The Attic

Nora Nordstrom got tired of telling her husband to investigate the scratching they’d been hearing in the attic for a week.

“I said I’ll do it,” Hank said. “You don’t have to keep reminding me for six months!”

So Nora went herself.

Hank was in the kitchen when he heard her scream.

Then something crashed above him.

He grabbed the attic ladder and climbed three steps before looking up.

The snake was enormous.

Nora’s body was halfway down its throat headfirst, and a great bulge moved slowly along its middle.

Hank fell backward off the ladder and scrambled outside. 

“Poor gal,” he said. “Never had a chance.”

He got a gas can from the garage and quickly poured a line around the inside walls, splashed the couch and their bed, then threw the half-empty can through the attic access. 

The wood frame house went up with a whoosh and soon the plume of noxious black smoke was visible from three counties. 

He was at the end of the driveway waving the Tallatippah Volunteer Fire Department back when the sheriff’s deputies arrived.

“Where’s Nora?” asked Deputy Collins

Hank thumbed back over his shoulder toward the burning house “In the attic. Big old snake ate her.”

A snake in the attic ate your wife?”

Hank nodded. 

“So you set the house on fire?”

“Of course.”

“You realize you’re under arrest?”

Nordstrom looked offended. “You can’t arrest me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m giving my wife a Viking funeral. Exercise of religion… and all that.”

The deputy looked at the burning house.

“You’re not a Viking.”

Nordstrom nodded solemnly. “Sure am.” He smiled. “Poor gal would have wanted it this way. You wouldn’t want to keep her outa Valhalla.”

Collins took off his hat, scratched his head, looked at the house again.

The roof collapsed.