The Sign of the Snake

By Ian Wilson (Rated PG-13)

The filler-rod crackled and hissed in the mid-morning light as I dabbed the molten metal onto the two pieces of rebar I was welding together. I lifted my welding hood to examine my work. It was a good weld; smooth, not a single pocket. I lit my cigarillo off the hot metal and took a long drag. 

“What on earth are you building, Walter?” asked Ma. 

“A cage,” I replied. “What’s it look like?”

“A cage for what? King Kong?” she pressed.

“No; for me,” I replied nonchalantly. 

Mom raised her left eyebrow.

“Full moon is in two days,” I replied. “Need to be locked up.”

“Thought you’d just go out to the woodlot and kill something like you used to,” replied Ma. 

“That’ll just feed the beast,” I replied. “Besides that, eventually that woodlot will run out of game and I’ll go wandering off somewhere else, maybe over to McCallister’s, and kill one of his sheep. Maybe even get myself shot.”

Ma nodded. “You do what you need to do.”

It was then that Conrad wandered over, a concerned look on his face. 

“Howdy,” I said. 

“Hey,” he replied. “We got a client.”

“Be right there,” I said. 

I finished welding one more piece of steel onto the cage and then entered the office. A man stood up to greet me, removing his snake-skin hat and offering his hand. He was about 50, with a thick mustache, his red hair cut into a mullet. Various tattoos decorated his sinuous arms, including snakes, skulls and crosses.

“Noodle!” I exclaimed, shaking the man’s hand vigorously.

“Noodle?” said Conrad, questioningly. 

“That’s one of my names,” replied Noodle. “Don’t worry about wearing it out; I got others.”

“What’re you doing here?” I asked.

“I’ll tell ya, Walter,” he said, “I got me a haint.”

If you’ve never visited Appalachia and are unfamiliar with our way of speaking, a “haint” is any sort of supernatural occurrence. Could be a ghost, a demon, witchcraft; whatever. Noodle was a certified town character. The fella was what we call a “critter-getter”; he would get snakes and other critters out of people’s houses and yards. He’d nearly died from snake bite at least twice and faced death again from a bobcat. He was known for pulling off over-the-top stunts at the county fair. 

“What sorta haint?” I inquired. 

“Well, this job I’m on,” he said, taking his seat. “Girl calls me up and says she got a mess o’ black snakes in her trailer. So I goes over there to the trailer park, and soon as I go take a gander, them snakes is gone. Can’t find ‘em no how. I know she seen ‘em, cause the neighbors done seen ‘em, and I seen ‘em, but they gone. Poof! So she calls me again, same thing happens. Her boyfriend’s gettin’ spooked. Says the snakes ain’t natural and his girl ain’t actin’ right. Going out at strange hours, losin’ memory. She’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal herself. So I’m tellin’ you, somethin’ bout that trailer park ain’t quite right. This above my paygrade. Felt like I needed to take a bath in holy water when I left.”  

I stroked my short beard in thought for a minute. “Sounds like a haint alright. We’ll go have a gander at it. Which trailer do they live in?”

“Number fourteen,” replied Noodle. 

I grunted. “Might explain it if it were thirteen.”

Just then the door opened and Father Steve entered the office. 

“Howdy, Father,” said Noodle.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had a client,” he said. “I’ll wait outside.”

“No, come on in,” I said. “I might need your help, actually.”

“Um, what with?” asked Steve. 

“Haints!” said Noodle, bouncing his eyebrows. “Might need to get me some o’ that holy water.”

“Depending on how long it takes, we may need you to take over for me,” I added.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” replied the priest. “Full moon and everything.”

“Well, better head off,” said Noodle. “Mrs. O’Neil has a timber rattler under her porch she wants me to take care of. Y’all take it easy now.”

“See you around, Noodle,” I said. 

“Like a hubcap!” Noodle replied with a toothy grin. 

“So what was it you needed, Steve?” I inquired of the priest. 

“Oh, I needed to speak to Conrad, actually,” replied Father Steve. “Privately.”

I narrowed my eyes on them. Conrad and Father Steve had only known each other for a couple of weeks. It was weird that they wanted to speak to each other without me. After all, Father Steve and I had been friends since we were young ‘uns. Reluctantly, I left the office while they conversed about whatever it was they needed to talk about.   

