The Pit
A Short Story by Erin Dawkins
We were stopped at a light in downtown Westport when the truck in front of us, swaying as though dancing with a strong wind, opened the back hatch and unleashed hundreds of snakes.
When they hit the hood of the car, some coiled around each other in a ball, others splayed, open-mouthed, it sounded like bags of flour falling from the sky and hitting the aluminum all at once.
Ray removed his glasses from his face and threw them on the dash. He dug his fists into his eyes, as if to wake himself up. He motioned to open the door of the driver’s side, as if he was going to step out, but gripped the handle instead, as though preventing someone from opening it from the outside.
The sounds of the outside filtered into the car like vocal ribbons. A collective hissing that formed a ferocious song. Melded together like the balls of snakes that rolled around on the hood.
Some of the snakes slithered up to the windshield, their scaly bodies leaving pasty smears on the glass. I pierced the vents of the car shut. I shook off my flip flops and pulled my bare feet up on the seat.
“Mom?” Fiona said, her voice a bubble lodged in her throat.
I spread my hands and placed my palms over the vents on the dash and jammed my fingers into the power window switches, though the windows were already shut.
People ran wildly in all directions on the street. Securing themselves in buildings, screaming madly. Screams penetrating our tightly sealed windows.
The light turned green, but the truck didn’t move, so Ray pressed his foot to the pedal and we went around it. The car revved at a standstill atop of the snakes that were splayed on the street, but then it began to move. The wheels turned, churning snake bodies under us. I looked down from the passenger side, and I could see some of them lifeless on the street, ground into a cherry pulp.
“Hurry, daddy!” Henry yelled from the back seat. He pulled his knees into his chest and buried his face.
I reached back and cupped my hand tightly around his knee and squeezed.
“It’s going to be alright. We are getting out of here.”
As we picked up speed, Ray hit the inside of the windshield with his palm at the snakes that remained.
“Go on! Go!” he yelled.
He tried to activate the windshield wipers, but they couldn’t move against the weight of the snakes. The white scales of their stomachs expanded on the glass.
“How far away from the house are we?” I squinted at the GPS on the dash.
“About twenty-five minutes.”
“Ray, you have to pull over. We’ll bring them to the house!”
One of the snakes opened its mouth, stretching its jaw along the glass. The inside of its mouth was pink and translucent, revealing a hole that looks like a small bead of a bracelet.
“Mommy!” Henry yelled. His reality is what most kids only saw in their worst nightmares. “Make them go away!”
“Ray!”
Ray looked at me with a steamed annoyance and then began hitting his hands on the steering wheel, his panging echoing in the leather.
“I know! I know! He hit the windshield again. “Fuck!”
He pulled over on the shoulder and slammed on the brakes, jerking everyone forward. I stretched my arm; a knee-jerk reaction of any parent when brakes slam or screech or there is an inkling of collision.
The wheels of the car dug into the dusty rock bed of the shoulder and some of the snakes flew off the windshield, leaving only one. Its belly pulsed on the glass, expanding its ventral scales.
“Ray!” I said, wanting to push my body back through the seat.
“I heard you, Eleanor!” He yelled. “I don’t see you jumping out to get rid of them!”
He sat for a moment, watching it on the glass. Devising a plan. His hand slipped through the door handle, and he pushed his shoulder against it so it opened a crack. He peered on the ground below where he would step, making sure it was clear.
He looked back at me, the same way a skydiver looks back at the passengers on a plane. Unsure if his parachute will inflatedeploy. Unsure if he will survive the jump or if he will ever feel his feet plant firmly on the ground.
I didn’t pat him on the shoulder, or tell him to be safe, to be careful. I only extended my chin to him and nodded my head. I told him without words that this is what he must do.
He pursed his lips and lowered his foot onto the ground. Then, he pulled himself up and out of the car. He walked safely. One by one, he raised his feet and lowered them down, as if stepping onto a blanket of snow with shoe prints, attempting to match the cutout of the soles.
When he reached the front of the car, he backed away, assessing his mission. And as I watched Ray planning, I looked at the snake on the windshield.
The tips of its divoted tongue brushed delicately along the glass. Perfect black eyeballs untelling, motionless. If it wasn’t for its tongue gauging the surroundings, or its body which seemed to compress and release ever so slightly, it would be hard to tell if it was even alive.
I had never been that close to a snake before, aside from the zoo. When we used to take the kids, we’d prepare them for the scare of the reptile house. Ray jokingly hissing and poking at the kids’ sides jokingly. And then once inside, everyone is on high alert, watching on the floor around your feet. Jumping if something touches your ankles or exposed toes.
