1. Me and Toehead
I was 12 years old when I first found out what a snake zombie was. I was still cultivating a pretty heavy goth stage when my Dad and his new bitch wife drove me and my brother and my little sister down to Florida for some creeperville known as ‘Disneyworld.’
I had a lot of attitude for 12. The world could fuck off, who needed it?
I was playing Murder Isle on the DS when the adults stopped off 95 at an exit in Georgia to refuel. My Dad’s bitch wife - whom we will call Toehead - asked me if I wanted to go into the Starbucks with her while my Pa worked the tank.
“Yea, sure.” I said. They let me have coffee at 12. How could I resist?
We were waiting in line feeling awkward together when I saw the stack of newspapers. It was the front page of the Tampa Tribune that caught my eye: GIANT SNAKE CAUGHT WITH BOY INSIDE.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“What?” Toehead asked.
“Nothing,” I muttered. I picked up the newspaper. There was a grainy pic of a giant snake’s midesection, and what looked like the outlines of a human poking out from it. They shot the snake dead and the boy miraculously, was still alive.
His parents went on the record as thanking God for this hallelujah miracle. Doctors said he would be OK.
“Kate, what would you like?” Toehead asked, sweetly. It was her turn in front of the cashier.
“Don’t call me that.” I snapped at her, putting the paper back. “My name is Mauled Dog now. You can call me MD for short.” I said. I said to the teller: “I’ll have a tall Americano with a ristretto, please.”
I was nice to the help, usually. Their life sucked more than anyone’s.
“What is ristretto?” Toehead asked. She turned to the man in the green apron. “That doesn’t have alcohol in it, does it?”
“No, ma’am.” He said. “A ristretto is just a double shot. We don’t serve alcohol at Starbucks.”
Toehead looked at me with an arched eyebrow. “You need a lot of energy for those video games, huh?”
I ignored her and said the coffeeman, “Oh yea, and please throw a Tampa Tribune on there, too, OK?”
He chuckled and hit the keys. “See that snake story huh?”
Toehead: “What snake story?” She looked worried. She was deathly afraid of snakes.
Teller says to her: “They found a live boy in the stomach of a giant snake down in Florida yesterday.” he said.
Old lady behind me in line piped in: “Oh, yes, that was horrible! But they killed the snake and the boy lived!”
“It’s a miracle.” said the teller, shaking his head.
I got out of line and picked up a newspaper then went to the other side of the counter to wait for our coffee order with Toehead. “Let me see that,” she said. She reached for the paper.
“You didn’t say please.” I said.
She stopped, gave me a look. “Please.” she said.
“Well, you’re always telling us, right?” I asked. “Just wanted to be on the same page here.” I handed it to her.
As she read it I could see the lines in her forehead getting deeper and deeper.
When we got back into the car I had a new lovely caffeine rush to use in my campaign at Murder Isle and got back into it with excitement. When I happened to look up and glance at Toehead, I noticed she had been unusually silent for a while and was looking a little pale, despite her ingestion of some of the latte she still held in her hand.
A large green sign on the highway welcomed us to the state of Florida. I put the DS down and kept my eyes peeled for snakes.
2. Florida’s Giant Snake Invasion
“Oh yes, it’s true,” My Pa was telling Toehead. Apparently we were an hour from Orlando or so. I still hadn’t seen any snakes. I hadn’t heard this about the snake situation in Florida, though, so I listened from the back.
“Heard it on NPR . . . people got them as pets, flush them down the toilet - the old urban myth but true in Florida. Add global warming to the mix . . . snakes are spreading down here like rats, showing up everywhere - parking lots, toilets, beds, shoes, cars, beaches, dressing rooms, etc.”
Toehead was white-faced. “What kind of snakes?”
I could tell Pa - yes I call him this ironically fuckin’ duh - was enjoying having her on a little.
“All kinds!” he said enthusiastically. “Giant snakes! Boas, anacondas and pythons! Snakes up to 20 feet long and more!”
