Chapter 2. Snake’s Alive
‘Go away, Ryan. I’m not interested in your silly little games,’ said Tracey scornfully.
‘It’s not a game,’ insisted Ryan. ‘It’s true! The curtain cords are snakes and they are going to strangle me.’
‘Oh for goodness sake,’ screamed Tracey. ‘Read my lips. I do not want to play one of your stupid games. Go away.’
‘It’s not a game,’ howled Ryan, on the verge of tears. ‘Please Tracey, I swear it on my honour.’
‘What honour?’ scoffed Tracey. Then she stopped and looked at Ryan. ‘You’ve gone all white and trembling. What’s the matter?’
‘I told you, its snakes,’ wailed Ryan, ashamed to hear that his voice cracked suspiciously like a sob.
‘Oh all right then, I’ll come and sort it out. But this had better not be a wind up,’ threatened Tracey.
‘It’s not, they’re real. I made them alive,’ babbled Ryan. He followed Tracey to the living room and cowered in the doorway as she flung the door open.
‘See, it is just your imagination... oh my goodness look!’ shrieked Tracey.
The curtain cords slid across the carpet towards her. Tracey hastily pushed Ryan aside as she stumbled through the door and slammed it.
‘What on earth caused it?’ she asked.
‘I wrote about them coming alive,’ said Ryan. ‘Then they did.’
‘What were you writing with?’ asked Tracey in disbelief.
‘That pen Aunt Agatha gave me for my birthday,’ replied Ryan ‘Do you suppose it’s some sort of magic.’
‘I think we’re both dreaming,’ said Tracey. ‘This can’t be happening. Anyway, if that’s all, just write about them turning into curtain cords again. Easy.’
‘Yeah.’ Ryan’s eyes lit up, then his face fell in dismay. ‘The pen’s on the floor in the living room beside the snakes,’ he moaned.
‘Oh.’ Tracey thought for a minute. ‘How about if I distract the snakes while you nip over and grab the pen and your book too? You might as well make it the same as possible. Then you can quickly write and stop them.’
‘How will you distract them?’ asked Ryan dubiously. The word ‘nip’ had conjured up unpleasant visions in his mind and he didn’t want to risk going too near the snakes.
‘Music’, cried Tracey in inspiration. ‘That’s what snake charmers do. They play music and the snake’s sot of doze off to sleep.’
‘Um, I thought it was something to do with the movements they made. But it’s a good idea,’ added Ryan hastily.
‘I’ll get my flute,’ said Tracey.
Ryan was impressed at how calm she was. Perhaps it came of being two years older or perhaps he was more affected because he’d written about fear. Fear seemed too tame a word for it. He was terrified. There was something not quite normal about curtain cords moving that made him feel ill and shaky.
Tracey arrived back with her flute.
‘This can count as today’s practice, anyway,’ she said cheerfully, and prepared to open the door. ‘Let me go first,’ she suggested.
‘Sure,’ agreed Ryan, who had no intention of setting foot in the room unless it was behind Tracey.
‘I’ll start playing, then when they are listening to me, you grab the pen.’
‘Ok.’
Ryan gulped. It should work. It sounded simple. Tracey opened the door. The snakes slithered from the couch where they had been curled up on the cushions and turned inquiring heads towards the children. Tracey took a deep breath and launched into ‘The Ash Grove’. The snakes turned their tasseled heads blindly towards her and began to vibrate gently.
‘Go!’ hissed Tracey. ‘Hurry up.’
She began to play again. Ryan started to creep over the carpet to his pile of homework. At his first step, the snakes both turned and began to writhe slowly and menacingly in his direction. Ryan moaned and Tracey changed to the ‘Mexican Hat Dance’. The snakes ignored the music and continued to advance towards Ryan. He looked at his homework then turned and fled for the door with Tracey close behind him.
‘It didn’t work,’ he gasped. ‘I told you, I’m sure it’s something to do with how the snake charmers move.’
‘Well I’m certainly not going to go in and do the “Dance of the Seven Veils’ for them,’ replied Tracey bitterly. ‘They’re only curtain cords anyway. We should march in and each pick one up and tie it in a knot. That would fix them.’
Ryan looked at her in horror.
‘I can’t. They’re alive,’ he croaked. ‘I feel all sort of squirmy inside just looking at them.’
