Snakes…it always has to be snakes. What kind of a detective investigates snakes? I’m supposed to be solving murder mysteries not acting like a zookeeper.
The detective angrily stepped out of his cruiser into the quickly strengthening rain. As the rain touched his torn jacket, he could barely make out the house betwixt many curled trees. The trees almost…enveloped the house. But purposefully. The branches fingered their way into and out of the windows in an eerie statement of possession.
Well, he thought, at least I’ll have a hell of a story to scare the kids with when I get home. His metallic, green boots heard the pitter patter of rain as they stomped their way towards the house, glumly carrying their owner into the unknown. By the time he had come within 10 feet of what he thought was the door, a hissing sound began to grow in his mind.
He calmly stated to himself, “It’s just the steam from the furnace.” desperately hoping that the decrepit “fortress” had a furnace and nothing something else. The door swung open, almost as if it were being opened to welcome a new vict- guest. The architecture of the house was somehow normal. Living room here, kitchen there. However, the house gave an illusion of almost being shaped in an enormous circle. The arching walls over him reminded him of his favorite movie The Hobbit.
Just like the Shire. Must have been cozy.
Stepping around with his flashlight, the hissing multiplied. The detective began to think out his steps and act more deliberate in order to ground himself.
I’m not crazy. But this isn’t a horror story either. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for the hissing.
His own thoughts began to distract him from his quest, as he quickly found himself walking down into the basement, the turning point of any good detective story.
They said there would be snakes…thought I was going to a fuckin’ zoo. But no, here I am like I’m in the damn Blair Witch Project.
The detective felt a cold presence on his shoulder as he made his final steps into the damp basement that was plain wrong. His mouth could barely utter “What in the world…?” as he realized the basement was made of stone and the house sitting on top of it wood. “No…” he eeked out. This wasn’t stone at all. It was painted over to look as if it were stone. His fingers slowly moved their way across the walls.
Scaley.
Is this what they meant by snakes? What kind of sick freak makes a room from snakeskin?
This thought evaporated quickly as he turned to the far corner. His pupils widened, spotting the enormous crimson “circle on the floor” with an object lying in its center.
He had heard of these circles as a child. Ancient denizens of the area practiced a forbidden style of magic that had been lost after a plague wiped them out. But this area felt…fresh. As if it were still being used. The air was clogged and white noise crowding out silence. He walked over to the circle and picked up the object.
I was never a Harry Potter fan but even I know this is a wand. This can’t be real…they said that all the Serpent Wands were destroyed with the plague…and there’s an entire shelf of them just on that wall. This isn’t adding up.
As he knelt down to touch the circle, his stomach turned.
The circle had not been composed of paint…but…
Blood.
The consistency of the blood was…well, inconsistent. The detective had seen enough crime scenes to know what human blood feels and smells like between the fingers.
Is this snake blood? The ancient hymn said something about serpent essence…is this what they meant?