When Harold saw the thing slithering out from beneath his bed he felt both vindicated and horrified.
His parents wouldn’t listen to him the first time he became aware of it’s presence. That’s why he wasn’t on the bed tonight and hiding behind his chest of drawers with a baseball bat.
When the thing slithered on top of his bed and wound itself around his pillow, he rushed out and smashed it into a bloody pulp!
The next morning.
“Have you seen a boa constrictor around?” his mother asked. “Billy next door said his pet boa escaped.”
“No,” he lied.
Clem got off his worn-out horse. The poor creature was near death after three days of running from his tracker who he suspected was a bounty hunter.
His crime, killing a man in self defense. No trial.
Took his saddle and warbag off his horse, turning him loose. In the horizon he saw a cloud of dust. A rider. Maybe an hour away. The blazing sun was merciless. He was out of water. Only one bullet left in his revolver.
This was his last stand. Finally, the rider drew near.
“Is that you Clem?” his brother cried out in surprise.