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Scottsboro, WV—March 2010
Six months had passed since Ron and Winona had acquired the snakes. In the beginning, they had taken turns feeding them. Winona had searched the Yellow Pages for pet supplies, and found a Pet Smart in Martinsburg that sold white mice. Rather than having to make a regular trip to purchase the rodents every time the snakes needed to be fed, she had bought a dozen the first time she visited the pet supply retailer. The helpful clerk had given her detailed instructions on how to maintain the mice, and even instructed her in whispered tones (for fear of being overheard by the store’s owner) how to breed the little rodents, provided of course that Winona promised to purchase all her future supplies at that particular store.
With the help of Skeeter, the collection of serpents had grown to an even half-dozen: three copperheads and three rattlesnakes. Ron wasn’t handling snakes at every service, but it was evident that he was becoming increasingly more comfortable with the whole process.
A package had just arrived via UPS, and Ron was busy unwrapping it.
“What’ve you got, baby?” asked Winona.
“Something I picked up on the Internet,” said Ron. “It’s for the show.”
He held up a small, white plastic container with a tamper-proof lid.
“What is it?” asked Winona.
“Guess.”
“Hell, Ron, I don’t know.” She smiled wickedly. “Is it an aphrodisiac?”
“What a one track mind,” laughed Ron.
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s strychnine.”
“Strychnine? What the hell do you need that for?”
“Relax. It’s okay,” said Ron. “I’ve been reading up on it. The Pentecostals drink it sometimes during their services. It all has to do with the part of that passage in Mark XVI that talks about the serpents. Anyway, I went online and got it from some outfit called AgriSearch. I told them I was a farmer, and I needed it to kill rats. Hell, I didn’t even have to pay for shipping. All I need to do is dilute it enough and—”
“What?” said Winona. “You’ll only die a little?”
“No! It’s safe. I swear it.”
“Look, handling the snakes is one thing,” she said, “but drinking poison...well...that’s something you really ought to think about.”
“I’ve already thought about it. How will folks believe in me if I don’t do it all?”
It appeared that Ron was poised to test his belief system to the max, and Winona had reservations. After all, things were going well and the money was really rolling in.
“Look, Winona,” he said, changing the subject, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should consider moving.”
“Moving?”
“Yeah.”
“But, why?”
“Because I’ve got a bad feeling. I’m afraid something bad is going to happen,” said Ron.
“What could happen?”
“I don’t know. Somebody might get bit.”
“So what? If it happens, we’ll just deal with it. I don’t see why we have to move.”
“I just think it’s time,” said Ron.
So far, Ron’s instincts had been pretty good. If it hadn’t been for him, they’d still be nickel and diming it, barely making ends meet. As things stood, they were making more than enough to get by; in fact, they had even managed to accumulate a little nest egg. But, he couldn’t convince Winona about moving.
“People get bit,” she said. “It happens all the time—and you know it.”
“But not to us,” said Ron. His voice had an edge to it. “Anyway, I’m still going to try the strychnine,” abruptly changing the subject.
“It’s your funeral,” mumbled Winona.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Don’t pay any attention to me.”
* * * *
In the weeks that followed, Ron drank the strychnine twice without suffering anything more than a headache. A website put up by a Pentecostal church in Jolo, West Virginia, had apparently provided him with the proper measurements for the amount of strychnine one could safely ingest. A warning on the site emphasized that it would not be held responsible for any injury or death that might occur as a result. But, oddly, it wasn’t the strychnine that caused a problem. It was an incident that occurred when Ron’s worst fears concerning a possible snakebite were ultimately realized. The irony was that the accident didn’t occur during a worship service at all. It took place many miles away—and it wasn’t an accident.
Evil was about to make its presence felt.