Toehead lowered her window, ejected vomit. It splattered to the window behind where my brother Jake was sitting, listening to his ipod with his headphones on oblivious to us. My little sister Jess was napping between us. Jake saw his vision suddenly clouded with vomit and his face screwed up. “Hey! What the–!? Gross!”
Toehead raised the window back up and reached around in her handbag between her feet for a wet wipe. “Stop it.” she said to Pa.
“You asked what kind.” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, want a kiss?”
“Why don’t you take a sip of your vanilla latte first?” he said.
Jake took off his headphones and turned to me. “What gives?”
“The ‘rents are trading snake horror stories. Apparently Florida is becoming overrun with giant snakes and a boy was just found in a giant snake’s belly in Tampa.”
“Fuck.” Jake said.
“Yea but in that case they killed the snake and saved the boy.” I said.
“How big are these snakes?” Jake asked.
Jake was 16. I could see what he was thinking. Some still called him a boy.
“Over 30 feet long.” I said.
My Pa laughed from the front.
Toehead: “Can we PLEASE talk about something else?”
Jake looked stricken, not being corrected that they were allegedly only 20 feet according to Pa, so between him and Toehead I decided to let it drop and so did Pa. “How long to we get there, Pa?” I asked, to change the subject.
“Ten minutes.” he said.
I considered my brother’s face. “You know,” I said to him. “You have an excellent profile particularly when silhouetted by a window full of vomit.”
He scowled and put his headphones back on.
20 minutes later we were pulling into the Orlando La Quinta.
It wasn’t until the next day that we saw our first snake.
3. The Snakes Are Getting Bigger
By the next morning at breakfast we were all ready for a new day of big cheese and had forgotten about the snakes. Until a tiny snake slithered across Jess’s hand while she was passing Toehead the margarine. Toehead’s eyes widened; she dropped the margarine container and it clanked against a plate, spilling out a yellowed, vaguely half-oblong shape smeared with bread crumbs and perhaps a piece of lettuce. But Toehead’s eyes followed the tiny snake as it raced to the edge of the table and down the side of the tablecloth.
Toehead was at her feet, voice catching in her throat, and she was backing up slowly.
We were at Mike’s Diner, a fun little retro spot on one of the main roads from La Quinta to Mousecatraz. 50’s booths done in yellow with white piping, each with its own jukebox. This one currently was playing, “Friend of the Devil” by the Grateful Dead.
The place was half full of mostly awkward families like ourselves, scarfing food and eyeing piles of free tourist pamphlets every eating place like this has in piles out front. Dollyworld. GoatCheeseWorld. PirateswithMulletsWorld. You could stay down here indefinitely trying out all the crappy worlds who were no doubt buffeted with cheap branded souvenir crap. The folks back home would never believe you went to Egg Yolk World unless you had a hat which brandished the official Egg Yolk World logo, after all.
My Dad was eating waffles with blueberry syrup. My sister Jess was eating pancakes with margarine, no syrup. My brother Jake was eating a breakfast muffin. I was having coffee and stomach cramps. Toehead was still standing with eyes wide open. It was about 8:34 a.m. I remember because there was a big old-fashioned round black and white school clock on the wall above the cash register. I was sipping coffee and about to say something smartass about her standing there like a stupid awestruck statue or something when the Manager comes over - or I thought he was the manager not just a bonehead in a red vest and a nametag - and puts his hand on her shoulder gently and says, “What’s a matter, honey, you see one of those baby snakes?”
Toehead relaxes a little, then stiffens up again, “How can this place be open? When you are . . . infested with snakes?”
Even though it is air-conditioned in here, and heavily, rapturously so, the manager is a little sweaty. He takes a greasy black-stained rag from his back pocket and mops his forehead with it. However the rag is too wet, and it leaves behind many sweat beads and now some little black spots. “Snakes is a problem all over this area, little Missy.” he says. “They ain’t no harm unless you harm them.”
Toehead had a shocked look on her face. She sat down. I guess my Dad felt he had to be chivalrous or something at this point so he spoke up, “Now wait a minute, an accident is as accident - but are you telling me the price of living in Florida is you have snakes slithering across your meal at any minute and that’s only not OK to us dithering out-of-towners?”
