Footsteps thumped inside as they descended a flight of stairs. Benny turned out to be about forty, with medium brown hair that begged to be cut. His bangs hung over his face, though it was short on top and long and shaggy in the back. His glasses swung on a lanyard around his neck. He wore gloves on his hands and carried a gun in a holster on his belt. I hoped it wasn’t for dealing with his creatures. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. On my own, Benny would have been intimidating. With Christopher here, I was unconcerned.
Benny peered out the glass of the door. When he saw us, he unlocked it.
“You must be Elizabeth.” He peeled off his gloves, looking Christopher up and down.
I nodded and shook his hand.
Christopher stretched out his hand. “I’m Christopher. I work with Elizabeth. She has severe laryngitis, so she asked me to do the talking. I hope that’s all right.”
“Sure,” said Benny with a shrug. “Nice to meet you, folks. Come on up.”
He held the door open, and we started up the stairs while he relocked the door below and followed. The air inside was warm and filled with a musty smell I disliked, much like the reptile house at the Seattle Zoo. To me, the smell meant snake.
Terrariums lined three walls, while larger floor tanks with lids divided the rooms into sections. The fourth wall had a desk and several windows with natural light. In one tank, seven or eight large rattlesnakes slithered over each other, their patterned scales creating an optical illusion that was mesmerizing to watch.
I recognized Gila monsters on one side. Smaller terrariums contained a variety of spiders, according to the signs. I couldn’t see the arachnids from this distance. The odor was stronger here. It was easy to imagine pokey little spider feet crawling on my skin. I shivered and stayed as far from the walls and tanks as possible.
“You asked about the Arizona bark scorpion,” Benny said. “I’ve got seven. They’re rare these days. They collected too many in the name of science in the past.”
We peered into the indicated enclosures. The yellowish-brown bark scorpions varied in size. Two were less than an inch in length, while the largest was as long as my hand. I shuddered. Insects or arachnids that size were terrifying, more like monsters than bugs. I looked to my left, where more large glass tanks contained snakes. They were labeled cottonmouths, copperheads, and coral snakes. Nearby were the Gila monsters and Mexican beaded lizards with their slow alien movements, and claws splayed out in the sand. I tried to look away, but there was nowhere that was creature-free.
They’d filled the far wall with shelves containing smaller terrariums, each one housing spiders, mostly tarantulas. Spiders like these starred in the horror movies in my mind, though I avoided actual scary movies.
These tarantulas were behind glass. I was safe, but I hated it here. It was too warm and made me feel sticky. And it stunk. I couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if the creatures got loose. My eyes darted from place to place, scanning for creatures that might have escaped on their own. Christopher shot me an amused glance. Right now, the inside of my head was probably a riot.
Christopher had memorized the questions and asked them through conversation.
“This is quite a collection. I’ve never seen so many venomous creatures in one place before. How deadly are the snakes to handle? I remember seeing TV shows that made it look like they’re more docile than we think.”
“Most people, like me, who handle snakes keep antivenom nearby—as do hikers in the desert or swampy areas where corals and cottonmouths live,” said Benny. “I’m careful, but you don’t take chances.”
“I’ve never heard of cottonmouths.” Christopher looked at the tank where several swam in the water and another twined around a branch in the corner, half in and half out of the water. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air in my direction.
I suppressed a shudder.
“Another name is the water moccasin.” Benn lifted one from the water with a metal hook and the snake twined around his arm.
I couldn’t stand to watch and looked away.
“Could it kill you?” said Christopher. “If it bites?”
His blue eyes watched the snake, intent on keeping out of its striking range. He didn’t step back, but I did. I wouldn’t take chances. My sweat glands were working overtime.
“Their venom keeps blood from clotting, right?” said Christopher.
His questions were close to the ones on my list, but reworded when necessary. The anti-clotting was something I’d wondered about from a book calledThe Yearlingthat I’d read as a teen.
“That’s right.” Benny deposited the snake back in the water, where it glided away in the tank. “I’m careful. I’ve got antivenom. Different for each species.”
“Does anyone have a use for venomous snakes?” said Christopher. “Besides zoos and displays or collections like yours.”
“Not really,” said Benny. “Unless you count the Pentecosts.”
“Who?” said Christopher.
This was news to me. I’d heard about the “Shakers” in the seventeenth and eighteenth century and figured that snake-handling religious groups were a thing of the past. Made sense that they mostly died out. Since they’d let venomous snakes bite them on purpose.
“Pentecosts. Religious groups who handle snakes, usually copperheads. They’re mostly in the Appalachian region, but there’s a chapter in this area. Their Church has been accused of mistreating the snakes, not watering them, so they dehydrate and become more docile, less likely to strike. Makes their venom weaker. Handling snakes is supposed to prove their faith in God that they won’t be harmed.”
