Chapter 2: The Pit, The Snake, and the Scissors

But just then,

an old man in a mustard-colored jacket with a canvas bag on his back suddenly showed up in the yard. He walked with purpose, boots crunching on the gravel, the late afternoon sun glinting off the metal buckles of his bag. He looked like he belonged in some old story—the kind you only half-believe.

As soon as Grandpa saw him, he rushed over and said,

"Hank, you’re finally here."

"The neighbors said that before my brother died, a wild raccoon with a black snake wrapped around it came into his house..."

"People say a raccoon’s a half-omen—a spirit messenger."

Old Man Hank cut Grandpa off, turning to look at the pit by the living room door. His eyes narrowed, jaw set. He looked like a man who’d seen everything and still never let it shake him.

"An old man sees a raccoon and dies."

"That just means his time was up."

"Nothing unusual about that."

"What’s truly eerie is the black snake."

"A snake coming with the raccoon means it’s here to claim a life."

"So your brother’s time wasn’t really up yet."

"But that black snake used that upside-down burial trick to force his death."

"If this isn’t handled properly, it could cost the whole family their lives."

As soon as he finished, everyone in the yard looked terrified. You could feel the fear—sharp and sudden, like a cold wind slamming through an open window. Even the birds seemed to shut up all at once, their songs cut off mid-note.

Grandpa’s body trembled as he pleaded, "Hank, please, save my whole family."

"I’m here. I’ll help."

Old Man Hank frowned, his tone heavy:

"Nothing happens for no reason."

"That black snake wouldn’t have tangled with your brother unless something set it off."

"You need to tell me everything you know about the black snake."

"If I know the cause, I can fix the fallout."

Grandpa’s eyes flickered, something complicated moving behind them. He pulled Old Man Hank toward the living room. They walked side by side, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor, and disappeared behind the door.

Once inside, they closed the door behind them. The hush that followed was thick, broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock and the distant creak of floorboards. You could feel the tension crawling up your spine.

Seeing this, Uncle Mike quickly took us to prepare lunch. He tried to keep his voice light—cracking a joke or two—but there was a tremor there, like he was trying to distract us as much as himself.

By the time lunch was ready,

Grandpa finally opened the living room door. His face was drawn, eyes rimmed red. Old Man Hank stepped out, stood under the porch, looked up at the blazing sun, and said:

"Noon is the most haunted time of the day."

"Now that you’ve made your choice, fill in the pit first, then eat."

With that, he pulled out a pair of brass scissors and handed them to Grandpa. The scissors glinted in the sunlight, their handles worn smooth from years of use. They felt heavy with meaning.

Grandpa took the scissors and shouted:

"Mason, where are you?"

I was in the kitchen tending the stove. When I heard Grandpa call, I shouted back:

"Grandpa, I’m in the kitchen!"

Right after, Grandpa hurried into the kitchen. His steps were quick, almost frantic. He looked at me like he was searching for something he’d lost.

He used the brass scissors to snip a lock of my hair. The metal was cool against my scalp, and a strange chill ran all the way down my spine, prickling my skin.

I asked, puzzled, "Grandpa, why are you cutting my hair?"

He didn’t answer. Holding my hair, he quickly walked out. The door swung shut behind him, leaving me standing there, hand on my head, more confused than ever. My heart thudded, slow and heavy.

I rushed to the window and watched Grandpa. I pressed my face to the glass, heart pounding, as I saw him hand my hair to Old Man Hank.

Old Man Hank mixed my hair with incense, put it in the big pit, and burned a yellow paper charm. The smoke curled up, thick and sweet, mixing with the scent of fresh earth. It made my nose itch, the smell sticky and strange.

Then he grabbed a shovel and filled the pit. Each scoop of dirt landed with a dull thud, covering up the last traces of what had happened there. The sound echoed in my chest.

Watching Old Man Hank’s actions, thinking about Great-Uncle Ray’s death, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. My stomach twisted, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting something to crawl out of the shadows. It was like the house itself was watching.

But seeing Grandpa’s stern face, I didn’t dare say a word. There was something in his eyes that told me not to push—not today, not ever.