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SWAMP OF THE FAITHFUL By: Lars Adams

Thursday, January 15th, 2009

Tim was staring at the clear blue sky through the canopy of the Tennessee forest. He was trying to think clearly, but all he could come up with were reasons to be back on campus and not on this stupid solo canoe trip. He came up with beer, girls, torturing pledges in the frat house, and soaking up the rays in Cancun. But no, he thought spring break would be better spent getting in touch with nature and learning more about himself. Instead he learned to be careful where you sit, because he had been bitten by a venomous coral snake.

He had heard that first aid was to suck out the venom, but he was bitten on his lower back, and couldn’t reach. It was strange, it felt as if the snake was pressed into him, instead of biting him, but when he whirled around, no one was there, just a beautiful red, yellow and black snake hanging off his back. Stranger still, the coral snake’s northern most range was far south of Tennessee. He screamed and panicked, knowing he was hours from civilization, except for an old, moldering chapel he had passed.

The real trouble was he couldn’t find the canoe. He had pulled it up onto land far enough so it couldn’t drift away, but still, it was gone. Definitely freaking out now, he got up and splashed into the shin deep swamp water, looking around, but nothing, no canoe. He went back to land, this time feeling weaker, heavier, his thoughts becoming more disjointed. Collapsing on his back, he stared once more at the blue sky, trying to think logically on the solution to his problem.

He laid there for ten minutes, whimpering, though he knew that just laying there would only make things worse. He was about to get up when he heard a splash close by. He hadn’t realized how quiet it was until then. It was eerie. He remembered the water had started as a nice open river, but had blended to the land in a series of bayous and swamps. There, again! Appearing from behind a partially submerged tree, his canoe drifted into sight. He jumped to his feet in jubilance, though he staggered and tripped, his fingers and toes growing numb, and his muscles weak. There wasn’t much pain where he was bitten, but he still thought the venom was kicking in too fast, though he really had no idea how fast it was supposed to take effect. Perhaps it had struck a vein.

As it touched the land, he glanced in, but immediately recoiled. The bottom was writhing with black serpents, and on seeing Tim most of them slithered over the sides. Some swam away in the stagnant water, and some crawled onto the land with him. He cried out, moving back too fast. Instantly those that were closest to him turned their heads, opening their mouths, hissing, to reveal the pure white inside of cottonmouth moccasins.

He fell backward and started crawling away, but he couldn’t move. The venom was paralyzing him. It was like a nightmare, being unable to move as horrible creatures descended upon him. He was hoping it was a dream, but like a hammer driving a nail, one of the vipers struck his forearm. This time it blossomed with pain equivalent to sticking his arm in a deep fryer. No more. He was done. He cried for his parents he was leaving behind. He cried for dying alone. But he wasn’t alone.

His eyes registered shoes, muddy dress shoes, though it was difficult to produce enough thought to realize they belonged to a human. A man. Yes, help came! “Sir,” Tim said, although very hoarse, “Please…please…” he couldn’t manage more, but to his relief the shoes walked toward him. He looked up at his rescuer. This wasn’t some dirty hick, but a man in a dusty suit and slicked back hair. His eyes gleamed within his cavernous sockets, and his smile was anything but friendly.

The strange man looked about into the woods and cried, “Congregation! Come forth and witness the fall of the wicked!” Out of nowhere several dozen people emerged from various haunts that Tim hadn’t noticed, and this time, they were the dirty, toothless hillbillies he expected. They walked quickly and silently around him, their eyes solemn and reverent. “Take up serpents, brothers!” said the man who appeared to be a preacher. On cue, every man, women, and even some children scattered and collected the Cottonmouths from the canoe by hand, but not one of the snakes tried to bite them. Several of them shouted praises to God, and still others started babbling in tongues.

“Please… Please help…” he said, his voice getting smaller and weaker. One old man went to the preacher and handed him a coral snake, probably the same one that bit Tim earlier. It, too didn’t strike.

“You have been judged and found guilty by the almighty God! Though we take up serpents, we are not harmed! Though we drink poison, we remain healthy! We are the faithful, but you have not the faith of a mustard seed.” The preacher stood over him, dangling the snake. “If you have faith you will not die. Repent! This snake will no longer strike you if you have faith!” he started lowering the snake to his face.

“No! No, please God no!” Tim cried in vain. This couldn’t be real, just a nightmare.

“Have faith.”

Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Tim closed his eyes tight as it came within striking distance. Just a nightmare…

___
© 2008 Lars Adams

Lars Adams is a young author of horror and thriller from Waukegan, Il. He has one previously published work on Microhorror.com, and is currently in the final stages of a novel manuscript. To read an exerpt or other short stories, go to www.geocities.com/adams_lars/index.html