Meanwhile, I went over to take a look at the cage I had constructed. I found my Uncle Jimmy already kneeling by the cage, looking it up and down. Uncle Jimmy taught me how to weld when I was a teenager; he’d picked up that skill in the Army. 

“Nice work,” he grunted. “What’s it for?”

“Full moon is in a couple of days,” I replied. 

Uncle Jimmy glared at me. “You’re just gonna lock yourself up?” he asked. 

“That’s the plan,” I replied. 

“Smart plan,” he responded. 

We both just stood there examining the cage, until Conrad and Father Steve emerged from the office. 

Waving at me, Father Steve got into his little black Honda and drove back to town.

“What was that about?” I inquired.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” replied Conrad.

I wanted to press further, but I stayed myself. Conrad and I kept a professional distance. If he didn’t want it known, I didn’t need to know it. 

“We’ll grab some lunch and have a gander at this trailer,” I stated. 

…

Country music blared over a fuzzy speaker from who knows where while a pitbull and a chihuahua got in a barking contest. Somewhere a woman shouted a string of expletives. Trash littered the ground, along with the feces of various animals. American and Confederate flags waved everywhere. An old man with an eyepatch sat on the steps of his mobile home, smoking a cigarette and stroking a large cat. He grinned at us, but there was a hidden sorrow to his smile. Three of his teeth were missing, and a Vietnam veteran cap sat atop his tanned, wrinkled and bearded head. 

These are the “white trash”; one of the most ignored, maltreated and maligned groups in America today. Rich, white, big city liberals like to talk a good line about serving the underprivileged, and then in the same breath berate these people, just because they don’t share their values. They don’t give a crap about the real poor. But I digress.

“Howdy,” I said to the old man.

“Howdy,” returned the old man. “What can I do for ye?”

“You see anything peculiar lately?” I inquired.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the things I seen, boy,” replied the old man. 

“I hear tell there’s some snakes in these parts,” I stated. 

“Yep!” said the man. “Big black ones, slitherin’ around, usually after dark. One of ‘em done bit my other cat, Mabel. Buried her yesterday morning.” 

I nodded in response. “Sorry to hear that.”

“So am I,” he replied. There was a sadness to his voice, like he’d lost a good friend. I felt bad for him; his cats are probably some of the few good things about his life. “You’re here about Annabelle, ain’t ye?” continued the veteran.

“Annabelle?” I inquired. 

The old man nodded his chin at a particular mobile home. “Over yonder in number fourteen. Pretty sure she’s a witch. Them snakes have been a-comin’ to her trailer.”

We gazed at the mobile home. A young woman sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette. I think she had a piercing in every orifice. Ornate tattoos of flowers and symbols decorated both arms all the way to her clavicle; I wondered where she found the money for that. Her eye-shadow was of a purple-ish hue, and her lipstick was of a similar shade. Half her head was shaved – never understood that look – with the rest of her dark hair hanging off the left side of her head down to her shoulder, the last third of it dyed green. Her clothes were equally tacky; a black crop-top and jeans that looked like they survived an attack from a pitbull.

“What makes you say that?” asked Conrad.

“I seen her hypnotize folk,” replied the Vietnam vet, extending the index and pinky fingers of his right hand in a “devil horns” gesture and wiggling them vigorously. “It’s like that Black Sabbath song, Lady Evil.”

“You listen to Sabbath?” I asked. 

“Yup!” said the old man. “Got ‘em on vinyl in the trailer. Saw ‘em live in ‘77.”

“Must’ve been quite a night,” I responded. 

“Oh, it was!” said the old man with a mischievous grin.  

“Gonna go have a word with Annabelle,” I said.

“Y’all watch yourselves, boys,” said the old man, solemnly.  

As I sauntered over to introduce myself, I felt a sudden hand on my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” asked Conrad. 

“Gonna introduce myself,” I responded. 

“Walter, my brother,” said Conrad. “This sorta thing takes finesse. Which, quite frankly, you ain’t got. You’re a blunt instrument.”

“It’s gotten me outta trouble before,” I snapped back. 

“When you were in a biker gang,” Conrad returned. “You don’t know how to play the game, and you are no good with women.”

“What do you mean by that?” I growled.

“Is there a woman in this town you haven’t offended at least once in your life?”

I’ll be honest with you, I had to think a minute.

“See?” said Conrad before I could utter a name.

“Fine, I’ll let you do the talking,” I relented. 

We approached the woman on the porch.