And each time I passed a glass cage, an enclosure with sand from their native land or a rock for warmth and shelter, I understood them. Feared simply for what they were. I recognized their desolate existence, sympathized with their want for release.
But here, in the open road, the only thing keeping me from this snake falling on my lap was a pane of glass. I didn’t know what kind of snake it was but marveled at its color - rich orange and brown markings. I didn’t know if it was venomous or not. I just knew that it was unleashed into an unknown land. Native to Michigan.
Ray walked back to the car and opened the door. He began searching frantically on the floor of the front seat. He opened the middle console and then slammed it shut. Then, he stopped and stared at the back seat where Fiona and Henry were sitting. Fiona clutched to her pillow, burying her head and clutching it.
He reached back and tore it from her grip.
“Ray, what are you doing?” I yelled.
“Daddy! My pillow!” Fiona cried.
He stood outside the car and turned the pillowcase inside out. He threw the uncovered pillow back at Fiona, who pulled it back on her lap and wrapped her arms around it.
He stretched the pastel-striped pillowcase in front of him, drawing a sword. Pulling it through the cusp of his hand, testing its durability.
He pushed his arm into the pillowcase and walked toward the right side of the hood, to the snake’s pointed tail. His cheeks inflated as if confining his breath, his fear. And in one of those moments when life doesn’t allow you to withhold, to think about a reaction, he closed his eyes and grabbed the tail through the fabric, throwing it into the ditch next to where the car was parked.
With his hand still inside the pillowcase, he came back into the car and locked the doors. He shook the pillowcase from his hand, and when it landed on the middle console, everyone jumped, as if the snake was still inside.
We drove toward the house, leaving the amass of snakes behind us in the rearview mirror. And as we drove, I silently warned the houses that we passed of the imminent danger in the area. Beware of where you step. Watch where your hands land in the bushes and grass. Little ones be careful of bare feet in the yard. Watch the dogs and cats that lie lazily on summer porches.
The Airbnb was called View Villa, and larger than we needed for the four of us. It was all windows, overlooking a sandy beach and the radiant teal waters of Lake Superior.
When we keyed into View Villa, we walked into an invisible fog of musty air, wet soil. The owners must not have turned on the air conditioning before our arrival. There was no difference between the harshness of the sweltering summer air outdoors and the thick air inside. It was like stepping into a terrarium.
While Ray fidgeted with the air conditioning, I unpacked the car and Fiona and Henry explored the house with some excitement, though there was still a sour feeling. The way a trip would hit a bad note if there was a flight delay or if you showed up late for an international flight without your passport. I smiled widely at them, attempting to reignite the excitement they felt earlier that day.
In the master bedroom, I set our suitcase on a bench at the end of the bed. Since we would be there for the week, I opened it and transferred my clothing into the dresser. As I unpacked, I wondered if this would slither into their brains and settle - this core memory of horror.
And on this trip, we were all here - because of me. Because I shut down. Because the yelling wasn’t just occasional, it was constant. My energy was non-existent. I was having a hard time keeping up. Ray suggested a vacation. A break. But I knew it wasn’t a break. Sure, we were on vacation from work, but life still required attention. At View Villa, I would need to cook and clean. I would need to hang wet bathing suits from bathroom rods. We would still need groceries throughout the week. And with the snakes bellying into the start of this vacation, I was already so, so tired.
As I walked back to the dresser, my foot landed on something firm. I felt it slowly contract under my toes as I froze in place. My body turned to glass, ready to shatter if I even breathed. My eyes peered down and saw my toes lift subtly, as if they had a mind of their own, one after another. My coral pink nail polish showcased as each toe rose, one by one.
“Ray!” I hissed through clenched teeth, hopeful that my voice would echo from the bedroom and to the downstairs.
I could feel every muscle in my foot clench. The veins on top of my foot were working to stay intact under the skin.
Fiona walked in and saw that I was frozen in place.
“Mom, what is it?”
“Get your father,” I whispered. “I can’t move.”
She backed up out of the bedroom, and I heard footsteps hard on the carpeted stairs.
“Dad! It’s mom. Come quick!”
Multiple footsteps were now making their way upstairs.
When Ray walked in and saw me frozen as a statue, he threw out his arms to shield Fiona and Henry from coming closer.
“Eleanor, what’s wrong?”
“Quiet,” I said. “It’s right under me. Under my foot.”
