Child Of The Serpent
by Robert E. Baker

    The little white church built next to the simple two-lane road had nothing to do with Mickey's visit. Once, he might have found the presence of the house of worship quaint and comforting, although he personally had never believed in anything he could not see or touch. But at the moment the structure came into view as he rounded the bend in the road, Mickey wished he truly could believe in something more profound and greater than himself. Faith might have been of some assistance to him today.
   
    He knew the woods and the fields of this part of the isolated county quite well. Most of his early years had been spend in these wooded areas. He preferred this type of green luscious land to endless concrete and the man made falseness instituted in the city. But somehow, the place he mostly despised was where he had spent most of his life after entering his early teenage years.
   
    Mickey never forgot the church. Nor what lay behind it, concealed protectively in the woods leading up into the mountains boxing the area in tightly. He tried desperately not to dwell on that. Bringing his blue 76 Chevy pick-up truck to a halt in the gravel parking lot, Mickey felt a flood of memories from his past return. His parents had spent most of their summer's not far from the spot. Indeed, some of Mickey's ancestors once lived in wood cabins on the very mountain rising up behind the church like a single tall behemoth.
   
    Mickey was not the least bit surprised to see nothing showed the slightest sign of having changed in the past thirty years. He shut off the truck engine, grabbing a little cloth bag setting by his seed on the seat. He exited the vehicle; glad to finally be able to stretch his tired legs. Driving all morning without a break had made his legs hurt like the devil.
   
    Damn old age, he cursed silently in frustration. Can't even get out and go for a simple walk without this stupid ache coming over me.
   
    He hobbled along stiffly, reaching the edge of the parking lot where a wide strip of neatly trimmed grass met the woods. The scent of honey suckle hung in the air, making Mickey's nose tingle with its sweetness. Mickey breathed the odor deeply.
   
    Then he started looking for the trail. He inched through the first layers of brush, moving much slower than he would have liked. Today he was nothing at all like the eight year-old boy who once used to run every step of the way.
   
    He followed the trail when he came to it, the early spring heat warming his stiff and aching joints. He felt nervous. Anticipation set in. He didn't have too much further to go, he recalled. But at least it's a good day to do it, he thought. They don't make 'em much better than this.
   
    To Mickey this was the best kind of day. The sky was clear blue, unmarred by any hints of clouds. The kind of deep color that almost always hurt to look at it. The trees to his left sprouted with new greenery. The leaves themselves shaded his path, keeping the sweat of his efforts off his wrinkled forehead and the dampness on his clothes to a minimum.
   
    On his right the familiar, large hilly field waited, long yellow grass rose up high and sought to reach to the sky. A gentle breeze ruffled Mickey's white mane of hair as he lumbered along the old logging trail. The further away from the church Mickey got, the narrower the way became, eventually disappearing into a two track lane loggers had once hauled their wagons through back in the forties.
   
    Just like always, Mickey thought, reassuring himself. Nothing ever changes around here. I bet less than two people have actually walked out this way in the past two years.
   
    Something black and long captured his eye the moment he turned his aged head to gaze across the field. The thing lying on the grass was thick and round, stretching out for several feet. Jerky movement came from the object. Mickey's blood froze.
   
    It was a black snake. One of the biggest he had ever seen. Just like before. When he had come here last
   
    The reptile seemed to take no notice of him. It sunned itself contently, diamond shaped head resting on the yellow blades of grass. A forked tongue shot in and out of its scaly mouth a couple of times. Mickey came to a complete stop, watching it.

    Unconsciously, Mickey felt his fingers touch he left hand. He rubbed the two circular scars. He forced his hand away abruptly.
   
    Mickey hated the snake. It did not belong in this place. It hadn't then, either. This precious part of his world had no place for such a monster.
   
    Mickey backed away quietly, disgusted. He actually trembled a bit. He briefly considered going back to the truck. Going on any further would not change the past. But he had come for a purpose. And if he did not perform it now, another time might not come.
   
    I'm getting to old, he realized. The idea fell on him like an anvil.
   
    His great-great grandmother who had once lived on this very mountain he was standing underneath would have said the snake was a bad omen.
   
