The snake (Lynnette presumed it was a rattlesnake) was in a coiled loop with its head raised as if ready to strike. The tail with the rattle was also slightly raised. The delicate forked tongue had broken off long before Lynnette inherited the figurine.
Last Wednesday Lynnette noticed that its head was facing the wall. She was sure she hadn’t touched it. She turned it back to face the room. It felt softer than the feel of ceramic. And then it moved. It was only a slight movement but enough to cause Lynnette to scream.
The snake fell to the floor, smashing on the concrete hearth into a hundred pieces. “Thank goodness,” thought Lynnette. “It was all in my head.” That was when the hundred pieces began to slither away in all directions.
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