An original short story: Lethal

Lethal by Patty Panni

Jack sat across from his editor at the Asheville Citizen Times. “What’s up, Harold? Why the urgency to meet on a Saturday morning? I’m used to you barking orders to me over the phone or by email.”

“Yeah yeah…you’re making me cry. Listen, Jack, I’ve got a lead on a story – human interest. I know your forte is hard-hitting news, but I think you’re the right guy for this job.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

“There’s this church up in the hills, about an hour or so from here. Supposedly a clannish-type of place.”

Jack nodded. “Hill people can be unfriendly to outsiders.”

“Right, but I’m hoping since it’s a church, they might be more welcoming. The hook is, they supposedly handle snakes.”

“But that was outlawed years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. But it still happens,” Harold said, “And if you could capture it from the inside, it would make a great story. The pastor’s name is Paul, Josiah Paul.”

Jack hurried home to pack a bag. Hopefully, he could find a place to spend the night there. If not, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in the car chasing a story.

Jack headed east, on roads he’d never traveled. The sun was descending in the sky as he arrived at the small hamlet, not much more than a wide place in the road. He pulled up to a two-pump gas station. Through the screen door he could see a man inside, watching him.

Jack walked in. Hand-lettered signs advertised ice cream and bait.

“How do,” the man behind the counter said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m hoping you know of a place around here where I can spend the night,” Jack said. “I don’t need fancy. Just a bed.”

The man hesitated. “Asheville’s not but an hour or so away, but I guess you know that since you came from that direction.” Jack could feel the man taking measure of him.

“I mean no harm to anyone. I just want to visit Brother Paul’s church tomorrow, and meet some of his congregation.”

“Well…there is a woman who rents out rooms from time to time. Let me make a call.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Jack said.

The man took out an old flip phone, and punched in some numbers. “Excuse me,” he said politely to Jack and walked through a doorway into the back. Jack could hear him speaking softly but couldn’t make out the words.

“She said you can stay.”

“Great,” Jack said. “By the way, I’m Jack Mishler.”

“Lester Wilton.” They shook hands.

“Lester, just point me in the right direction, and I’ll head that way.”

Lester gave directions involving dirt roads and markers like a fallen oak tree and a rusty gate. Hoping he wouldn’t get completely lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Jack set off.

But, Lester’s directions were good and a few minutes later he found the house. A teenage boy was outside.

“Hi, I’m Lucas.”

“Hi, Lucas. I’m Jack. Glad to meet you. Is it your mom who rents out rooms?”

“Yes sir. You got any bags you need help with?”

“No, thanks.” Jack retrieved his small duffle.

“Mama’s putting supper on the table. She said you’re welcome to join us.”

Entering the house, Jack could smell something delicious and, suddenly, he was starving. Lucas led him into the kitchen where a woman stood at the stove, her long brown hair in a single braid down her back.

“Hey, I’m Belinda Crossley. Lester said you were looking for a room, and we’ve got a spare. You can wash up if you’re hungry.”

“I’m Jack Mishler. That’s very kind, ma’am. I accept gratefully.”

Lucas showed Jack to his room, which had an iron bed topped with a quilt – no doubt handmade. He dropped his bag on the floor and went to wash his hands and face, before returning to the kitchen. As he sat down, he could see the back yard with a clothesline strung across it, and a garden beyond that.

Belinda started passing dishes. “It’s not much but it’ll keep you from starving to death.”

“Not much” turned out to be fried chicken with mashed potatoes, purple hull peas, turnip greens, and cornbread. Jack loaded up his plate and dug in.

“Are these vegetables from your garden?”

“Yes. We grow enough for us, plus our church friends too.”

“Everything’s delicious. I haven’t had a meal like this in a long time. Do y’all attend Brother Paul’s church?”

“We sure do.” She hesitated. “What do you do, Jack, and what brings you up here to our community?”

This is it.

“I work for a news service in Asheville.” He could see her stiffen, so he hurried on. “I’m writing an article. Nothing sensational; rather, a story about your lives, your faith, your worship.”

“You mean snakes,” Belinda said flatly, getting up with her plate.

“No ma’am. Well, not just snakes. Everything. How your faith impacts your daily lives. I want to write about people…not snakes.”

Her back was turned, but he sensed she was weighing his words. “You won’t write about the ‘nutjobs in the hills who dance around with snakes?’” She drew air quotes as she spoke.

“No ma’am. I promise I won’t.”

“Well…you can go with us to church tomorrow and I’ll introduce you to Brother Paul.”

“Thanks, Belinda. I really appreciate it.”

After dinner, Jack found Lucas on the front porch. “How old are you, Lucas?”

“I’ll be 16 next month.”