The manager, an old guy musta been in his 80s with voluminous salt and pepper nose hair, sniffed and reached into his pocket, brought out a wrinkled piece of shiny paper, tossed it to my Dad. “Here’s a coupon for ten percent off–”
Suddenly - now 8:44 - a voice is exercised from across the room: “Hey, quiet down, everyone!” There is a tv monitor there and the news is on. There is an instant hush across the room and many instinctively get up to see what’s going on. I get up as well and get a good vantage point on top of a booth back.
The Newsman is saying: “. . . if you’re just now coming in. Our top story is a house has been found in Orlando with five oversized snakes each with several humans still in their digestive tract. Another human was found living at the residence believed to be a squatter, who fought the police when they arrived. The police were tipped off by a pizza delivery driver who went to this address by accident and noticed a strong smell. [cue driver shot. he sniffs his nose as he remembers] ‘It smelled like . . . honeydew . . . ‘ Unbelievably, all of the humans still found in the snakes are said to be alive, although there were many bones strewn throughout the home. Tests are being done on the bones to determine what type of animals they came from.”
A man in the crowd clutching his cell phone raised to the sky yelled, “Hey! Disneyworld is closed!”
There was a murmur through the crowd and some shushed him, trying to hear the news. I climbed down from the back of the booth, about to go back to my so-called family, when I was interrupted by a girl about my age who looked like an off-duty cheerleader, suddenly blocking my way.
“Is it Halloween already?” she asked. Referring to my dark clothes and goth makeup, I am assuming. Her hands on hips. Face hard. Chewing gum.
“Coming from a Hannah Montana wannabe like yourself, I will take that as an insult.” I said. I then raised my right fist to show her that jutting out from the bottom of it were 5 tines of a fork. I made sure she saw it before I added, “Insult number two gets you a fork in the eye. Try me.”
Her eyes widen and she turns quickly and scampers off.
I scoot back into the booth next to Jake on the inside and Jess in the middle. My Dad across says to me, “So what is it, Kate? What’s the news?”
“Um,” I said, looking at Toehead. I liked to give her shit more than anyone but she wasn’t looking well. As I watched her she took a big gulp of water and shaved a large napkin into her purse, not meeting my eyes.
“Disneyworld is closed.” I said. “Some . . . busted pipes or something.”
Jess pouted. “Ohhh, today was my day.” It was true. We were all mostly going to Mouschwitz for her. Tomorrow was Beer and Blondes Town for Dad. Gamer World for Jake the next, followed by Garden Town for Toehead . . . and the next day for me: the Cure Campus. Then a couple days of beach before we all headed back. It was warm down here. I was wearing shorts over my ripped spiderwebbed leggings. I was kind of craving a drink and my black toenails in the sand.
Jake grabbed a handful of pamphlets from the side of the table the last people had left behind. He wiped the crumbs off the top of the stack and leafed through them. “Ooh!” he said. He whipped one out, turned it around for us to see: “Captain Crustacean Land!”
“Who is Captain Crustacean?” my Dad invariably asks.
“Captain Crustacean,” Jake repeats, as if repeating it will bring the memory back because it has to be there because nobody could be so daft. “The only Seth MacFarlane show Fox ever cancelled?” Jake asked.
“Ahh,” My Dad said. “Well that would be for you then. This was Jess’ day. What does Jess want?”
We all turn to Jess. Jess starts to cry. “I want to go home! I hate snakes!”
Dad pays the bill and we quickly get out of there. We get in the car and head down the road, just to get moving. Soon, traffic comes to a standstill. It is flat down here but as far as you can see in every direction, cars and trucks and minivans and buses are not moving. It has to be about 93 degrees out. We should have brought drinks. Water. Hydration. Eventually my Dad turns the car off after he rolls all the windows down. Doesn’t want to use too much A/C. If it gets too hot, he’ll reconsider, he says. We are all sweating and not enjoying ourselves immensely.