Fiona and Henry fought their way through Ray’s arms, which were pinned in the doorway. They moved their heads above and below the barrier to get a glimpse.
“What is?”
“I think it’s a snake.”
“A snake? Are you sure?”
I nodded, my eyes wide with disbelief.
He turned to the children and told them he had to close the door so he could help me. They objected, especially Henry, but Ray put one arm around their chest and ushered them out.
Once the door was closed, Ray padded the carpet carefully with his feet, one by one. When he was close enough, he knelt.
I could feel my foot tighten, as if connected with the tight restriction I felt beneath my toes. I watched Ray inch carefully toward my foot. Blue veins bulged on top of my foot from monitored stillness.
And then I felt a pull long from under my toes.
“Jesus, Eleanor. It’s just a cable.”
I looked down at the black cord in his hand. He dropped it and then lifted himself to his feet.
“It’s a modem cable. Now stop this nonsense.”
I could feel my toes unleash from their stationary stance, and they wiggled with freedom.
“But Ray, I felt it. It moved. It pulsed under my foot.”
Ray looked around the floor as if searching for answers, or something to say, but quietly retreated toward the door.
“We’re all getting hungry. Why don’t you stop unpacking and get to work on dinner?”
He closed the door behind him and I could hear the kids fall upon him like paparazzi. What’s wrong with mom? What did she see in there? Is everything okay?
“Everything is fine. Mom’s fine. She’s just a little tired.”
I looked out the window and saw the sun was beginning to soften into the golden hours of evening. I went to the kitchen and unpacked the cooler we brought from home and placed a whole chicken in a baking pan.
While it cooked, I poured myself a glass of wine and walked outside onto the porch. View Villa really was a sight to behold with its serene surroundings, the rhythmic crashing of the waves. And though it was the middle of summer, the frigid waves rolled in and left residual crystals on the sand.
Just as I drank the last gulp of wine, the timer on the stove began to beep.
I went to the kitchen and called Ray from his chair, the children from their temporary bedrooms.
We gathered at the table, and I cut into the chicken. The skin was plastic, difficult to penetrate. I felt my body jerk as I pierced the tip of the knife into it. I pinched the meat and loosened a piece of skin. As I pulled it, the skin separated and I removed a sheet of thick, rough scales.
I held it up to my face, my family obscured through the grayed husk of skin in my hands. I dropped it on the table.
“Snake! It’s snakeskin!”
Ray hit his hand on the table and the plates and silverware jumped as high as Fiona and Henry.
“Eleanor! What has gotten into you? It’s chicken!”
I looked down at the thick hide of scales that seemed to worm around the dishes set out on the table and shook my head. Hot tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision of Fiona and Henry who looked at me, mouth agape.
Ray sighed loudly and there was silence for a few minutes.
He looked at Fiona and Henry. “I have an idea. Let’s get your shoes on and we’ll get some ice cream. Ice cream for dinner!”
I heard footsteps on the tile, and within a minute they were standing by the front door. Ray stood up and whispered in my ear: I’m going to get them out of here for a little while. Take some time to collect yourself and we’ll be back.
I stood at the table, afraid to collect the dishes.
I heard the door open and Fiona asked, “isn’t mommy coming with us?”
“No, she’s going to stay here and clean up.”
The door slammed closed. I found disposable gloves in the pantry and removed the dishes. I picked the skin up with the tips of my fingers and held it up to my face with purposeful distance.. I ran my fingers over the ridges, the holed keeled scales. I wrapped it in paper towel and buried it deep in the garbage bag and took it outside. And while I cleaned up, I could feel its presence loom around me. While I waited for my family to return, I finished the bottle of wine and bid adieu to our first night at View Villa.
The next morning, I woke up before sunrise. My head was a heavy throbbing weight sunken into the pillow. While everyone slept, I went to the kitchen and started the coffee.
As the sun was coming up, I looked out the window and saw that the grass had grown significantly overnight. It was thick and dense, the blades reached up to the new sun like dehydrated plants begging for life.
“Morning, mom!”
Henry stood in the kitchen tall and smiling, ready to take on the adventures that would be brought on by the day.
The coffee maker beeped, and I poured myself a cup.
“Want to take a walk on the beach?”
“What about daddy and Fiona?”
“We’ll let them sleep.”
“Do I need shoes?” he asked.
“No.”
I walked carefully with my coffee cup out the back door that led to the beach. We walked down a small flight of wooden stairs, and the sand swallowed our toes. It was still cool underneath the surface as our feet drowned with each step.
“I can’t wait to swim!”