“Hey there, we’re looking for Annbelle,” said Conrad. 

“You’re looking at her,” said Annabelle, taking a drag. I noticed a peculiar ring on her right hand as she raised the cigarette to her lips; it was in the design of a coiled snake, with its head pointed toward the nail and it’s tail toward the knuckle. 

“Heard you have a snake problem,” said Conrad. “We heard it might be more than just snakes.”

The girl went a little pale. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Conrad LeFontain and this is my associate, Walter Ulric. We’re paranormal private investigators.”

“You should come inside,” she replied. 

We entered the dingy mobile home. There were a few sparse furnishings and rugs. The place stunk of cigarette smoke and a hint of marijuana. We were invited to sit. 

“It started a few weeks ago, when we – my boyfriend and I – kept seeing these big, black snakes in and around the trailer. They’d just slither away when we turned on the lights; no big deal. Until one of them killed our dog. And then I started having nightmares. Like I was falling into a deep, black hole, and I could hear these weird voices whispering, but I couldn’t understand them. I just felt like I was being smothered. I woke up when my boyfriend screamed; the snakes were in bed with us! That’s when I called Noodle, but he didn’t find anything. 

“Then I started sleep-walking. I’d just wake up standing out in a holler somewhere, surrounded by black snakes. That happened at least twice. Now my boyfriend keeps telling me I done things I don’t remember doin’. I been losing time. And I been… trancing folk.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired. 

“Well,” continued Annabelle, “sometimes when I’m in a tight spot, this strange feeling comes over me and when I tell folk what to do, they do it. The other day I got pulled over for speeding and when the deputy tried to write me a ticket, I looked into his eyes and told him to let me off with a warning – and he DID!”

Conrad and I looked at each other. 

“When did this start?” asked Conrad. 

“Three months ago,” replied Annabelle. 

I grunted. “Did anything weird happen then?”

“Nothing’s coming to mind,” she responded. 

“That’s a fancy ring you got there,” I remarked. 

“Thank you,” she said, beaming. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”

“Do you mind if we talk to your boyfriend?” inquired Conrad. 

“I don’t mind at all,” said Annabelle. “Jack works at Mullarney’s.”

We nodded, thanked her for her time and left our card with her in case something else happened and went on our way. 

We wandered back through the trailer park toward where we’d left the Jeep. 

“Walter?” growled a deep, throaty voice behind us. I spun around. There was Joey Reed, anger evident all over his stupid face. 

“Well if it ain’t Joey Reed,” I returned. “All those scientists out there lookin’ for the missing link and he’s been right here in North Fork, West Virginia all along.”

Joey lunged. I give him one swift kick in a region where no man wants to be kicked. Joey buckled. I hooked him in the side of the head and Joey went down like a sack of taters. 

I felt Conrad’s grip on my arm. 

“We have to go — now!”

We raced to the jeep, started the engine and away we went. 

“I can’t take you anywhere,” said Conrad.

“He was gonna pound me!” I retorted. 

“Walter, he wouldn’t have wanted to if you hadn’t antagonized him!” Conrad answered.

“He was looking for a fight,” I explained. “Didn’t you see the look in his eyes?”

“You had the choice to walk away.”

I sat there in sullen silence. Conrad was right; in the days that precede the full moon, I act more aggressively than normal. 

“I’m sorry,” I said at last. “It’s the full moon. It’s getting to me.”

It was about then we arrived at the mechanic’s shop. 

“Nice rig,” said a young man in overalls. Red mutton-chops bristled out from a greasy face like the fur on a wildcat. 

“Howdy,” I said. “Are you Jack?”

“Yup,” Jack replied with a nod. “What can I do for ya?”

“We’re here about the snakes,” I replied. 

Jack’s face went pale. The fella looked like he’d just eaten a possum with the skin still on. 

“What do you know about the snakes?” he asked.

“Only what your girlfriend told us,” replied Conrad. 

“Why were ya talkin’ to my girl?” asked the mechanic. 

“Noodle asked for our help,” I responded.

“Are you them… what did he call it? Paranormal private detectives?”

“The same,” I responded. 

The young man nodded. “Y’all better come inside.”

We entered the shop, where Jack led us back to a rear room. It was cluttered with tools and papers and smelled of motor oil; everything in the building did. 

