Chapter 3: Vigil for the Dead

My mom glanced at me, then, without a word, started stripping my sister’s pants.

She moved fast, her hands sure and steady. I stared in horror, my breath stuck in my throat. The snake writhed in her grip, eager and hungry. My whole body tensed up.

Realizing what she was about to do, I grabbed her hand, swallowing hard. “Mom, my sister is already dead.”

My voice was shaky, barely audible. I clung to her arm, desperate to stop her. She turned to look at me, her eyes cold and empty. I could feel the fear radiating off my skin.

My mom stroked the snake’s head. “The black spirit wants it. Even if she’s dead, she still has to serve him for me.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine. She spoke with a certainty that made me want to scream. The snake twisted in her hands, hissing softly. I could barely breathe.

Or, she suddenly changed her tone, giving me a sinister smile. “Or, you can do it.”

Her smile was all teeth, sharp and cruel. She leaned in close, her breath hot and sour on my face. I flinched, pulling away, but her grip tightened on my arm. Her nails dug into my skin, and I felt panic rising in my chest.

Her smile sent a chill down my spine.

I shuddered, every instinct screaming at me to run. My hands went limp, and I let go of her arm without meaning to. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

My hand let go without me realizing.

The snake slipped from her grasp, landing on the bed with a soft thud. I watched, frozen, as it slithered toward Sarah’s body. My stomach twisted with dread, bile rising in my throat.

In that instant, the black snake had already slipped under my sister’s body. Half its body disappeared.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned away, pressing my hands over my ears. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over the threshold. My legs barely worked.

I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned and left the room.

I leaned against the hallway wall, my legs shaking. I tried to block out the sounds coming from inside, tried to convince myself none of this was real. The house felt colder than ever, the darkness pressing in from all sides.

I waited outside the door for less than two minutes before I heard my mom scream from the living room.

The scream was sharp, high-pitched, and full of terror. I froze, unsure whether to run or rush in. My heart pounded in my chest, and sweat trickled down my back. My hands shook.

I was so scared I shivered and ran inside.

I burst through the door, breathless and panicked. The room was chaos—Mom shrieking, the snake thrashing, blood everywhere. I skidded to a halt, eyes wide with horror, my mind racing.

As soon as I entered, I saw a pool of blood under my sister’s body.

The blood soaked into the floorboards, spreading out in a dark, sticky puddle. The smell hit me first—sharp, metallic, overwhelming. My stomach lurched, and I had to bite my lip to keep from gagging.

The snake’s body was broken in two.

Its head lay on the bed, mouth open, fangs bared. The rest of its body twitched on the floor, still moving even though it was clearly dead. Mom knelt beside it, wailing and clutching the pieces to her chest. I felt sick, dizzy, like the world was spinning.

The snake’s head was outside, baring its fangs and flicking its tongue, but its tail was nowhere to be seen.

The sight was almost surreal, like something out of a nightmare. The snake’s head snapped at the air, blood dripping from its jaws. I backed away, heart pounding, stomach twisting.

My mom, face pale, cursed, “So unlucky.”

She spat on the floor, her hands shaking. Her face was twisted with rage and fear. She glared at the snake like it had betrayed her. I shrank back.

Then she reached her hand into my sister’s body, feeling around.

I turned away, unable to watch. The sound of her rummaging, the wet squelch of blood and flesh, made bile rise in my throat. I pressed my hands over my ears, trying to block it out. My knees felt weak.

Finally, she pulled out the long snake tail.

She held it up, triumph and relief flickering across her face. The tail was slick with blood, glistening in the dim light. She pieced the snake back together, hands trembling, muttering under her breath.

My mom pieced the snake’s head and tail back together, stroking it with a pained expression.

She cradled the broken snake, rocking back and forth. Her eyes were wild, desperate. She whispered to it, promising everything would be okay. The sight made my skin crawl. I wanted to run.

After confirming the snake wasn’t dead, my mom breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

She wiped her brow, letting out a nervous laugh. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she glanced at me with a look that was almost satisfied. I stayed as still as possible, hoping she’d forget I was there.

Then she glared at me and said, “Clean this up. If anyone finds out tomorrow, I’ll beat you to death.”

Her voice was sharp, full of menace. She pointed at the blood, the broken snake, the ruined bed. I nodded, swallowing hard, and grabbed a rag from the kitchen. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I lowered my head and muttered, “I know.”

My voice was barely audible, but she heard me. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving me alone with the mess. I wiped my eyes, steeling myself for what came next. I just wanted to disappear.

Only then did my mom leave, satisfied.

The door slammed behind her, and the house fell silent again. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I started to clean. The smell of blood clung to everything. I knew it would never come out.

The next morning at dawn, Uncle Larry came.

He knocked on the door, his face drawn and tired. He looked at me with something like pity, his eyes soft. The sun was just rising, painting the sky pink and gold. For a moment, everything felt almost normal, but I knew better.

When he saw me, his expression softened. “See, nothing happened, right?”

