It’s Definitely a Snake (Ransom Pt. 3)

“AAAAHHHH--” My mouth is open so wide I have to shut my eyes. I've never screamed this loud before; it makes my own ears bleed.

A fabric-covered hand clamps over my mouth, slipping as I struggle. My eyes shoot open and the boy’s already impossibly large eyes widen and I start to worry they might pop out.

“Please, please! Please stop! I’m not trying to hurt you!” He scans my face, though for what, I don’t know. Maybe some kind of insanity that would make me feel totally cool with a shape-shifting creep who broke into my friend’s house, attacked me, and is now wearing hot pink shorts and a too-short hoodie that screams TOURIST. (Okay, it actually says I ♥ San Fransico. But we all know only tourists buy those.) Oh, and he has one of the sleeves stretched over his hand, which is still smothering me.

“I just came in because I-I thought it was a vacation house and no one was home. I just wanted something to eat, I swear!”

I should hit him or kick him or bite him or something. But my brain refuses to focus on anything but the way the boy’s chest rises and falls faster than my hammering heart and how much whiter than his hair his face has become; how his fingers tremble and sweat covers his forehead.

Scared.

Peeling his fingers from my face, I stare at him for a good moment. He doesn’t try to remove his wrist from my grasp, just blinks a few times as his mouth creeps open.

“Alright. If you expect me to believe any of what you just said, we start with the basics.” I give him the best impression of my mom I can--all Artic blast, save the sass and have some class, four-feet-nine-inches of her. (Her words, not mine.)

He just nods, once, and I let go of him.

“Name.”

He swallows. “Ransom.”

“Next easy question...what in BLUE HAY are you?!”

Ransom jumps, at least four inches off the ground before falling back against the wall. Clutching at his heart, he gasps. “Ah! I...I’m a human.”

I recoil a good two feet just to be safe.

“Yeah, and I’m a...I’m a...” Think, Harlow! Nope, nothing good to finish that with. Wrinkling my nose, I furrow my brows more. “Never mind what I am or am not, this isn’t about me! You’re not human, so stop lying!”

“I swear I’m one hundred percent human,” he rasps.

I arch an eyebrow. How stupid do I look? Okay, so maybe that's a dumb question, considering half of my hair is matted against the right side of my face from where it’s been smashed by the musty couch cushion. The other half of my chocolate curls float in a fuzzy cloud and poke at my mouth as though it can’t decide whether it wants to run away or gag me. As long as there isn’t Dorito dust still clinging to my shirt.

Crap. Of course there is. Maybe if I bothered to get a napkin once in a while, these things wouldn’t happen to me.

“At least, I was.”

Sweet mother of Martha Stuart, I forgot we were even talking! Focus, focus, focus.

“What do you mean, you were? Did you just wake up one day a snake?”

“It’s a sea serpent, not a snake. Snakes don’t--”

“I don’t need a biology lesson.” I cross my arms. “If you are as human as you claim, then how do you explain what I saw?”

Ransom lifts his palm, tilting his head as he turns iridescent scale over. When he speaks, it's so soft I have to lean in to hear, something I'm not too big on doing until he gets a shower. Even clothes soaked in Axe bodyspray would be better than this.

“I...I’m not sure. It’s been a while.”

For once, no words fight to tumble out of my mouth as he looks up. A mixture of fear and loneliness and confusion darkens his eyes to Persian blue, the shade I’d use to capture the depth of the ocean’s secrets. If only my paintbrush listened to my hands and did what I wanted, instead of blurring everything into a flat recreation, trapped by the fibers of the paper.

Mrs. Sanders thinks my art is good, but I don’t know if it’s just one of those teacher things, to encourage your students even when they’re doing something all wrong in hopes they’ll eventually get it right. She says art should not be confined by the borders of the page or computer screen it’s birthed on, but that it should flow through our fingers and minds so it can color our lives. (But she also says Pizza Hut is better than Domino’s, so take that as you will.)

Right. I’m getting off track.

“Fourteen years...maybe more. I don’t think I actually said anything to anybody last time, just kind of wandered around.” Ransom isn’t even looking at me anymore. Well, his gaze remains locked on mine, but it burns right through me.

“Uh, so how old are you?” I wish he would look away.

He sniffs, refocusing on my face. “I’m not sure of that either. It’s been four cycles since it happened, and each cycle is seven years.”

“Cycles? And what happened?”

“Every seven years, marked by the first full moon of the summer, I become human again, from moonrise until the following moonset. Or sunrise. Or whatever.” Running a hand through his hair, he rubs his face with the other and sighs. I didn’t even noticed he’d dropped the scale and now it lay, gleaming on the floor.

“Last year I ate too close to the full moon, so I was asleep digesting that bloody shark and missed it altogether. Woke up a week late. Second best day of my life, really.”

“Oh.” That last part had been sarcasm, right?

“As for what happened in the first place... I don’t really know that either.”

“Are you for real? Do you really expect me to believe you can’t remember what turned you into that?” I stab a finger at the scale.

“A...a scale?”

“No, you idiot! A snake that just wrecked my only friend’s house and destroyed priceless vases!”

“It’s not a sn--”

“Save it, Big Brain. How hard is it to cough up some cold, hard facts?”

Lowering his head under my glare, Ransom tugs at the teal hem of the tourist hoodie. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you mad. But you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Did you really just... Oh come on!” I grab my head, arms trembling as I fight the urge to rip out handfuls of my hair. Wait, why should I waste my precious locks? Why not his?

Get a grip! You can’t just rip out someone’s hair.

“So you think, after seeing a snake--sorry, sea serpent--with a human face that transformed into you, I won’t believe whatever you say caused it?”

Behind me, the floor vent rattles as the air conditioning kicks in. It curls around my ankles and whispers across my sticky arms.

“Really, I’m sorry.” His hair tumbles over his forehead as he stares at the warped floorboards, shoulders drooping. Almost like the sunflowers in that Van Gogh painting. “I don’t know how to talk to people anymore.”

A pang of sympathy pierces me. I’ve been too harsh, again. A sigh escapes my lips.

“It’s not that hard, you know. Just put one word after another. You’ve been doing pretty okay so far.” I drop to the floor, my weak knees giving a prayer of thanks as my skin crawls upon contact with the damp wood. “Here, sit down. Start talking, and I’ll listen. I promise minimal interruptions.”

For a moment, he just stands, lips pressed together and arms glued to his side. A seagull squawks somewhere further down the beach and another answer.

Ransom sits, pulling his knees to his chest. “Okay.”