“My girl,” Jack began, “she been actin’ mighty peculiar. She’ll say things to me, and forget she said ‘em, or she’ll do things and not remember doin’ ‘em. She’ll get the oddest look in her eye and then cuss the paper off the wall, or have a fit! Sometimes she’ll start… I dunno – speakin’ in tongues.”

“How do you mean?” inquired Conrad. 

“She’ll start talkin’ in words I ain’t never heard the like of before, and she don’t remember. She only knows English and a little bit of high school French.

“Then she’ll just disappear in the middle of the night for no reason. I ain’t never known her to sleep walk before. Then the snakes started showin’ up about the same time she started sleep walkin’. Sometimes we’d find ‘em crawlin’ in our bed!”

I nodded solemnly. “How long has this been happening?”

“‘Bout four months.”

“How about that ring she wears,” interjected Conrad. “When did you give her that?”

“I dunno, ‘bout… four months ago,” Jack responded. “You don’t suppose they’re connected?”

“Could be,” I returned. “Where’d you get it?”

“Pawn shop in town,” replied Jack. 

I looked at Conrad and nodded. He returned the gesture. 

“Well, we have what we needed,” I stated, rising from my seat. We all shook hands and Jack showed us out. 

“What do I do about Annabelle?” he inquired. 

“Leave that to us,” I responded.

…

The bell over the door tinkled as we entered the pawn shop. I had fond memories of this place; some of my favorite Heavy Metal albums were purchased here, as well as my favorite leather vest, and the revolver, belt and holster I still wear, and my favorite boots. 

George, the owner, was a rather portly man, who reminded one of Howard Taft, our 27th president. His signature bowler hat sat slightly to one side of his round head. He was hard at work, repairing an old watch. George loved to tinker. His daughter, Silvia, a girl of about 25, sat to one side, reading an old book while chewing gum. 

“Howdy, Walt,” said George, looking up from his work. 

“Howdy, George,” I replied. 

After some idle chit-chat, we progressed to the reason I came. 

“A snake ring, eh?” Geoge replied. “Silvia, do you remember someone buyin’ a snake ring?”

“Yeah, I remember,” she replied. 

“Where did it come from?” I inquired. 

The girl went to the computer and signed in. She kept detailed records of every item bought, sold or pawned in the shop. 

“Looks like it was pawned by a Mark O’Toole several years ago, but he never returned to claim it,” she said. 

“O’Toole,” I muttered. There was a name I’d heard and read many a time in the history of Swaggert County. Having given George my thanks for his help, we returned to the Jeep. However, we found our path blocked by Sheriff Donne’s truck. The officer of the law glared at us. I could tell he was about to chew me out for something.

“Walter,” said the Sheriff.

“Yes sir?” I responded. 

“I just came from the trailer park,” continued Sheriff Donne. “It seems you had another dust up with Joey Reed.”

I nodded. 

“Walter, I gave you a chance, time after time,” lectured the sheriff. “I’ve given you plenty of room to amend your behavior and become a member of society, and then you do bone-headed crap like this!”

“Sir, with all do respect,” began Conrad, but Sheriff Donne cut him off. 

“Did I say you could talk? Now, I managed to talk Joey out of pressing assault charges, but I may not do that again. I’m sorry about your Pa. I’m sorry about your… condition, but I am a sheriff, elected by the people of Swaggert County, West Virginia to uphold the law. I’ll defend you because I think you’re a good man, but don’t push me.”

“Yes sir,” I said. With that, the Sheriff drove off. We got into the Jeep and started back for the farm. 

“You know,” said Conrad. “Your condition may not be permanent.”

My head spun around like the lid on a pickle jar. 

“Say what?” I asked, incredulously. 

“There might be a cure for your lycanthropy,” clarified Conrad. 

“How?” I asked. 

“A ritual called the Cleansing,” Conrad replied. “Trouble is, almost no one knows how to perform it anymore. Father Steve and I are researching it.”

I sat silent for a spell. Cured? Freed from having to turn into a wolf every month? I’d given up hope that I’d ever be released from the curse on my name, but maybe, just maybe I could live a normal life. 

Nah. Normal ain’t for me. I might be cured but that changes nothing. Devils still stalk the night and someone’s gotta make ‘em pay. 

“Now what’s this about O’Toole?” asked Conrad. “That name made you uneasy; why?”

“The O’Tooles have been highly involved in black magic in Swaggart County for generations,” I replied. “My personal theory is that they’re the reason we have so many weird occurrences.”