A helicopter flies overhead and a guy on a megaphone says: “Do not be alarmed. Please stay in your vehicles.” He repeats this, over and over. We crane our heads in the car to get a better look. Some people get out their cars to get an even better look - who obviously did not hear the helicopter man’s message or had an automatic kneejerk reaction to authority. I put my hand on the door handle.
“Oh no you don’t!” Toehead said, turning around at me. “You don’t go out there! They just said don’t go out there!”
I squint my eyes at her about to eject ink when there is a bloodcurling scream to our right. We all turn to look. Several men get out their vehicles now and run to look, brave men I am thinking. Something whips up briefly behind a car that stops my cynicism instantly and makes me cold. The car is very quiet. It is a giant snake tilting up its head to further ingest the young boy it has in its mouth.
“Goddammit I’m going out there!” My Dad yells, and before Toehead can stop him he jumps out of the car and goes to the trunk, gets out a tire jack. Several men are advancing with similar makeshift weapons. A man coming from a souvenir shop across the street is holding a bat.
They advance on the snake when another man suddenly intervenes. He puts his back to the snake and puts his hands out pleadingly to the men. I notice he is very good-looking; he could easily be a movie star. Blonde hair, chiseled features. Very nicely shaped. A walking Adonis I was thinking, although his preppie look was excreble to me if not ironic. Camel-haired coat. Stiff white button-down shirt. Khakis with pleats. Penny loafers with, indeed, pennies in them.
He smiled and his teeth were perfect. “Gentleman, please!” he said, smiling. “Please reconsider!” He made an expansive movement back to the snake. “Do no interfere with one of God’s greatest creatures! This is nature, boys! Why interject?”
The men exchange quizzical glances. To my pride, my Dad speaks up, “Mister, we’re going to try and save that boy, so you better step out of the way.”
The golden-haired preppie’s face darkened. He took off his coat and threw it to the side. He rolled up his white sleeves and his muscles were ripping through. He lowered his stance and flicked his fingers at the men and snarled, “You wanna get that snake, you gotta come through me.”
And that was the first snake zombie I ever saw.
4. The Would-Be Hedonists, the House on the Net and the Resulting Ten Top Ten Ways to Spot a Snake Zombie
The husband saved a while for this villa right on the beach for he and his lovely wife of eleven years to stay in for an entire week, and he went to great lengths to be romantic about it.
The villa was beige stucco, Spanish-style, with an inner courtyard ringed in lush foliage looking out over the private beach. It was here he set about an elaborate meal, which he spent all afternoon cooking himself. The courtyard hosted no less than a hundred candles lit that night. She wore the red dress he bought for her just for the occasion. Dinner was served at dusk.
Everything was going swimmingly, but, being a couple with eleven years history behind them, it wasn’t long before an issue came up which pricked them. They quarreled. She wanted him to do something he didn’t want to do. If he loved her, he would do it for her. If she loved him, she wouldn’t make him do something he wouldn’t want to do. She would do it for him. That wasn’t the point. She stomped off into the night.
When she came back several hours later, he noticed how beautiful she was. It wasn’t just that he was glad to see her. She just looked . . . she glowed, somehow. And she smelled . . . was that, citrus? Something light. Fruity. Nice.
She came right up to him and kissed him without a word. They went to bed and it was better than makeup sex - it was celestial sex, tantric sex, no less than a gazillion fireworks sex. She told him he didn’t have to do that thing he didn’t want to do. She just wanted to make him happy.
He was happy. He rolled over that night ecstatic. Eleven years. And now it was just getting better. He fell asleep on his side so as not to wake her with his snores. When she was sure he was asleep she went down and let the front door open.
Her Master slithered in shortly.
What neither the husband or wife knew was that this house had been previously wired for an online cam site, and the owner neglected to remove everything before he started advertising it on a vacation rental website, which is where this particular husband found it while browsing at work one day.
The owner, at first aroused by the live feed and then horrified by it, put his noodles down and immediately began editing. He didn’t care if he got in trouble for leaving the recording equipment there, he had to get this out. He had to let the world know. He had to save Florida! Within an hour he had uploaded it to his server, alerted the authorities and put it on Reddit.
