Ransom Pt. 2

I can only gape, all my thoughts tumbling into each other and sticking in my throat, choking me.

“I promise, I have a great explanation!”

No, no, no, no, no.

There's absolutely no way this serpent has a human head. And his voice--deep and raspy, with the s’s drawn out far too long, snake-like.

The monster blinks, twisting his neck until his head hangs at a horrifying angle. Bile rises in the back of my throat and my world spins, threatening to send me spiraling down the stairs.

He blinks once, twice, and then a third time. “Are you okay?”

“Ah! Ah!” I fall back onto my bottom, shoving myself across the floor as fast as I can. Even after I'm pressed up against the wall, I keep trying to get farther and farther away.

“Um, I can’t see you and I don’t think I can make it up the stairs just yet. Can you please come back?”

“Help! Somebody, help!” I scream, even though I know there's no one who can hear me.

“No, no, no! Please don’t do that!” With each word, the monstrosity’s voice shifts up a notch until it sounds almost human.

My vision wavers, the room warping and blurring as my eyes are pulled shut. I can’t even remember how to breathe right...

#####

“I’m really sorry. I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

When did Risa’s voice get so weird? Why does she sound all raspy like an old lady or a...a boy with bronchitis?

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand, my mind wandering to the important things of life like whether Risa convinced her mom to buy more flaming hot Cheetos and Mountain Dew. (Though probably not, since her mom’s on this natural-foods-no-sugar-added-thorough-nerve-and-bloodstream cleanse or something.)

“Wha--you didin...”

Wrinkling my nose at the strange fish odor, I let my head roll to the side. The wood is moist and dusty, like a convenience store bathroom. It even has the accompanying smell of age and body odor.

“Ughhhhh, Risa! Why’s it smell so gross?” I try to open my eyes, but they're so dry that they won’t stay open for more than a split second.

“I don’t smell! Take it back!”

Okay, definitely isn’t Risa. And why was I even sleeping on the floor? Had I fallen off the couch?

Something poked my nose. A finger, maybe?

“Stop that!” My non-existent abs struggle to pull me up into a sitting position. My brain reminds me that a snake four times my size--and four times as hideous, a feat previously thought impossible--is downstairs.

“Get away!” I shriek, slapping at the hands touching my hair.

“Hey, stop! That hurts!” The boy scrambles back, blue eyes wide in terror.

Leaping up, I scan the room, running through my options. The tangle of limbs in front of me blocks the door and the window on my right is two stories up with latches that take twenty minutes and an incredible amount of manpower to open. I have neither.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the boy whimpers, hiding part of his face with a slender arm.

“That’s all I’m asking here,” I snap. Eyes narrowing, I lift my chin and press my lips together to make the most intimidating face I can.

I step forward. He doesn’t move.

Another step. Still no movement.

Bolder, I charge forward, grabbing him by the shoulders like I did with Jessi that one time she called my sister a name I can’t repeat here.

“Stand up,” I growl, which made my throat hurt. I fight the urge to cough.

He stands, and I jerk him to the side so I can slam him against the wall. This earns me a few rapid blinks and a grunt.

Up close, he reeks so terribly, so overwhelmingly like fish and rotting sludge that my stomach tries to jump out of my body. But his eyes--so blue, a deep shade I’d never seen before, like a galaxy reflected in an ocean of sapphires. Almost hypnotic. His hair is unnaturally white, touseled and a little wavy like he spends his days on the beach.

“Who are you? Why are you here? What are you trying to do?”

With each hissed question, I lean in closer. Our noses are almost touching when he responds.

“I... I’m hungry.”

I push him harder against the wall. “What’s up with the snake then?”

He blinks, wriggles his shoulders.

“Answer me!” I yell. He's thinner, with a good three inches on me, but I hadn’t expected him to be strong from his boyish build.

He pats the pockets of the hot pink shorts he's wearing--Risa’s favorite--and pulls something out. His fist is against my kidney and for a sickening second, I think he's going to punch me across the room.

His long fingers uncurl. Nestled in his palm, oval and smooth and white, rests a scale.

“You really don’t recognize my face?”

Oh, crap. This...this boy is that serpent. I’m going to die. I’m so going to die.

I scream.