior was going to have to do her in the young’un department, she got a tad strange. She doted on the boy like he was God’s gift to the world, and Harald Senior let her have her way. So it was small wonder Junior turned out as useless as teats on a boar.
The boy had absolutely no ambition or drive. He was so accustomed of others doing for him, he didn’t know how to do for himself. He couldn’t hold down a job, couldn’t keep a wife, but he had taken up drinking, which was about the only thing he’d shown much of an aptitude for.
After Junior’s folks died, he was pretty much adrift, even though he was well into his thirties, and it wasn’t long before he frittered his way through what little he’d inherited. Still, as useless as Junior may have been, everyone was shocked when he took up with Merla Pritchett.
The Pritchetts have been a carbuncle on Choctaw County’s ass since before the Civil War. In its time, the clan has been in charge of bootlegging, floating crap games, pimping, and fencing and hot cars rackets. If there is something low-down, sleazy, and crooked going on in the county, chances are it involves a Pritchett somehow.
Well, it wasn’t long before loud music started blaring out of Junior’s house all hours of the day and night, and all sorts of riffraff started coming and going. The neighbors weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but it was suspected the Teeter place was being used as a distribution point for Pappy John Pritchett’s moonshine. No one was thrilled by all this, but they largely turned a blind eye to it, and tried to turn a deaf ear, out of respect for Junior’s folks. But such things can only go so far for so long.
000
As Edna McQuistion had gotten on in years, sleeping through the night had become harder and harder for her. The slightest disturbance was often enough to wake her up and keep her up until cockcrow. But the music that came blaring out of Junior Teeter’s house at 4:30 am that morning was far from a “slight disturbance”. Even though her boarding house was across the street and two doors down, the volume was enough to make the windowpanes rattle in her bedroom.
As she squinted at her bedside clock, Edna-better known to the young and old citizens of Seven Devils alike as Miz Eddy-decided she had put up with enough out of respect for Harald and Jo-Lynne Teeter.
000
“Police Department.”
“Royce-that you?”
“Sure nuff. What you calling about, Miz Eddy?”
“It’s Junior Teeter. He’s got that music of his turned up loud enough to wake the dead! You know I don’t like complaining-“
“Don’t you fret, Miz Eddy. You ain’t the only one that’s called in to complain about Junior this morning. I was just getting ready to head on over there:”
“Thank you, Royce.”
“It’s my job, ma’am.”
Since she was up and there was no question of getting back to sleep, Miz Eddy decided to get an early start on breakfast for her boarders. As she headed for the landing, Boyd Tilberry stuck his head out of his room.
Even on the best of days Boyd was something of a sure bear in the morning. It usually took three cups of coffee and a plate of flapjacks to turn him into civil company
“What in Sam Hill’s going on?” he growled. “Can’t a man get some peace and quiet?”
“I’ve already called John Law on him, Boyd,” Miz Eddy assured her oldest boarder. “There’s not much else you or I can do about it.” Boyd grumbled something under his breath and yanked his head back into his room, slamming the door behind him. When Miz Eddy gut to the kitchen, she was surprised to find the Dunlevy girl already sitting at the table, sipping a glass of orange juice.
Caroline had only been with Miz Eddy for a week or so, but she’d already taken a shine to the child. She was young and pretty and employed by the County Extension Office as a social worker. Since Seven Devils was hardly the kind of community with a lot of pre-fab apartment complexes for rent, she had ended up at the boarding house for the time being.