Tracey looked at him in exasperation.
‘Give me a minute to put my flute away, then we’ll have a council of war,’ she sighed. ‘Go and make us each a hot chocolate and find something to eat.’
Ryan retreated to the safety of the kitchen.
‘We could wait until Mum and Dad come back,’ he suggested, after a few minute’s thought. He felt a bit braver now he had some warm food inside him. Tracey had quickly and competently heated a hot pie in the microwave so they could have half each.
‘They might not see them,’ replied Tracey thoughtfully.
‘I guess the pen is magic in some way. I always knew Aunt Agatha was a witch,’ muttered Ryan darkly.
‘Don’t interrupt. As I was saying, magic is a weird thing. Usually only children can use it and see the effects of it and adults think everything is perfectly normal. I think it must be something you grow out of as you get older.’
‘There’s nothing normal about those snakes,’ said Ryan with a shudder.
‘Yes, but they are only curtain cords, really. I mean, what could they actually do to us?’
‘Strangle us,’ moaned Ryan.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Tracey frowned.
‘We could call the police or the fire brigade.’
‘Huh,’ Tracey said. ‘What would you tell them? Our curtain cords have turned into snakes. They’d be more likely to turn up with men in white coats and take you away in a straitjacket. Be quiet and let me think. How about if we take in our wastepaper baskets from our bedrooms and trap them?’
Ryan began to shake.
‘I’m so scared,’ he moaned. ‘I think that’s the problem. I wrote about being afraid and its come true as well.’
Tracey regarded him sympathetically.
‘I’ll go in and get the pen then,’ she said briskly. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with.’
Tracey opened the door and walked into the living room.
‘They’re not even here,’ she said calmly, as she gazed around the room. She walked over to the pile of homework on the floor and picked up Ryan’s exercise book and pen. Ryan watched from the doorway his heart in his mouth. Nothing would have induced him to go into the room again. Tracey turned to walk back to the door.
‘Look, easy,’ she said. Then she gave a sudden yell as the curtain snakes hissed and slid out from underneath the chair, wriggling rapidly towards her. As Tracey ran towards the door they coiled around her ankles.
‘Ugh,’ she shrieked. ‘They’re all warm and scaly and horrible. Ow, they’re hurting Stop it you little beasts. Ow ow ow.’
The snakes tightened their grip and Tracey fell to the floor giving a series of heart-rending screams. Ryan rushed forward and caught the book and pen as she flung them towards him.
‘Quickly, write something,’ sobbed Tracey.
Ryan opened the exercise book with shaking hands and began writing.
The snakes retreated, turning and twisting. They slithered back to their home and became what they had been all along; twisted cords of green and gold, holding back the curtains. His heartbeat returned to normal. Heaving a sigh he realised it had all been a dream.
Ryan looked up. Tracey was sitting on the floor rubbing her ankles. The curtain cords hung innocuously on either side of the window, limp and lifeless.
Ryan took Tracey’s hand and helped her up.
‘Next time don?
??t leave your books lying on the floor where a person can trip over them,’ said Tracey crossly.
Ryan looked at her blankly he stepped over to one of the curtain cords and gave it an experimental twitch. The cord flopped as he moved it then dangled back into place.
‘You’d better finish your homework. Mum and Dad will be back soon,’ warned Tracey.
‘These were snakes,’ said Ryan.
Tracey looked at him in astonishment.
‘Snakes? What snakes? Too much TV has turned your brain. I knew it would eventually. I’m going to my room. Don’t bother me with your silly games.’
Ryan stared at her. It had worked. Tracey thought it was a dream. Wow! The pen really did make things come true.
‘I wonder if it would make me a millionaire?’ he thought.
Hastily Ryan tore a piece of paper from the back of his science book.
‘I’ll give it a go.’
Ryan was a millionaire, he wrote. ‘Um, how did I get my money? Someone left it to me? No, that’s no good. I don’t want anyone to actually die. Let’s says I won Lotto. Only Mum and Dad won’t let me even buy tickets. Bother. I’ll have to think of a way of making it work.
Still pondering the question, Ryan drifted blissfully off to sleep, dreaming of piles of treasure stacked in a dark cave and guarded by green and gold snakes.