THE INKWELL WRITING CHALLENGE - Season 2 Week 6 | THE SOUL IN THE CEILING

"Do you see any damage that would warrant a completely new roof?" The contractor looked down at me while I steadied the ladder, then nodded in the affirmative.

Having received the substantial quote, I grimaced replying, "I'll have to weigh my options before investing that amount of money." The truth is, I was beyond tired of critters in the attic and the mounting repairs over the years.

"Well; either pay now, or pay later. I can wait. Your roof, though, I'd bet against."

Having weighed my options, six months later, my real estate agent arrived with the FOR SALE sign and anchored it in the yard.

The move was taking me three thousand miles away from the Pacific coastline. I was heading East, back home to Louisiana.

From the proceeds of the sale, I purchased 20 acres near the old place where I'd spent my youth roaming the swamps. To an outsider, it may seem as a dark and foreboding place, but it was my childhood, and I loved every minute of it. Luck was with me as the seller was anxious to close the deal.

But I'd been away for more than 25 years. Didn't understand why a shiver ran down my arms as I anticipated stepping foot on the swamp lands again.

I arrived at my new 1,000 sq. feet, 2-bedroom, 2-bath log cabin that Friday afternoon. Truck parked, I stood in the front yard. The fresh air and new surroundings promised to lift my spirits as the familiar sights and smells of my youth flooded my senses.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling sound as if an intruder had ventured onto my property. My hunting bag not yet unpacked, I peeped around the corner of the house. Assuming it may be a small animal, I proceeded with caution. After all, the house had been vacant for almost a year.

As I rounded the house towards the back yard, I stopped dead in my tracks as I almost toppled over an old gentlemen. We reached out and grabbed each other's arms to prevent us both from losing our balance. My heartbeat began to slow down.

When we finally detached ourselves from the other's grip, I looked down to discover his gun was drawn. I was defenseless, so he began to bellow out a long string of profanities before introducing himself as Henry Rabineaux.

"What the heck are you doing trespassing on other people's property?" he shouted, then emptied his jaw of the strong smelling chewing mixture.

"I own this house." My voice shook, then straightened. "Hi. I'm Robert Bordeaux. What are you doing on my property?"

"I'm the previous owner. Just keeping an eye out. Being neighborly. Been living here over 20 years. The place has changed though, that's for sure. I moved about a mile down the road on the other side to get away." His voice trailed off as he looked over his right shoulder.

I turned away as he released another shot from his jaw.

Odd fellow. Taking in his full appearance, I asked whether the general grocers was still in business. He seemed friendly, but I couldn't read him, and had an inkling something wasn't quite right.

Henry Rabineaux was a person you had to get used to if you'd never lived in the swamps. Dressed in coveralls and a work shirt, his long, white beard, and wide hat covered his small face. Another inch, and his shotgun would have been taller than him.

He continued looking in the direction of the swamp. That bothered me, but I didn't push him for additional information. Instead, I told him I needed to freshen up from the long trip. We said our goodbyes. I still needed to unload my truck and unpack.

Last night, I lay staring at the ceiling thinking of everything I'd need from town to start fresh. I left all the material stuff behind. Off-the-grid living was my new venture.

I kept thinking about the old man. It wasn't what he said, but his jumpiness at the slightest sound. He should be used to that by now I thought. Somehow I didn't believe he was just on the lookout for trespassers.

First thing this morning I unpacked was my hunting bag. I loaded some of its items in the truck and headed into town to buy supplies. The back roads hadn't improved substantially, so I knew what to expect.

Now I was getting somewhere. The townspeople were friendly. By the time I gathered supplies at the grocers, I'd met five new neighbors. They all agreed Henry Rabineaux was an "interesting" fellow. They were polite.

A fellow about my age asked if I hunted and whether I already had a good hunting dog. He said I'd need one for safety. I'd already considered that so asked directions to the local kennel.

By the time I returned home, I was set in terms of food, supplies, and a new pet to keep me company. Rosco was his name, and I didn't want to confuse him with another one.

I purchased the land to acquire property, not so much the house that come with it. I discovered it needed updating. I chuckled as I thought about my former house that needed a new roof.

Once Rosco got home and out of the truck, it was as if he'd come home. He knew the swamps and was off in no time barking loudly at whatever dogs bark at in the woods.

Three weeks later, Rosco and I had settled into our home on the swamp. I started noticing a strange odor. Besides, Rosco was barking incessantly day and night. I also dismissed the strange scratching or motion sound from one end to the other. Just an old house getting used to me and Rosco and I thought.

I did resolve to locate the source of the odor. I was happy I didn't have any neighbors close by else Rosco would be in trouble.

My nose finally led me to check out the attic. I'd put it off long enough. However, I was surprised the trap door was nailed shut. I checked the roof instead.

A couple spots that looked dented, but nothing serious I could detect. But still that smell. It was mid summer and the hot, humid climate was settling in. I had to find out the source of the odor.

Two days later, the fellow I met in town stopped by and invited me on a hunting trip. Not having met anyone living close to me, I accepted.

He picked me up the next day. Our trip took us father into the swamp than I ever remember venturing. Nate Braughton was an avid hunter. Besides, Rosco and his dog became instant friends as though they were old hunting buddies.

We found a great spot to set up camp. Nathan was as good a talker as I was a listener. "You gotta be careful in this area especially Robert."

I continued to listen. "Several years ago, a fellow moved in next to your property. Some say he liked exotic animals and it got out of hand."

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"What do you mean it got out of hand?" I was beginning to get nervous.

"You know. Some say he was part of a black market reptile smuggling gang. Someone alerted them just in time before the authorities arrived. He and his friends took some of the animals from the property. By the time the cops got there, only a few animals remained.