“I think it’s going to be a nice day.” I lifted my face to the sun, which was now full and warming the earth.
The waves swept onto the shore, rushing and steady, quieting the pulsing inside my head. Birds cackled in the distance.
As we walked, I saw odd markings in the sand. Zig-zagged impressions in a diagonal formation. Wind patterns? They were imprinted into the sand as far as I could see. And when I looked down, the tube-like markings were all around my feet.
“Henry!”
He stood up from where he was kneeling in the water; his palms dripped sandy sludge.
“Henry! We have to go back to the house!”
“What’s wrong now, mom?”
I became immediately agitated with his question. What’s wrong now? I imagined the conversation at the ice cream parlor, cones in their hands. Ice cream dripping down their fingers as their father explained to them that I needed space.
“You don’t talk to me like that!” I yelled. “We just need to get back to the house.”
“But I don’t want to!” He stomped his foot and it sunk into the wet sand.
“We’re going now!” My body bent into a tense, spring-loaded shape, and I pulled my head back.
He began to run away, but my body glided quickly along the sand until I reached him. I took him by the arm.
“I said we are going back to the house!” I held his arm tightly, my arm coiled through his, until we reached View Villa.
I opened the door to the house and pushed him through the door. Ray was at the kitchen counter with his coffee and laptop.
“Hey, hey! What is going on?”
“She made me leave the beach!” He walked through the kitchen, leaving thick sandy footprints on the tiles.
I put my hand to my chest to remind myself to breathe.
“The beach.” I breathed hard. “There were snakes on the beach. Hundreds of them!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Markings! Snake markings! All over the sand. They’re here! The snakes from the truck are here!”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Eleanor, that’s impossible. We drove at least thirty miles from them yesterday.”
“Whatever you saw…”
“They are here, Ray!”
He walked over to me. “I was going to tell you last night but you passed out. When we were in town last night, we heard that a group released a truck of snakes in protest to some construction project they’re getting ready to do. Apparently, it’s going to disrupt some of the natural habitats here.”
“Yes, they are here. But they aren’t…” he pointed to the window. “They aren’t here.”
“Can you at least come to the beach with me and look at the markings? And the grass!” I walked to the window. “It grew overnight. It’s tall enough for them to hide without us seeing them.”
The way Ray looked at me was unfamiliar. After fifteen years of marriage, I’d never seen his eyes look at me the way they did at that moment. He blinked, and for a moment, his pupils became slits. Black slits.
I stepped back, moving away from him. But then he blinked them back to normal. I put my hands to my head, massaging the visions away.
“Ray?” I pleaded. “Can you please come with me? To the beach?”
He set down his mug, annoyed. The way a child cleans their plate or begrudgingly does a chore after being asked multiple times.
“Fine. Let’s walk.” He put his hand around my wrist. And though his hand was just holding his coffee mug with steaming liquid, it felt frigid on my skin.
On the beach, the sun was now all-embracing. It painted its warmth onto the sand, and bestowed life upon the water and the waves. A sandhill crane stood on one leg, searching for its first meal of the day.
“Just down here,” I pointed. My steps picked up quickly on our quest for affirmation. But when we reached the part of the beach where the markings were prominent, fossilized in the wet sand, I only saw our footprints - mine and Henry’s.
Ray crossed his arms, and his stance screamed impatience.
“Ray, I’m telling you. They were here!” I knelt down on the smooth, untouched sand and took it into my hands. The grains escaped through my fingers and ran down my arms.
“Eleanor! I don’t know what to do with you anymore! You’ve scared the kids. You are having these crazy thoughts. You need rest!”
He turned and walked back to the house, and I watched him until he was out of sight. As I walked toward the house, a crow swooped down and picked something long up off the sand, it wriggled, imprisoned in its claws. The crow dropped it into the water, and I glided quickly back to the house.
There was silence inside View Villa. Instead of the comforting aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, the sun’s rays cast warm beams of light through the windows, creating an earthy, musty smell. Like when we first entered the house. The wet sand Henry dragged in earlier was dry and scattered about.
I walked to the front picture window and saw my family, standing in the grass, tall as their knees.
When they saw me appear, they backed away. Recoiled when I pressed my palm firmly to the glass.
Author: Erin Dawkins is a writer from Michigan. Recent fiction can be found in Flash Fiction Magazine, Half and One, Sky Island Journal, Still Here Magazine, Blood+Honey Lit Magazine, Mouthful of Salt, Detroit Voices, and others. In 2025, she received an Author's Fellowship from the Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing.
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