The attic access door had been located in the ceiling above the upper hallway. Now there was a huge hole where the door had been. The attic stairs were still folded up, like they should be, but the access door was on the floor in splinters, and a snake with a crushed head lay on it. The snake looked to be about six feet long, and was likely a rat snake. Wood was splintered all over the carpeting and squirrels were running amok throughout the house.
I propped the front door open and herded the squirrels out the door as best I could. Along the way, I encountered three snakes of similar length, but no rats. I suspected the new guests and I would find some rats later that night.
Rachel’s blood-curdling scream told me she’d found one of the snakes in the back hallway as she tried to enter the house. I raced down the steps for the fifth time in ten minutes and removed the snake from her view while explaining the situation. Rachel turned and ran, and I continued working until I was convinced the squirrels and snakes were out of the house.
I decided Jimbo and Earl were wrong about not boarding up the escape routes, because when I pulled down the attic ladder and climbed up into the attic, I found a few baby squirrels, twenty feet of soiled, feces-soaked insulation, and nothing more. I relocated the baby squirrels to the side yard and drove back to the hardware store to buy some plywood I could use to board up the hole until I could get a new door ordered.
Jimbo said, “I’ll order you one, but we’re talkin’ six weeks, maybe longer. You just don’t see many doors like that no more.”
I also bought a can of paint that seemed a close match to the ceiling color, and figured I had just enough time to secure the plywood, spray paint it, and tidy things up before the guests checked in.
On the way back to The Seaside I started working on an explanation for Beth as to how five snakes and a dozen squirrels could crash through an attic door, and how one of the snakes had gotten crushed to death in the process.
Chapter 13
D’AUGIE HAD BEEN smart to bring bottles of water because the attic was stifling, like a sauna. It was pitch black inside, but when D’Augie had opened the attic door and climbed up the steps, there’d been enough light to take in the general layout. He’d seen there was no floor or furniture to sit on, just beams separated by insulation, which meant he’d have an uncomfortable wait until Creed returned.
No problem, D’Augie could handle discomfort. He was, in fact, a power house of will, a rock of discipline. He’d handled the fire ant bites, hadn’t he? He had underestimated the fire ant threat. In the future, he planned to give them a wide berth. But attic heat and squirrels? No problem. He’d been in saunas before, just as he’d spent time in parks feeding squirrels.
D’Augie sat a minute, felt the sweat accumulating in pools underneath his shirt and pants and realized there was a big difference between saunas and attic heat. For one thing he’d never worn clothes in a sauna. Nor had he spent time in a sauna with fire ant bites that hadn’t completely healed. The cramped conditions and sweltering attic heat was having an effect on his bites. D’Augie’s thighs and crotch were beginning to itch and sting.
No problem, D’Augie would just rub some ointment on the trouble spots. He’d thought ahead, swiped a tube of ointment from the hospital, put it in his shirt pocket a couple hours ago, and…
…and shit!
While the tube of ointment was still in his shirt pocket, he realized he’d left that particular shirt in the trunk of his car when he changed clothes and put on the ball cap. Was it the power of suggestion that made his itching worse? D’Augie hoped so, because if it were an issue of mind over matter he’d be fine. He knew his mental powers were second to none, thanks to the countless hours he’d invested over many months mastering the art of meditation. He’d studied with the best yogis and perfected the art.
D’Augie spent the next five minutes in a deep meditative state. He would have devoted even more time to the meditating, but his crotch was on fire. It hurt like hell and was getting worse. He unzipped the top of the carry bag on his shoulder, took out a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and took a long sip. Then he unzipped his pants and poured some water on his festering blisters.
D’Augie knew there were squirrels in the attic, so he had expected to encounter the scent of feces in the air. He’d been around feces before, had a cat he used to clean up after a few years back. But this attic stench beat anything he’d whiffed in his lifetime. It was unearthly, truly appalling. Made his eyes itch and water and triggered his gag reflex. This odor was rich in feces, but there was more going on here than simple squirrel shit. D’Augie was a city boy, so he couldn’t be certain, but there seemed to be at least two other odors at work, fighting for dominance. He was pretty sure that the more pleasant of the two was rotting carcass, while the other might be something like undigested, regurgitated, decaying animal bits. Whatever the nature of the smell, it was harsh enough to scare a mongrel off a corn dog.
But…no problem, D’Augie would deal with it. He took another sip of water.
The attic insulation was the pink roll-type with paper on top. He had been hearing intermittent scurrying sounds on the paper some distance in front of him, and—there, it happened again—behind him. The sounds were too light to be squirrels, too heavy to be mice. Large mice? Small rats?
Moments later D’Augie heard chattering sounds in one of the eaves that were probably baby squirrels. Though he had spent little time in the country, he knew that in the animal kingdom, new mothers are often fiercely protective and rarely stray far from their litters. So he made a mental note to stay away from the eaves. That wouldn’t be a problem, assuming Creed returned soon. But if he didn’t, D’Augie would be forced to stand and walk around a bit to keep his muscles from cramping up. Nothing ruins the element of surprise like jumping through a plywood door and attacking Creed on your knees.
The itching and burning in his thighs and crotch had escalated far beyond anything D’Augie’s meditation could handle. It felt like someone was repeatedly burning his nuts and thighs with miniature branding irons. Bad as the stink in the attic was to deal with, the fire ant pain in his loins was worse. D’Augie scratched his crotch vigorously, and experienced instant relief.
For about five seconds.
Then the itching and burning returned, and when it did, it was worse than before. D’Augie clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and handled the itch and burn for about twenty seconds. Then he gave in and scratched his crotch again. And again.
…And managed to scratch the scabs off his wounds.
He’d been sweating profusely since entering the attic, and sweat contained salt, so D’Augie wasn’t surprised that the sweat stung his private area when it seeped into his open sores.
What did surprise him was how badly it hurt.
He wondered why this attic attack seemed like such a great idea earlier in the day. Now he was dealing with itchy crotch, burning crotch, horrific smells, cramping muscles, rats, baby squirrels, and…
What was that?
More scurrying on paper, only much louder.
And then a thwack.
And then the muffled squeaking sound a rat might make if it had been crushed in the jaws of…
…Of a huge snake.
D’Augie felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, as if something cold were blowing on them. If that was a snake it was a large one, and very close by. And where there’s one it’s almost certain there’ll be another. The attic was virtually pitch black. Snakes could be slithering all around him, and he would never know it. They could be surrounding him at that very moment.
D’Augie was a city boy, not a country one. But he wasn’t completely clueless. He knew, for example, that most snakes are not venomous. But he didn’t know how many were.