Chapter 1: The Black Snake’s Blessing

You ever have a thought you don’t want to say out loud? Sometimes I think mine started the day I realized my mom was raising a black snake—she cherished it like it was her own child.

Sometimes, I’d catch her out on the back porch, the snake curled around her forearm, stroking its scales like it was a baby. She’d hum old lullabies under her breath, the same ones she used to sing to Johnny when he was little. The snake would lift its head and flick its tongue, like it was hanging on every word. I swear, sometimes it felt like she loved that snake more than us. There was something off about how gentle she was with it—gentler than I’d ever seen her with us. It made my skin crawl.

When the black snake got a bit bigger, my mom announced it was all grown up now and needed a mate.

She stood in the kitchen, slicing apples for the snake, talking like it was just the most normal thing in the world. “Every creature needs a companion, you know?” she said, her voice all dreamy, eyes fixed on something a million miles away. She shot a look at my sister, Sarah, with this weird kind of expectation, like she was just waiting for her to step up.

That night, my mom put the black snake into my sister’s bed.

The house was dead quiet except for the old air conditioner rattling in the window. I remember how the moonlight spilled across the hallway as Mom carried the snake into Sarah’s room. The door clicked shut. I heard the faint creak of bedsprings—then nothing. Nothing but my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I could barely breathe.

My sister looked at my mom, pleading with her eyes, begging for help she knew wouldn’t come.

Sarah’s eyes were huge, shining with tears she wouldn’t let fall. She clutched her blanket to her chest, shaking her head just a little, like if she stayed still enough, maybe this would all just disappear. The silence between them was suffocating, pressing the air right out of the room.

But my mom just said that serving the black snake was supposed to be my sister’s good fortune. She didn’t even give Sarah a chance to argue—just tied her to the bed.

Mom’s voice was sharp, no room for questions. “This is your blessing, Sarah. Don’t waste it.” She didn’t even look at Sarah’s face as she looped the old leather belt around her wrists and knotted it to the headboard. She moved like she was clocking in for a shift, like she’d done this a hundred times before. My hands shook as I watched through the crack in the door, but I didn’t dare make a sound. Not a peep.

The next day, when I went into my sister’s room, what I saw inside—I swear, I almost lost it right there.

The room was thick with a cold, stale smell. Sunlight poured across the bed, lighting up the mess—crumpled sheets, the belt still dangling from the headboard, and a smear of something dark on the wall. My stomach lurched, and I almost bolted, but something kept my feet glued to the spot.

My sister was curled up in a corner, her face the color of chalk.

She was shivering, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped so tight around herself I thought she might disappear. Her hair hung limp over her face, and her lips were cracked and colorless. For a second, I thought she wasn’t even breathing, but then her chest rose and fell, slow and shallow.

There were bloodstains scattered across the snow-white bedsheet.

They stood out, raw and ugly, like wounds on a clean shirt. I couldn’t look away. The sight made my hands go numb. I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from crying out. I’d never seen that much blood before, not even when Johnny wiped out on his bike down by the creek. God, it was everywhere.

My mom, grinning like she’d won the lottery, stroked the black snake’s head and said, “I’ve given you my eldest daughter. When will my Johnny come back?”

She knelt beside the bed, the snake winding lazy around her wrist. Her smile was too wide, her eyes shining with something wild and desperate. She whispered those words like a prayer, as if the snake might answer her if she just asked nicely enough. For a second, I thought she might start sobbing, but instead she just kept petting the snake, humming under her breath like nothing was wrong.

Hearing my mom’s words, I shuddered so hard I thought my bones might rattle.

A chill crawled up my spine. I wanted to run, to scream, but my legs wouldn’t budge. The air in the room felt thick, like breathing through a wet towel. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure they could hear it next door.

Johnny was my older brother. He died in a car accident three years ago.

He’d been the golden child—captain of the football team, everybody’s favorite. After the accident, Mom changed. She started talking to herself, wandering the house at night. That was when she found the snake, out by the old woodpile. She said it was a sign. Nobody argued with her.