    No, Mickey convinced himself forcefully. It's just an animal. No different than any other living in these woods. It can't hurt me. Not if I don't provoke it. Or scare it.
   
    But it is not the one afraid, a voice in the back of Mickey's mind pronounced. Mickey resumed his movements, taking careful measured steps the opposite direction of where the snake rested. Mickey kept quiet, not wishing to disturb anything else dwelling in the remaining combined underbrush of leaves, weeds, and brambles.

    The black iron gates appear out of a clearing beside the trail right where Mickey remembered it would be. The square enclosure was perfectly formed amidst a cluster of four old oak trees. Five gray headstones rested in a neat row inside the confines of the tiny cemetery.
   
    The names etched on the hard rock meant little to Mickey. He read the dates marking the beginnings and endings of the people's lives. They had all been dead before he had even been born. Family he'd been denied the opportunity to meet is all he saw. The thought saddened him deeply.
   
    Mickey pulled at the gate apprehensively. The old metal grated loudly in the air, disturbing the peace. He waited undecided for a moment, gathering his courage to enter the past the gate. Pushing the foolish resistance from his mind, Mickey crossed through the gate, feeling only a small amount of absolution. Nervously he studied the tombstones.
   
    This is where it happened, Mickey realized. The past came alive as he studied the graves.
   
    He did not think the snake would bite him all those years ago. Not if he was careful and touched the thing gently. White-hot pain had shot across his small hand a second later, fangs pumping venom into his little body. Luckily his parents had been standing only a few feet away. They had responded to his frantic, panicked screams immediately. Later the doctor told him he had been a lucky boy. He could have died. But everything was going to be all right.
   
    But it hadn't been. After that day, Mickey grew to hate the old family-resting place. He hadn't visited at all since that time.
   
    "But now it changes," he whispered, promising. Today there was no snake invading the confines of the family plot. No creature waited to show him just how unsafe his little world actually could be.
   
    I'm the last," he spoke out loud. "No more of our family lives. I have stayed away for far too long. I choose to remember this place of my forefathers with fear instead of honor. Until today."
   
    He didn't know why, but it was important to make peace with this patched monument of the dead.
   
    Then he heard it. Hissing from behind the final small tombstone. The marker belonged to a child-a relative still nameless the day the infant had died. Near where the snake had struck a young Mickey.
   
    The foul sound grew in intensity, becoming hard and raspy. Icy chills ran up and down Mickey's spine.
   
    No, he thought in dread. Just go. Don't let it see me. Don't let me look at it. Not like I did forty years ago.
   
    He did not leave. He wanted to. Oh, so bad. But he had to know. He had to see what he had feared all these years. He crept closer to where the noise was originating. The sound changed in a gurgling noise. It almost caused Mickey to vomit he was so frightened. He dropped the bag he had carried with him. He peered over the stone, a lump growing hard against his throat.
   
    He saw it. It appeared exactly the same as before. A small nude baby lay on the soil, its body covered from head to toes with greenish slick looking scales. The horrible thing shrieked and howled uncontrollably while Mickey looked upon it. Clawed hands tore into the dirt, ripping clumps of earth free.
   
    Mickey gripped the rock of death with white knuckles. The serpent child looked identical to the one that had bitten him in his own childhood.  Mickey closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. He had been right. It was no mere snake that had bitten him all those years long past.
   
    Back then when it had been spring. It was time of rebirth for all things. The season when all things grew strong and well after the cold winter months.
   
    Even devils.
   
    A playmate. Dear god, I thought that was what the thing was, Mickey remembered. He saw the event clearly again. For the first time in nearly thirty years, he remembered it all.
   
    The serpent child looked up at Mickey, instinctively sensing his intrusion. Cold black eyes froze him to the depths of his soul. Fangs gnashed hideously and a long tongue darted out of the baby's ink black lips. Its maw opened wide, and infant's head bobbed menacingly towards Mickey.
   
