that refused to remain tucked beneath the cushions.
Crossing her legs hard, she wondered if she could force the need away. She counted, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… but it did no good. She had to go.
Quietly, slowly, she opened the Suburban door. There was a faint, grinding squeal of metal against metal. She grimaced and looked over the seat to find Peter sound asleep with a sweatshirt wound around his head. His chest rose and fell against the blanket, and his mouth hung open as if inviting a spider. She pushed the door again, slowly, then eased out onto the ground. Leaving the door partway open, she tiptoed across the field to the trees where she relieved herself, found a couple dried leaves to finish off, then sneaked back to the vehicle. The dead grasses and weeds crunched beneath her feet. Overhead, bats stitched patterns against the pre-dawn sky.
It was then she heard the moaning. The agonized groaning. From the rear of the travel trailer.
Pathetic.
Agonized.
She stopped and stared at the trailer, at the garish signs on the side, black and white and shades of gray now, their colors washed away in the night.
The sound came again, and then a thumping inside the trailer.
“What is that?” she whispered. The sound of her voice was louder on the air than she’d expected.
There was a moment of silence and then again moaning.
Weeping.
“That’s no snake…”
She took another step toward the Suburban, but the sounds from the trailer were heartbreaking. She bit her lip, then hurried to the trailer, around the side, and into the tent where she stopped to listen again.
The crying was louder now but no less pitiful. It came from behind the closed door, the final display.
The gigantic, terrible snake.
But she knew snakes. They didn’t cry or moan.
So what was it?
Kelly patted her fist against her teeth. Clearly there was someone in the trailer, someone who, for some reason, had been locked inside without Peter’s knowledge. Was it a child? Had any children come to the show? She didn’t remember any. The voice was difficult to identify. Maybe it was a teen, or even a man, who was horrified to have been left behind without being noticed, locked inside the trailer with the dreadful snake.
Peter would be so pissed if he realized he’d been so careless. She didn’t want him angry. She wanted to make things better for him, not worse. And she couldn’t leave the man trapped in the display. Just the thought of that made her stomach clench and her heart pick up a heavy, painful rhythm.
The keys were around Peter’s neck. She would make quick business of it, not even have to go inside the trailer but just open the door for a moment to let the man out.
Peter was lying face toward the back of the middle seat, snorting in his sleep, one hand twitching, but luckily the string on which the keys hung was visible at his neck. And the fingernail clippers she kept in her purse did the trick. He never moved, never felt a thing.
Back inside the tent now, standing at the door now, Kelly trembled. The keys clicked against each other like tiny teeth. This had to be quick. This had to be quiet. Then she would tie a knot in the string and drop it onto the Suburban floor where Peter would find it in the morning. She would tell him how he tossed and turned all night, possibly scooting out from under the string in the process.
That was possible, wasn’t it?
It was the best she could think of.
The moan was so loud this time it drove her back several feet from the door. Maybe the man was already bitten by the snake? Maybe he was lying there, dying. She hoped not. She knew how to put on a Band-Aid but that was about it. She didn’t know how to stop someone from dying.
Go on now, she thought . Do it. Do it for the man. But most of all, do it for Peter. Do it for your Dad. He needs your help.
God, I hate snakes!
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…”
Key in the lock, lock clicking, door pulling
Crossing her legs hard, she wondered if she could force the need away. She counted, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… but it did no good. She had to go.
Quietly, slowly, she opened the Suburban door. There was a faint, grinding squeal of metal against metal. She grimaced and looked over the seat to find Peter sound asleep with a sweatshirt wound around his head. His chest rose and fell against the blanket, and his mouth hung open as if inviting a spider. She pushed the door again, slowly, then eased out onto the ground. Leaving the door partway open, she tiptoed across the field to the trees where she relieved herself, found a couple dried leaves to finish off, then sneaked back to the vehicle. The dead grasses and weeds crunched beneath her feet. Overhead, bats stitched patterns against the pre-dawn sky.
It was then she heard the moaning. The agonized groaning. From the rear of the travel trailer.
Pathetic.
Agonized.
She stopped and stared at the trailer, at the garish signs on the side, black and white and shades of gray now, their colors washed away in the night.
The sound came again, and then a thumping inside the trailer.
“What is that?” she whispered. The sound of her voice was louder on the air than she’d expected.
There was a moment of silence and then again moaning.
Weeping.
“That’s no snake…”
She took another step toward the Suburban, but the sounds from the trailer were heartbreaking. She bit her lip, then hurried to the trailer, around the side, and into the tent where she stopped to listen again.
The crying was louder now but no less pitiful. It came from behind the closed door, the final display.
The gigantic, terrible snake.
But she knew snakes. They didn’t cry or moan.
So what was it?
Kelly patted her fist against her teeth. Clearly there was someone in the trailer, someone who, for some reason, had been locked inside without Peter’s knowledge. Was it a child? Had any children come to the show? She didn’t remember any. The voice was difficult to identify. Maybe it was a teen, or even a man, who was horrified to have been left behind without being noticed, locked inside the trailer with the dreadful snake.
Peter would be so pissed if he realized he’d been so careless. She didn’t want him angry. She wanted to make things better for him, not worse. And she couldn’t leave the man trapped in the display. Just the thought of that made her stomach clench and her heart pick up a heavy, painful rhythm.
The keys were around Peter’s neck. She would make quick business of it, not even have to go inside the trailer but just open the door for a moment to let the man out.
Peter was lying face toward the back of the middle seat, snorting in his sleep, one hand twitching, but luckily the string on which the keys hung was visible at his neck. And the fingernail clippers she kept in her purse did the trick. He never moved, never felt a thing.
Back inside the tent now, standing at the door now, Kelly trembled. The keys clicked against each other like tiny teeth. This had to be quick. This had to be quiet. Then she would tie a knot in the string and drop it onto the Suburban floor where Peter would find it in the morning. She would tell him how he tossed and turned all night, possibly scooting out from under the string in the process.
That was possible, wasn’t it?
It was the best she could think of.
The moan was so loud this time it drove her back several feet from the door. Maybe the man was already bitten by the snake? Maybe he was lying there, dying. She hoped not. She knew how to put on a Band-Aid but that was about it. She didn’t know how to stop someone from dying.
Go on now, she thought . Do it. Do it for the man. But most of all, do it for Peter. Do it for your Dad. He needs your help.
God, I hate snakes!
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…”
Key in the lock, lock clicking, door pulling
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