“Have you ever handled a snake?”

“No sir, not yet.”

That night, Jack slept like a rock, pleasantly surprised by the comfortable bed. He woke to a rooster crowing and the smell of bacon. After a quick shower, he hustled into the kitchen.

“Morning, Jack. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Belinda handed him a steaming cup.

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Better than all right. I don’t think I moved once.”

“Good. Must be our clean mountain air.”

At church, Jack and Lucas sat near the front with a direct view of the platform. Lettered across the wall behind the pulpit was “In my name they shall take up serpents ~ Mark 16:18.” Jack could see a wooden box with chicken wire over the top of it. A man appeared from the room behind the platform carrying another box.

“Is that Brother Paul with the …?”

“Yep. That’s the snakes.”

Jack stared, fascinated, as Paul put the second box down then stepped to the podium.

“Praise the Lord,” he said exuberantly.

“Praise the Lord!,” the small congregation replied.

“I said, PRAISE THE LORD,” Paul thundered.

“PRAISE THE LORD! HALLELUJAH! THANK YOU, LORD!”

Paul asked Lucas to introduce Jack, who stood as the congregation looked him over. The music was loud and enthusiastic and surprisingly good, with skilled musicians playing piano, banjo, and fiddle.

Paul’s sermon covered everything from Moses parting the Red Sea to Jesus healing the blind man, sprinkled with frequent warnings about the wickedness in Asheville and other big cities. It was something to see. Jack listened and scribbled, trying to capture not just the words, but the frenetic spirit behind them.

Finally, when Jack was convinced it was never going to happen, Paul went to the boxes. Speaking in tongues, he lifted out what Jack could clearly see was a small cottonmouth. Paul held the snake above his head and prayed and sang and danced across the platform. Jack watched, mesmerized.

Paul turned to the congregation. “Who among us is ready to obey God?” he said. A man came from behind them and took a snake out of the other wooden box.

“I’m ready,” Lucas exclaimed, rising from the pew.

“Lucas–“ Jack was horrified. He looked back at Belinda, who was watching. She gave him a small nod, acquiescing to her son’s actions.

Paul handed Lucas the snake. He held it high and walked back and forth across the platform. He began to sing, then to stomp and jump, all the while holding the snake. Jack had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t until Lucas was putting the snake back in its box that it struck. Sinking its fangs into his left hand, then releasing so quickly Jack wasn’t sure that’s what happened. Until he saw Lucas’ face. Jack stood up.

“We need to get you to the hospital right away. I’ll drive you.” But he was flanked by Belinda and Brother Paul.

“There will be no hospital,” Belinda said serenely.

“Belinda, he needs anti-venom. The snake bit him.”

“God’s got this. He’ll take care of my boy.”

Paul nodded his agreement.

Helplessly, Jack wondered if the whole thing was his fault. If he hadn’t been here, maybe Lucas wouldn’t have handled the snake. He watched Belinda and Paul help Lucas to the front pew. Lucas had yet to say anything, but his eyes held a panicked look.

Paul concluded the service with prayer and the church emptied. Jack could see Lucas’ left hand already swelling.

“Lucas, can you stand up? I really think we should get you to a doctor–“

“I said NO doctor,” Belinda snapped and Jack looked at her in bewilderment.
“You can’t be serious...he needs help!”

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in time of trouble,” Belinda quoted.

“Belinda–“

“Son, I think it’s best if you leave.” Paul’s eyes held a coldness he hadn’t noticed before. Jack found himself being walked out of the church.

“Listen, you can’t just–“ The door closed in Jack’s face and he heard the lock turn.

In the car, Jack tried to call 911, but the cell signal was too weak. He had to drive several minutes before the call would go through. He told the operator what had happened. She knew the church and said she’d send someone out.

*                   *                   *

A few weeks later, Jack was driving home after a day spent covering a teacher strike. He was exhausted and ready for a cold one. When his phone rang, he debated not answering it, but responsibility prevailed. “Jack Mishler.”

“Hey, Jack!”

“Lucas? Is that really you?”

Lucas cackled. “Lester gave me your number. He said you’d been calling the gas station asking how I was.”

“I’m so glad to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Aw, I’m alright. I still have some numbness in my hand…not sure if it’ll ever go away.”

“Lucas, I’ve got to know. Did you handle the snake because I was there?”

“Nah…I’d been working up to it. I have a lot to live up to with my Daddy.”

“I didn’t meet your father, did I? Was he out of town when I was there?”

“He used to be the preacher at our church. He died a few years ago.”

Dreading the answer he already knew, Jack asked, “Lucas, how did your dad die?”

Lucas' voice conveyed pure, unadulterated pride. “From a snakebite.”