“So, Jake, what’ll it be…” Nutmeg Dolnoon glanced at the other end of the bar and froze… Jake ‘Cesspit Yellowbelly’ Jones followed her gaze and instantly cowered around the corner of the bar, the top of his stetson and his eyes the only things visible, “if there’s one thing I can’t stand,” he whispered, “it’s them thar snakes with the rattle on ‘um, pesky critters – what’s it doin’ in here anyways?”
“I don’t know,” Nutmeg whispered back, “but it can’t stay in here… you have to do something.”
“M…me…” Jake flushed, just as Herbert Hatherthwaite entered the saloon and promptly joined them at the corner of the bar, saying, “my word, that’s a lemongrass rattler, demon of the snake world and extremely vicious and venomous.”
Before long, the corner of the bar was crowded with all sorts of folk giving advice as to what to do about the snake, but not actually doing anything; Maverick Mannering offered “they don’t like music or any different sounds”; the outlaw Angus Blade said “you shouldn’t allow critters like that in here”; Sid Sundown slurred “schlig sha shnoodo bap” before sliding to the floor; Albert the Apothecary gave “if only I had my sleeping salts”; Nate the Undertaker merely sighed “we’re all doomed.” The snake rattled its tail and began to slither along the bar toward the frightened throng, who all, collectively, took in a deep breath, their eyes widening simultaneously.
Violet Dolnoon walked into the bar, dressed ready for her cancan routine, and shook her head upon seeing the scene; she stomped over to the snake, grabbed it by the tail, and hurled it out, across the room and through the double swinging doors into the street outside, adding, “that was only a baby… you shoulda seen the one I sent out last night!”
Posted for Six Sentence Stories, where this week’s prompt word is ‘Rattle’.
The Mansionic Perspective 
Leave a reply to Chris Hall Cancel reply