Chapter 4: The Wedding and the Scream

Before I knew it, my sister turned eighteen. It was time for her to go through with the marriage to the three-colored snake.

The summer heat was brutal that year, turning our house into an oven. Hannah’s birthday came and went with nothing but a stale cupcake and a card scrawled in pencil. But then Uncle Ray showed up with a faded bouquet and a grim look, reminding us all of the deal.

My mom wore a sour face. “It was so hard raising a daughter this long. She can’t marry a man, and now a snake gets her instead. There goes the chance for a real wedding, or even a decent dress. Derek’s about to start his own family and can’t even afford a ring…”

Mom ranted in the kitchen, banging pots around for emphasis. She went on about all the things she’d given up for Hannah, about how Derek deserved better. Her voice was loud, echoing down the hallway, as if she wanted the whole neighborhood to hear her complaints.

She went on and on, getting more and more shameless.

She brought up every slight, every missed opportunity. "Who’s gonna take care of me when I’m old? Who’s gonna make sure I have grandbabies? Now what?" Her words turned bitter, trailing off into muttered curses and sniffles.

Uncle Ray glared at her. “That’s enough! Haven’t you made enough off this? If you keep running your mouth and tick off the three-colored snake, don’t blame me if your son loses his mind again.”

Uncle Ray’s patience snapped—he slapped his cap against his knee and shot Mom a look sharp enough to cut. "You want to push your luck, that’s your business, but don’t come crying to me when things go south again."

Only then did my mom shut up, sulking.

She hunched over the table, lips pressed tight, scowling at the linoleum as if she could burn a hole through it. The silence was heavy and awkward, broken only by the tick of the wall clock.

She turned and grabbed my sister’s hand, telling her to use every trick she had to please the three-colored snake—so he’d send more fat backyard snakes.

"Don’t mess this up," she whispered, clutching Hannah’s wrist, eyes wild. "Be smart. Do what you have to. Don’t forget about your family."

My sister didn’t say a word, just pulled her hand away and shot my mom a cold look.

Hannah’s eyes were steely—hard as flint. She yanked her arm back and stared Mom down until Mom flinched. In that moment, I saw more strength in her than I ever had before.

Some folks crossed themselves when they walked past our house, and kids whispered stories about the snake bride.

The rumors spread like wildfire. Neighbors looked away when we passed. I heard whispers at the grocery store—"That’s the family with the snake bride." The shame settled over our house like a storm cloud.

Around midnight, a piercing scream suddenly broke the silence from my sister’s room.

The cicadas outside went dead silent, like even they were holding their breath. The whole house jolted awake, the sound echoing through the thin walls. I sprang out of bed, heart racing, feet tangled in my sheets. The air smelled of sweat and old paint, heavy with dread.

I shot up in bed and ran for her door.

I barely paused to throw on my sneakers, pounding down the hallway, the boards creaking under my weight. The scream had left my ears ringing.

But to my surprise, my mom was already standing guard at the entrance.

She blocked the doorway, arms outstretched like a goalie, face twisted in something close to panic—or maybe anger. The hallway light flickered overhead, making her shadow loom long on the wall.

I tried to push past her, but she shoved me to the floor.

Her palm caught my chest, hard. I hit the floor, the breath knocked out of me, and stared up at her, stunned by the force. I’d never seen her look so determined—or so cold.

My sister’s cries got weaker and weaker.

Behind the door, the sounds faded, slipping into faint sobs, then whimpers. Each one stabbed at me, sharper than any winter wind. I pressed my forehead to the floorboards, wishing I could disappear.

I was so anxious I nearly started crying.

Hot tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip, trying to hold them in. My hands shook as I pressed them against the wood, desperate to do something—anything.

“Mom, let me in! My sister’s calling for help—she can’t take it!”

My voice cracked, coming out higher than I meant. I beat my fists against the door, hoping it would break her resolve.

My mom shot me a look full of contempt.

She leaned down, her face inches from mine, eyes glittering with something mean and bitter. I shrank back, suddenly small and powerless.

Her voice dropped to a hiss, mean as a switchblade: "You ruin this for us, and you’ll wish you hadn’t been born."

Her words were ice cold, each one hitting like a slap. The threat in her voice was unmistakable. She didn’t care what happened to Hannah, as long as the family got their share.

Her voice was cold and final.

She straightened up, arms crossed, daring me to argue. I choked back my protest, the fight draining out of me.

I swallowed hard and sat outside my sister’s door all night, dazed.

I curled up against the wall, knees tucked to my chest, shivering even though it was warm inside. The house was silent except for the creaks and groans of old wood settling. My thoughts spun in circles, too numb to sleep, too scared to leave.