2015 JAN WHIMSEY AWARD

Jenn Eaker: “My Version of Events.” The Serpentine Muse Vol. 30, No. 3, 2014, pp 15-16.

MY VERSION OF EVENTS

by Jenn Eaker

My name is Slim. I’m a “swamp adder.” My master, Dr. Grimesby Roylott, brought me to England from my native India to be his companion. This is the version of events as I remember it.

It all started with the mysterious death of my master’s stepdaughter, Julia. One day I heard her complaining to her twin sister Helen of being awakened on a regular basis during the night by whistling. I don’t know what Julia was talking about because I’m right next door and slept just fine. Then BAM! One night Julia screamed bloody murder, stumbled into her sister in the hallway, shrieked, “It was the band! The speckled band!” And dropped dead.

Next thing I know, my master starts remodeling the house—which, to be honest, seemed a bit weird—and moved Helen into her deceased sister’s bedroom. Again, weird, but I didn’t put much thought into his motives. All I hoped was Helen would be a heavier sleeper than her sister, as I was right next door and didn’t like to be disturbed from my slumber. A snake needs his sleep, dammit!

Unfortunately, that didn’t turn out to be the case. Not two days after moving into the new bedroom, Helen awakened with a start and spent the rest of the night pacing and muttering to herself. All she could talk about was how she was going to get to London on the earliest train and ask Sherlock Holmes for help. I had heard about this fellow Holmes before, having read some of his adventures as written by his companion, Dr. John Watson. But I had no clue what he could do for her and, frankly, I didn’t care. I wanted to sleep, and Helen was keeping me awake with her disturbances!

I finally drifting back asleep when my master woke me up hurrying around the room! He was shouting about how he couldn’t trust Helen and needed to follow wherever she was going. Between that horrid cheetah, that stupid baboon, my new neighbor, and my master, I was NEVER going to get a good night’s sleep.

Anyway, when Helen returned later that day, I had decided an afternoon nap would be the best cure to my poor night’s sleep. But before I could settle into my nest, I heard two unfamiliar voices moving about the house, inside and out. So I tucked myself away hoping everyone would just leave me alone. Naturally my master’s bedroom turned into Waterloo Station. I remained hidden, trying to sleep through the racket of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson rifling through my master’s room. Normally I would have protested at the intrusion, but I was just too tired to care.

Then there was finally silence. Wonderful peace! I blissfully fell into a slumber, dreaming about my homeland. I was basking in the warm sun of my memories when all of a sudden I was awakened by a swift whack on my head. What the hell?! I woke up with a start to find a mysterious object being swung at me. I quickly moved in the only direction I saw, up along a rope. How did I get out of my nest? Why was I slithering up a rope? Why was I being hit?

It took a moment for all the pieces to fall into place. I wasn’t in my master’s room any more. I was in the bedroom next door, but I didn’t know how I got there. But I was now very awake and very angry due to the abuse I was having thrown at me. I moved as fast as I could up the rope and was relieved to find at the end a vent that miraculously led back to my master’s room.

As I crawled through the vent, in a moment of what can only be described as pure clarity, it dawned on me: I was the speckled band Julia screamed about! I must have sleep-slithered into her room and bit her. I had killed her!
With that realization, I immediately knew who the true villain was. I flew through the vent into my master’s room and took my frustrations out on him! But before I could enjoy my moment of victory against evil, a leash was swiftly put around my head, by someone whom I could only assume was Sherlock Holmes, and I was put back in my home until the authorities came to take me away.
But I swear I didn’t know what I was doing! My master was the one who made me commit the terrible murder. He tricked me into that bedroom knowing full well I sleep-slithered. I was used, USED, I TELL YOU! And if it wasn’t for that pesky, meddling consulting detective, I wouldn’t be here in snake pit prison. I should be rewarded for killing the real villain!

Cursssssssssssssse Sherlock Holmes!!