    Mickey didn't hang around to see more. He turned and fled from the graveyard, throwing the gate open wide. He stumbled as he went through the loose rocks of the trail. His legs refused to work properly. The best he could manage was a shambling gait. The child squealed in anger behind him.  Mickey's ears pricked, hearing the rustling sound coming from the leaves scattered over the trail. The damnable thing was slithering after him!
   
    He moaned in panic.
   
    Got to get away, he repeated in his head over and over.
   
    His lungs hurt. Other serpentine children crawled from the woods to join the pursuit. Mickey heard them all. Hissing lowly and dangerously.  But he couldn't move any faster. His old age had finally betrayed him, robbing him of his one chance for survival.
   
    But he refused to give in. No way. Not until the very end became truly unavoidable. Mickey dared not to glance back. The wicked breaking of branches and twigs was all he needed to her to know the hunters remained on his tail behind him.
   
    With hope he saw the white narrow steeple of the church breaking through the heights of the trees. Desperation seized Mickey. He forced his body to move on, although any moment he expected to die. Got to get there, he thought. Surely they can't go inside the church. If demons existed, then surely it meant angels did also. And surely holy places had powers all of there own as well.
   
    Mickey's breath came out in labored disjointed gasps. His sides burned with searing fire.
   
    I won't make it, he thought. Any minute I'm going to keel over.       But he didn't. He burst from the woods, sprinting across the white gravel of the parking lot. His truck set too far away to try to make for it. But the green-carpeted steps leading up to the church door stood invitingly, miraculously close.
   
    Mickey was done. His leg muscles responded no longer. He fell over the steps, his body crashing to the wood.
   
    The torturous hissing did not end. Mickey turned and with horror saw dozens of the leathery skinned children, writhing and curling all over the parking lot. The beast snapped at each other, lost in a frenzy of anger. They squirmed over his truck, having crawling up from the wheels. They clawed their way over the bed, the hood, and even the doors and seats, throwing themselves against the glass windows, fragments of glass flying through the air as a result of their frenzy.
   
    More of the snake children were screaming at him from the edge of the woods. Malice shone in their black eyes. Tongues licked in fury.
   
    "I got away from you once!" Mickey yelled to them. "And I did it again today!"
   
    From behind him the church door creaked open. Mickey faced back to the front of the building, taking his eyes off the hideous children. He heard the sound of skin swishing over the carpet.
   
    Mickey's heart sank when he saw the creature towering over him. It was the size of an average man, but it lacked legs. It held itself upright by the coils in its flesh. It pulsated towards Mickey. The squat, narrow head extended out to him, mouth opening. Wiry, half-developed limbs outstretched to Mickey, trying to embrace him.
   
    "Do not be afraid, my son," the black-eyed creature hissed him. It spoke! I have gone mad, Mickey thought. "We are the same. You become so the day I brought you into my family. But those others took you away. Separating you from your family's love. But we remembered. And we have waited. Come home to us."
   
    Mickey tried to back away. But his frail, weakened body was finished. He was trapped. The sound of the serpent's voice was hypnotic. Soothing to his ears. Mickey felt cold skin against his legs. Fangs flashed in his sight, swiftly lodging tightly onto his neck, where the blood pumped furiously.
   
    The horrible pain began. The pain he recalled from his childhood.
   
    Mickey's vision blurred. His heart thundered in his chest. He found it difficult to see. And to breath. He knew this sensation. The poison. He knew it well.
   
    Death was coming. He wanted to yell. To curse these demons. But he was utterly alone. His tongue split his thinning lips, long and reaching.
   
    Mickey gazed down at his hand, seeing through a murky dimness. The old puncture wound looked fresh. Tiny droplets of blood dripped from the spot. As did the venom of baptism.
   
    He saw a new temple overhead. The cross was all that was left from the former church. A gigantic black serpent ascended it, intertwining around the object perfectly, diamond shaped designs of its angular head glowing in the sunlight as it came to rest at the top of the symbol.
   
    Below the children of the serpent praised him. They pushed up past Mickey, engulfing him in their fervor.
   
    The crushing warmth of his new brethren consumed Mickey, and all he had left of his former life was the sad, impotent longings of those destined to be eternal, prodigal prey.

©2001Robert E. Baker