"Some say they threw them into the swamp and the woods nearby and just high tailed it out of there. Over the years, attempts were made to capture them, but without know the number and type, some escaped. Just rumors though. But I do know for a fact they locked up the smugglers."

Nathan talked non-stop on our ride back to my place. I sat in silence trying to take it all in.

He continued, "Some people have reported seeing 20 feet reptiles. Don't know how true it is. Never saw one myself. But it's possible. You know how people inject stuff into animals, then breed them with whatever. Anything can happen in this day and age. There are some crazy people in the world."

I was not particularly fond of snakes, even though I grew up with them. What Nathan was describing could be plausible. A new breed even larger and more dangerous may be still out there in the swamps or the woods.

Thoughts swirled around Mr. Rabineaux checking my property, that peculiar smell, and Roscoe barking. I swallowed hard as an uneasy feeling crept into my throat.

I did divulge to Nathan that I'd been hearing a lot of strange noises in the attic and a horrible smell, but hadn't checked it out yet. He told me to do so immediately.

The next morning I woke with a mission to locate the source of that awful odor. Not taking any chances, I readied my gun. This time I would pay closer attention to Rosco's barking.

First thing was to get the trap door to the attic open. My ladder in place, I pulled the last nail from the wood, and the door swung open. I almost fell from the ladder as I attempted to hold the door, the hammer, and my mouth at the same time. However, the stench from inside the attic wouldn't allow me to control the vomit that came gushing out my mouth.

Roscoe 's barks turned to vicious growls as I let go of the door. I tried to scurry down the ladder, but before I could reach the floor, I was suspended in mid air. Blood dripped down my arm.

I tried to scream, but I couldn't breathe. I panicked as I saw Roscoe jumping upward around my ankles.

I couldn't see what or whom was keeping me from falling to the floor. With my right hand, I just started hitting with the hammer whatever was holding on to me.

I fell the short distance to the floor on my face. I tried to get up, but my ankle hurt. I called for Rosco, but his barks had turned into whimpers; then finally silence. Instead of panic, fear gripped me as I came face to face with the largest snake I'd ever seen.

He opened his mouth. I felt helpless as I watched it slither closer to me. He could take his time. He knew I wasn't able to escape.

I felt like I was the victim in a horror movie moments before being eaten by the monstrous animal. I tried to move backward towards the living room side table to reach my gun.

The bite to my leg was excruciating. Blood gushed as I yelled out. I don't know how I had the presence of mind, but was able to grab my gun and fire off one shot.

Didn't look like the bullet penetrated the underbelly of the monster, but he loosened his grip long enough for me to drag myself to the front door. I didn't get much farther. As soon as I opened the door, I was being slowly dragged back into the house. I screamed for help. But I was alone. There was no help; no one to hear or save me.

Suddenly I looked up and saw an outline of a person. It was Mr. Rabineaux. He stepped from behind the door and pointed his rifle directly into the eyes of the snake, firing off several shots.

He put down his gun, grasped underneath my shoulders, and dragged me onto the porch.

The monster snake was relentless. Mr. Rabineaux held on tightly, with the top half of my body in his grasp while the snake had my bottom half in his. I felt like I was being torn apart and not make it out alive.

I felt a lightness about my upper torso. Mr. Rabineaux had let go, I thought. He couldn't hang on any longer. Besides, he was an old man. I felt he'd abandoned me. I felt I was surely dead. I just prayed the terrible pain in my legs would end.

Moments later, I saw the top half of the snake, including it's head, roll and settle next to me. I screamed; then passed out.

The next morning I woke in the hospital.

The authorities questioned me. I asked that Henry be present. It all happened so quickly, I couldn't give accurate details. But I did know it looked like a gigantic rattlesnake. I'd never seen any snake that large. Must have been 30 feet was my assessment. They did say there had been several disappearances through the years.

They also relayed they believed the black market accidentally introduced invasive species in the area. No telling what happened in the cross breeding that may have occurred.

My hospital stay lasted for three months. Henry visited me often. He told me that he ran into Nathan. Of course, Nathan told him about our hunting trip and the fact I was hearing strange noises and couldn't locate the horrible smell. So he just decided to come check on me as soon as possible.

"Why didn't you tell me about the smuggling and release of the animals, Henry?" I was a bit puzzled and annoyed at the same time. But he did save my life.

"I wasn't sure the first years it happened. But then I kept hearing about strange happenings and reports of large reptiles, even larger than usual alligators. I have never encountered any and thought the stories were just tall hunting tales."

I tried to come up with some explanation. I had no idea how the snake slithered up and into the loft. It was boarded up. But then before moving, I should have researched the history of the town since I'd been away. I hadn't heard of anything unusual, but then I hadn't paid close attention since my family had moved away and parents had passed years ago.

I guess the surroundings were familiar to the animal if it had been kept in captivity by the smugglers. Maybe it was living under the house. But the smell in the attic was a mystery. Maybe that's where it dragged it meal once it made a kill. The property was the snake's home. I was the trespasser.

Three months later, I was released from the hospital. I lost Roscoe in the ordeal and my left leg. It had to be amputated. I almost lost my life.

Not knowing whether there were any other cross bred snakes in the swamp, I decided to sell my property and return to the Pacific coast. It was a hard decision for me. In the end, I had made two new friends. I lost one, and would keep in touch with the other.

This will be a tale for my descendants if I get the chance to have any. My encounter with the 30 foot snake. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

And, no matter where I live, if a roof problem occurs, I'll get it fixed with the proceeds from the sale of my 20 acres of land near the swamp.