It was around that time my mom started raising this black snake.

She made a little nest for it in a shoebox, fed it scraps from the table, let it curl up on her lap while she watched TV. She told anyone who’d listen that the snake was special, that it would bring Johnny back if we just believed hard enough. Most folks just stopped coming around after that.

The black snake flicked its tongue at my mom and hissed twice.

It almost looked like it was trying to talk back, the way it twisted in her hands. Mom smiled, nodding like she understood, and whispered something I couldn’t quite catch. The room felt even colder than before.

Then it slipped out of my mom’s hand and burrowed under my sister’s skirt.

I watched, frozen, as the snake slithered across the bed, disappearing beneath the hem of Sarah’s nightgown. She whimpered, but Mom just held her down, murmuring, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

My sister looked at my mom in absolute terror and tried to get up, but my mom pressed her hard onto the bed. “The first time’s awkward, the second time you get used to it. What are you pretending for? It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Sarah’s whole body went stiff, her hands clawing at the sheets. She tried to twist away, but Mom was too strong, pinning her shoulders to the mattress. The words just hung there, cruel and sharp. Sarah’s eyes filled with new tears.

My sister shook her head, tears brimming.

She bit her lip so hard I thought she’d draw blood, shaking all over. The look she gave Mom was pure pleading, desperate, but there was nothing soft in Mom’s face. I wanted to help, to do something, but my feet wouldn’t move.

My mom seemed to soften, her voice dropping. “Good girl, serve the black spirit well. If you make him happy and he brings your brother back, that’s better than anything.”

Her voice turned almost gentle, like she was coaxing a scared dog. She brushed a strand of hair from Sarah’s forehead, her hand trembling. For a split second, I saw the old Mom—the one who used to tuck us in at night. Then her eyes went cold again, and the moment was gone. I just stared, stunned at how fast she could flip.

The black snake disappeared under my sister’s skirt.

I heard a faint rustle, then nothing. Sarah’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles bone white. I couldn’t look away, even though every part of me wanted to. My breath came in short, shaky bursts.

My sister’s face was ashen.

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide and empty. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her lips parted in a silent gasp. She looked less like my sister and more like a ghost, already halfway gone.

After a while, she started to moan.

The sound was low, almost animal, and it made my skin crawl. I pressed my hands over my ears, but it didn’t help. The moaning grew louder, echoing off the walls, mixing pain and something else I couldn’t name. God, it was awful.

It was hard to tell if the expression on her face was pain or pleasure.

Her eyes rolled back, her mouth twisted in a grimace. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound beyond those awful moans. I felt sick, like I might throw up right there on the floor. I wanted it to stop.

My mom spat on the ground and cursed under her breath, “You little hussy. Just now you were fighting, now you’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

Her words dripped with contempt. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at Sarah like she was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I wanted to scream at her to stop, but the words stuck in my throat, locked up tight by fear.

That night, I was half asleep when I suddenly felt something near my bed.

The air in my room felt heavy, like a thunderstorm was about to break. I rolled over, half awake, and felt a cold draft brush across my face. My skin prickled, and I yanked the covers up to my chin, heart racing.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a dark figure standing right next to me.

For a split second, I thought it was Mom, but the shape was all wrong—taller, thinner, hair hanging down in wild tangles. My mouth went dry, and I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

I was so scared I jolted awake, ready to scream—then, suddenly, someone clamped a hand over my mouth.

The hand was ice-cold, fingers digging into my cheeks. I thrashed, kicking at the blankets, but the grip didn’t loosen. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying this was just a nightmare, please, please.

Looking closer, I realized it was my sister.

She leaned in, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes were hollow, rimmed with red, and her breath smelled faintly metallic, like pennies left out in the rain. For a moment, I almost didn’t recognize her. My whole body tensed.

Her hair was a mess, her hands like blocks of ice, her whole body giving off this awful chill.