Conrad nodded. “Think I read the name in one of my old books.”

“Did you now?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “It was some time ago, back when I was training to be an exorcist.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about your education sometime.”

…

My cell phone buzzed and rang on my bedside table. I was only half asleep; the waxing moon cast a pale light through my curtains. I reached for the device; it was Deputy Julia Rogers.

“Hello?” I mumbled into the receiver. 

“Walter,” said Julia. “I need you to come to the trailer park; there’s a dude here who’s insisting you come.”

“Alright,” I grunted. “Be there in a sec.”

After dressing hastily, I crept quietly down the stairs and out to the camping trailer where Conrad slept. I banged on the door. The drowsy man opened the door, scratching his thick, ruffled hair. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts.

“You want something?” he asked. 

“Yeah, put on some pants, we gotta go to the trailer park,” I responded, quickly. 

“What for?” asked Conrad. 

“Julia just called,” I said. “We’re wanted.”

“Dead or alive?” retorted Conrad.

“Cut the comedy and put on some pants!” I growled.

Conrad shook himself awake, dressed and started the Jeep. 

A short time later, we were walking through the trailer park. The moon showed her silver face through the thin veil of cloud overhead, illuminating the otherwise black night as we approached Jack’s trailer. Jack sat in a lawn chair, holding an ice pack to his bloodied face. A paramedic leaned over him, taking his vitals. Julia stood next to them, taking notes, while her partner, Deputy Harry Wankle, leaned against the sheriff truck. 

“Deputies,” said Conrad, nodding his head. 

“Howdy fellers!” said Wankle, jovially. 

“What the Sam Hill?” I inquired gruffly. 

“I tried to take the ring away from her and she flew off the handle, hit me with a beer bottle and went out stormin’ like a frog-strangler in July!” responded Jack. 

“Any idea where she went?” I inquired.

“Not one!” replied Jack. 

“Harry, you got the wonder dog with you?” I asked the deputy. 

“Sure do!” replied Deputy Wankle, opening the rear door of the vehicle. 

A large, shaggy standard poodle galumphed out of the back seat, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth with anticipation. This was Barney, the wonder dog. Harry preferred poodles because they were better at tracking than German Shepherds, but more intelligent than bloodhounds. The dog looked dumber than a bag of hammers, but he was so far one of the most intelligent dogs I’d ever met. 

“What are you planning on, Walter?” asked Julia.

“Gotta track her down, y’know,” I stated.  

Jack provided us with a bit of Annabelle’s clothing. He wanted to come, but Julia and the paramedics insisted he didn’t. 

Barney led the way through the darkened forest outside of the trailer park, deeper and deeper into those wild, Appalachian hills. The high-pitched howling of some coyotes pierced the night, followed by the long, low answer of a hounddog nearby. Somewhere, a wildcat yowled, causing another cacophony of cries from the coyotes. Part of me wanted to join the coyotes in their savage hunt;  to taste the fresh, warm blood of a deer; to feel the rush of chasing down my prey.

As I’ve probably mentioned before, I have exceptional senses; my night vision is far better than the average Joe, as is my sense of smell. Being a werewolf has advantages. Suddenly, we stopped. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Julia. 

“Barney, he won’t go any further,” replied Deputy Wankle.

The dog stood there on the trail, shaking like a leaf. 

“Whoah,” said Conrad. “Major vibes. Bad vibes.”

“We can figure it out without the dog,” I said. 

“Okay, then,” said Harry. “I’ll stay here with Barney.”

On we crept between the dark pines. I could hear what sounded like monotone chanting in some language I couldn’t recognize. We followed the sound to the edge of a holler, where we saw several figures in bizarre costume chanting and dancing convulsively. In their midst danced Annabelle, almost naked, cultic symbols scratched into the earth beneath around her feet.

We watched in horrified fascination as the ritual went on. My stomach churned. What felt like ice-cold fingers ran down my spine; like someone stepped on my grave. Something crawled between my feet. Into the holler slithered a hundred ink-black serpents. They squirmed and coiled around Annabelle’s gyrating body in a demoniac ecstasy of blackness. Suddenly the ritual paused. It seemed like everything in the natural world held its breath. I became aware of the fact that Conrad was no longer by my side where he had been. 