Within an hour on Reddit someone there came up with a Top Ten Signs of a Snake Zombie using the video and several articles already posted about the sudden Floridian snake problem and posted it on Reddit as well.
Top Ten Signs of a Snake Zombie
10. A Snake Zombie will not attempt confrontation with a human unless that human is threatening the life of a snake.
9. Snake Zombies are very charming.
8. Snake Zombies have an alluring “glow” to their skin.
7. Snake Zombies smell like honeydew.
6. Snake Zombies are very good-looking. In fact, they often look much better than the person they originally were.
5. Snake Zombies are usually overdressed.
4. Snake Zombies never sweat.
3. Snake Zombies will be anything you want them to be - your dream mate, your dream lover, your dream wife, husband, girlfriend, boyfriend, mistress, mother, father, son, daughter, sister, brother, friend. They will brilliantly conform to your most intimate fantasy in order to earn your trust.
2. When a Snake Zombie earns your trust, the Snake Zombie will open the front door of your house while you are asleep to let his or her master in. The Master will then decide whether or not this offering is a new servant or food.
1. The Snake Zombie feeds once a night. The Snake Zombie feeds by suckling on the teats of his or her Master Snake.
This list was eventually broadcast all over Floridian television, resulting in mass panic and paranoia and hysteria. Eventually the entire state of Florida was cordoned off.
5. Come to Florida
I am 15 years old now and I am well aware of what a snake zombie is. A snake zombie is me. My name is Kate. I like my name. Kate.
Being in the stomach of the large snake - my Master, I call her ‘Sheil’ - was not so horrible as one might imagine. Actually you are immediately injected with a type of opiate, and the whole experience is not unpleasurable. What I didn’t know at the time was that Sheil had chosen me to serve her. I was one of the lucky ones. She had deemed me ‘good-looking.’ They only eat the ugly ones - the ones who have no hope of charming other humans on their behalf.
The whole snakes in the street mass-pandemonium approach to expanding our settlements is rare. Usually it is done quietly, one block, one cluster, one neighborhood, one town at at time. When the snakes move in, discomfort moves out. All of us human servants are happy to serve our lords so long as we get the sweet, sweet juice.
If we go too long without the juice we start to break down. A good servant will get the juice regular. We all strive to be.
My earlier ‘goth punk attitude’ I recreated to show you how I became what I am, but actually I am writing this story today as an inspirational tale - not only is the life of a snake zombie not bad, it is actually much better than the life I had before.
In fact, we have decided ’snake zombies’ is a derogatory name for us that the pre-humans decided on. We are changing it to ’snake people.’ Because that’s what we are. Snake people. And proud of it. Since the snake people have taken over Florida, we have had no crime. Snake people live happily in the house of their masters and breed for the purpose of our masters’ favorite food: beal, human baby veal.
I have had two beal already to the delight of my Master Sheil. How I love her so. When I am not giving birth to beal, I enjoy reading nonfiction and long walks on the beach.
I am taking my story to the net in the hopes that this will in some way abate all the negativity that is out there in the world for snake people. There is even a movement underway to nuke the entire state!
We need more pre-humans to join us and fight for our right to exist. Aren’t you unhappy in your human life? Always forced to work ‘jobs’ and do stupid repetitive things? As a snake person the only food you will need is the juice from your master. And the only job you will have is making your master happy. As long as your master is happy, you get the juice and you’re happy.
Now, who doesn’t want to be happy? Just to help the rest of the world, I am pleased to announce that we have surreptitiously sent out our sisters and brothers now to all ends of this great planet we live on, to further the word of our superior lifestyle. [Yes, we know you think you have the whole perimeter of Florida sealed, but you don’t. Not even close.] Missionaries, I believe is your word for them. They walk among you now, only you just don’t know it yet. They have managed to dampen their honeydew smell, so don’t even try that old trick. But they will still be good-looking. You will still want to fuck them. When you see them you will want to make beal. Instantly.
So, why wait? Give up the rat race and come to Florida now.
Come to Florida.
Come to Snake Country. Or we will come to you.
[Snake Zombies - funded by a generous grant from the Florida Tourism Council]