Deryk’s Snake Farm

Location: Lousiana

“Welcome, s-s-sister.”

She drew out the S until it hissed. Her eyes sparkled like we were sharing a secret.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The air hung thick and seemed to shimmer—or maybe it was something else. For a second I considered turning around, but I needed bait.

“Here for the s-s-snakes?”

“Crickets. Or worms. Doesn’t matter.”

The woman rummaged through a cabinet behind the counter. Then she froze.

“Want a tour?”

I looked around the dim little shop. Shelves were packed with junk I didn’t need and cared even less about.

“Not in here,” the woman said. “Out back. The s-s-snake farm.”

She grinned, flashing a row of gold teeth. For just a moment, her tongue flicked between them.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging.

She led me outside through a door at the back of the shop. Thick vinyl strip curtains kept the daylight out. Outside, the sun hit hard.

Beyond the trees, I caught sight of the bayou, its shallow channels snaking across the landscape. Clouds of angry mosquitoes buzzed over the marsh. The grass swayed gently in the breeze—or maybe something was moving through the water.

We hadn’t taken three steps before a man came hurrying toward us. He was drenched in sweat and looked worried. He waved his arms frantically.

Stop.

He spoke fast in a language I didn’t understand. Creole, maybe. I thought I caught a few French words.

The woman took my arm and guided me back inside.

“S-s-sorry. No tours-s-s today.”

“Trouble?”

The woman didn’t answer. She grabbed a box of bait from the shelf and pressed it into my hands.

“On the hous-s-s-e,” she said, smiling wide enough to show every gold tooth.

I left the shop a little puzzled.

It wasn’t until later that I realized neither of them looked like a Deryk.