Suddenly, he sprang into action from the other side of the holler. Evidently, he’d crept his way over there during the dance. Never in my life had I seen anyone fight like that. His limbs flew in a mad flurry of strikes that were as quick as they were precise. It was like a Chuck Norris movie. Julia and I moved in.

“Everyone freeze!” ordered Julia, sidearm drawn. 

I fired a warning shot into the air. Most of the dancers fled, leaving only Annabelle. The woman shrieked with rage. The serpents uncoiled themselves from her form and began slithering toward us. I put a silver bullet in one of the devils. It writhed for a second and then vanished into black smoke. Conrad reached into his coat and drew forth a vial of blessed salt, throwing it around us in a semicircle. The snakes hissed, crawling away from the salt. Annabelle screamed in whatever language it was she had been chanting in before. She had a long knife in her hand. Julia was on her in a second. I joined her, and together we restrained the struggling, cursing woman. Grasping her hand, Conrad yanked the ring off her finger, and stuffed it into a jar of holy water. Annabelle screamed again and then went limp. 

“What the actual hell was that?” asked Julia. 

“The Serpent Dance,” replied Conrad. “It’s an initiation ritual.”

“Initiation into what?” I inquired.

“The Order of Neqesh,” Conrad replied, ominously. “An occult society. Not much is known about them. Next step would have been Ascending the Throne of Night; it’s how they inaugurate their new leaders.”

“Her condition is stable,” said Julia. “We should take her out of here.”

Raising up the unconscious woman in my arms, I carried her out of the holler and back to the trailer park. She regained consciousness about halfway there.

“W- where am I? What happened?” she asked drowsily.

“You’re safe now,” I said. “Just relax, we’re taking you home.”

“Walter Ulric?” she questioned.

“Yup,” I replied. “You’ve had quite a night.”

When we finally arrived back in the trailer park, Jack immediately leaped up and embraced took his girlfriend in his arms, showering her with kisses and tears. 

“I thought I’d lost you!” he said. 

“What the hell happened?” asked Annabelle. 

“The ring belonged to a line of sorcerers,” said Conrad. “Going back a long time. It contained the spirit of the Serpent. Whoever wears the ring belongs to the Serpent. It was trying to take over Annabelle’s body.”

Annabelle shuddered. 

“What are you gonna do with the ring?” she asked. 

“I’m taking it far away from here,” he replied. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Jack, enveloping me in his tattooed arms. 

“That was thanks enough,” I responded, awkwardly. 

“You might consider paying some of our expenses, though,” said Conrad. 

“Another mystery solved, another life saved,” said Harry. “Doesn’t it make you feel good inside?”

“Makes me feel hungry,” I said. “Come on, Conrad. Let’s drop by Greg’s for a burger. Deputies, you want in?”

“You betcha!” said Larry. 

“Julia, you coming?” I asked.

“I could go for a burger,” she replied. 

“Meet you there,” I said.

…

I sighed deeply. The cage was done. The sun was nearly set. All that was left was for me to get in it. 

“You sure this is what you want?” asked Ma. 

“I don’t have a choice,” I replied. “It’s for everyone’s good.”

I lifted the sliding door I’d built and stepped into my prison. 

“Wait a minute!”

I spun around. Father Steve came running toward me, a large, ancient book in his hands. 

“It’s here!” he said as Conrad joined him. 

“What is it?” I inquired. 

“The Cleansing!” replied the priest. 

“The what?” asked Ma.

“Walter can be cured!” said Father Steve.

“Is it true?” Ma questioned.

“So far as I can tell,” replied Conrad. “We need to get him to the church.”

“Get your butt outta that cage, boy, and get you to church!” urged Ma. 

“Yes ma’am!” I said enthusiastically. 

A few minutes later, we arrived at St. Michael’s Church. 

“Is this gonna hurt?” I asked as we entered the chapel. 

“Oh yeah,” said Father Steve. 

“Good,” I responded. 

The next thing I knew, the light of dawn shone through the stained glass windows of the chapel. I lay on the cold floor, naked as the day I was born, chained hand and foot. 

Conrad sat in a pew nearby, looking exhausted. Father Steve lay sound asleep on the pew beside him. 

“Did it work?” I asked. 

“Mostly,” Conrad replied. “We’ll have to do this for a few more months before it becomes permanent.”

“Better than the alternative,” I grunted. “Gimme outta these things and grab me some pants, will ya?”

Conrad snorted and obliged. 

It weren’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction, and that’s all that mattered.