The Slither Sisters

ELEVEN





Robert was determined to get stronger, so he devoted the entire evening to exercise. He practiced all the calisthenics he’d learned in gym class: sit-ups, jumping jacks, leg lifts, and lunges. And once an hour, he lay down on the floor of his bedroom and forced himself to do push-ups. At eight o’clock, he did fifteen in a row. At nine o’clock, he did half as many. By ten o’clock, he barely squeezed out three and a quarter.

Then he stumbled into the bathroom, unbuttoned his shirt, and examined himself in the mirror, studying his physique for signs of change. His biceps looked the same—but the muscles in his chest seemed … well, if not bigger, then definitely swollen. Was it his imagination? Robert turned left and right, studying his body from different angles. It was hard to tell.

Mrs. Arthur walked past the door. “What are you doing?”

Robert buttoned his shirt. “Nothing.”

She squeezed behind him, studying their reflections in the bathroom mirror. “I hope you’re not worried about your looks. You’re going to make a very handsome president.”

Mrs. Arthur had been thrilled to learn that Robert was running for student council. She seemed to believe that he had an excellent chance of winning, that everyone in Lovecraft Middle School loved Robert as much as she did.

There were times, Robert thought, when his mother simply didn’t have a clue.

After tucking Pip and Squeak into their shoe box, Robert got into bed and fell asleep immediately; all the exercise had made him very tired. That night, he had another dream, and for once it wasn’t a nightmare. He was back at Lovecraft Middle School with Karina Ortiz, and she was telling him to wear the red shirt with the little squares, and then she playfully swatted his shoulder. Only this time, her fingers didn’t pass through his skin. This time, her hand was warm and solid and real. She was real.

Robert looked into her eyes, astonished.

“I know,” she said, grinning. “Isn’t it crazy?”

He woke up shivering. His alarm clock read 3:13. He pulled his blankets up to his shoulders and turned over in bed, trying to return to the dream. He willed himself to fall asleep, but he was too cold to concentrate. He was freezing.

He sat up in bed.

His window was open.

That was weird. Robert often propped his window open during the summer, but never after Labor Day. It was now the end of October, when the night temperature could dip as low as thirty degrees.

Maybe his mother had opened it?

A frigid wind whipped through the room, fluttering the posters taped over the bed, threatening to rip their corners from the walls.

He wished there was some way to close the window without leaving the warmth of the blankets. He lay there for a moment, mustering the willpower to stand. And in that moment his toes nudged something smooth and cool and dry, something with the texture of a leather shoe. Robert was always falling asleep with books in his bed. Maybe tonight he had fallen asleep with a shoe?

But then the “shoe” moved, sliding over and under his ankles, binding his feet together. Robert lifted the blanket and saw two glowing yellow eyes; their pupils were thin vertical slits. He tried yanking his legs out of bed but he was already too late; the snake coiled around his knees, thighs, and hips, immobilizing him from the waist down. The more Robert struggled to get free, the easier it was for the snake to encircle the rest of him, pinning his arms to his sides and anchoring his torso to the mattress. Every time Robert exhaled, the snake coiled itself tighter, slowing the circulation of his bloodstream. His hands and feet were already tingling. Finally Robert closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up.

Because it had to be a dream. It simply had to be. Boa constrictors couldn’t open windows. Massachusetts didn’t even have boa constrictors. This was just like the dream where Principal Slater turned into a frog monster. Any moment now, Robert’s mother would open the door and turn on the light and the snake would disappear …

“Give up, Robert.”

He opened his eyes.



“Quit now and we’ll go easy on you.”

The snake’s mouth hadn’t opened but Robert could hear it speaking—or, rather, he could hear Sarah and Sylvia speaking, as plainly as if they were standing right beside him. Robert would have said “Okay” if he’d been capable of saying anything—but he lacked the strength to even nod his head. The edges of his vision were going dark. The room was fading. He felt like he was back underwater, stuck at the bottom of the swimming pool with no gate in sight.

Then Pip and Squeak stumbled out from under the bed, drawn by the unfamiliar voices. They saw the snake and immediately sprang into attack mode, leaping onto Robert’s nightstand and toppling his lamp. It fell to the ground with a crash. The boa hissed. Pip and Squeak leaned back on their haunches, baring their teeth.

“Robert?” Mrs. Arthur called from her bedroom. “What’s that noise?”

“Don’t come in,” Robert tried to shout, only no sounds could leave his mouth, not anymore.

The hallway light came on, filling the gap under Robert’s bedroom door with a pale yellow glow. The boa gave him one last warning—a squeeze that nearly made his heart pop like a balloon—before uncoiling itself and darting toward the open window. Mrs. Arthur’s frantic footsteps were already coming down the hallway. As the last of the snake disappeared through the window, Pip and Squeak hurried under the bed just as the door opened, flooding the room with light.

His nightstand lamp lay in broken pieces on the floor.

“What happened?” Mrs. Arthur asked.

Robert couldn’t speak. He was still catching his breath.

“And why is your window open? It’s freezing in here!”

She walked over to the window and slammed it shut.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just having another nightmare. I reached for my light and I guess I knocked it over.”

“See, that’s the thing I hate about Halloween,” Mrs. Arthur said. “They put all these violent movies on television and then kids can’t sleep at night. We’re cutting back on screen time, Robert, do you understand me?”

“All right,” he said.

“And you need to be more careful. Lamps cost money!”

After his mother had left the room and closed the door, Robert got out of bed and walked over to his window. Under the light of a full moon, his backyard was bathed in a soft pale glow. He could see the boa slithering across the grass, crossing toward a hedge at the rear of the lawn.

Standing behind the hedge, waiting for the snake, were two silhouettes of human figures—two identical silhouettes. Robert couldn’t see their faces, yet he knew exactly who they were.