He ruffled my hair, trying to reassure me. I forced a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. The memory of last night clung to me like a shadow I couldn’t shake. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t.

I bit my lip and stayed quiet. Uncle Larry didn’t press further.

He gave me a long look, then nodded. He turned away, heading toward the living room. I watched him go, wishing I could tell him everything. My chest felt tight.

He went straight to the living room.

I followed at a distance, my hands clenched into fists. The house was quiet, the air thick with the smell of bleach and blood. Uncle Larry paused in the doorway, taking it all in. I held my breath.

The moment he saw my sister’s body, Uncle Larry’s face changed.

His eyes went wide, and he took a step back. His mouth worked silently, like he was searching for the right words. I could see the fear in his eyes. He looked at me, searching.

He turned to look at me, narrowing his eyes. “Eli, last night… did anything happen?”

His voice was low, careful. He watched me closely, searching my face for clues. I shifted from foot to foot, not sure what to say. My hands felt clammy.

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him.

I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. I glanced at the floor, wishing I could disappear. Uncle Larry waited, patient but persistent. My heart thudded in my chest.

Just then, my mom walked in, muttering, “What could have happened? I was here last night too. It was quiet. Larry, let’s not ask anymore. Let’s bury Sarah quickly. It’s not good for the dead to stay at home—don’t bring bad luck on the family.”

She spoke fast, her words tumbling over each other. She wouldn’t meet Uncle Larry’s eyes, fussing with her hair instead. I could tell she was nervous, desperate to move things along. Her voice was brittle.

Uncle Larry ignored my mom and stared at me, asking again, “Eli, really nothing happened last night?”

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. I glanced at Mom, saw her glaring at me from the corner of her eye. My heart pounded, and I swallowed hard. I could feel sweat on my palms.

I glanced at my mom, saw her glaring at me, and quickly shook my head. “No… nothing happened. I didn’t sleep all night, but nothing happened.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced myself to say it. Uncle Larry watched me for a long moment, then sighed. I looked away, ashamed.

Uncle Larry frowned even more, muttering, “It shouldn’t be. If nothing happened, why is the resentment so strong?”

He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed. He walked around the room, sniffing the air like he could smell something no one else could. I stayed as still as possible, hoping he’d let it go. My chest felt tight.

But thankfully, though he was suspicious, he didn’t ask further.

He straightened up, giving me a small nod. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The tension in the room eased, just a little. I tried to relax.

He patted my head and told me to go to Mrs. McAllister’s house to borrow her big rooster—the one that crows.

He knelt down, his voice gentle. “Eli, run over to Mrs. McAllister’s and ask for her rooster. The big red one that crows at dawn. Bring it back here, quick as you can, okay?”

I looked at him, confused. “Uncle Larry, we have a big rooster at home. Why do I have to borrow Mrs. McAllister’s?”

I frowned, trying to figure it out. Our rooster was huge and loud, always waking me up at sunrise. Why did it have to be hers?

He sighed. “If this was just a regular wrongful death, your family’s rooster would do. But your sister’s anger is too strong—yours can’t keep it down. Mrs. McAllister’s rooster is old, its comb is bright red. Only hers will work. If someone else goes, she might not agree, but if you go, she will.”

He looked tired, older than I’d ever seen him. He placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “She likes you, Eli. Trust me.”

I hesitated, but finally gritted my teeth and ran to Mrs. McAllister’s house.

I pulled on my sneakers, not even bothering to tie them, and sprinted across the yard. The grass was wet with dew, soaking my socks. Mrs. McAllister’s house was just two doors down, paint peeling, porch swing creaking in the wind. I wiped my nose, trying not to cry.

When I got there and was still figuring out how to ask, Mrs. McAllister had already tied up the big rooster and handed it to me.

She was waiting on the porch, the rooster clutched under her arm. She smiled, her eyes kind and knowing. I opened my mouth to speak, but she just pressed the bird into my hands, her grip surprisingly strong. I stared, surprised.

I looked at her in surprise.

Her face was soft, lined with age, but her eyes were sharp as tacks. She nodded, like she’d been expecting me all along. The rooster squawked, flapping its wings, but she held it steady. I could smell bread baking inside.

She sighed, her cloudy eyes fixed on me. “Take it. I may not know exactly what’s happened in your family, but I can guess most of it. This rooster’s been with me for years. If anyone else asked, I wouldn’t give it up. But Eli, I’ve always treated you like my own grandson. For you, I don’t hesitate.”

Her words wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I felt my eyes sting, tears threatening to spill over. She squeezed my shoulder, her hands rough but gentle. The rooster clucked softly.

My nose stung, and I almost cried.

I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. I hugged the rooster to my chest, the feathers soft against my cheek. For a moment, I felt safe, like maybe there was still some good in the world.

I knelt and bowed my head three times to her. “Mrs. McAllister, from now on, you’re my real grandma. If I make it through this, I’ll take care of you when you’re old.”