I woke to Pa’s screaming. It had happened plenty of times before, when he’d get caught in a dream of a lost battle, so as my eyes searched for anything at all in the pitch dark, my first sensation was annoyance. But then I realized this was different—these screams were high-pitched and strangled sounding. I knew my pa’s voice better than any other, and I’d never heard this shrill, twisted tightness before. It froze my heart in my chest even as I struggled to understand the cause. I groped in the blackness for matches and struck one: in its little circle of light I could see my pa writhing on the ground, clutching his throat and kicking out wildly with both feet. A big, blunt-nosed rattlesnake lifted its fangs out of his throat and sank them once again, this time into the back of his hand. Pa’s arm shot out to fling the snake away just as my match went out. In the dark I heard him jump up, still screaming; the next lit match showed him twisting like a dancer, flapping his arm until the snake finally lost its grip and flew off across the room, thudding softly against the sod wall before it scrambled away into the gap left by a missing hearthstone.
The match scorched my fingertips as it went out. I struck a third one and held it up to see that Pa had fallen to his knees, tears streaming down his face. His screams had died to a ragged sound somewhere between breath and sob. On hands and knees, I felt around for the stump of a candle and lit it as I crawled over the mess of tangled bedding to examine his wounds. I threaded one arm around his back and held up the candle. There was a bad bite in his neck, a pair of dark-red, seeping punctures that opened a door between him and the world.