I introduced Preston to you last week. You will learn even more about him this week as you read one of his latest stories, and it brings on the laughter. So… no waiting around… just enjoy a fun story today!

And… thank you for sharing your talent with us, Preston.

Trepidation

By Preston K. Green

Smitty was a man in his late fifties who had two great fears in life. One, critters in his storage shed. And two, snakes. Unfortunately, the two often overlapped.

Every Saturday morning like clockwork, he marched across his backyard toward the little wooden shed that housed his riding mower. And every Saturday morning, he approached it the same way a soldier approaches a hostile bunker.

He’d start stomping about five feet away, hollering at the top of his lungs:

“ALRIGHT, YOU LITTLE DEVILS, COMING THROUGH! CLEAR THE BUILDING! MOVE IT ALONG! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!”

He slapped the side of the shed, rattling the tin paneling, then kicked the door twice for good measure. His wife, Margaret, had long ago given up trying to talk him out of it. She would just sip her coffee on the back porch and watch the spectacle like it was her own private comedy show.

That morning, Smitty kicked the door open with a mighty grunt, flipped the switch on the wall, and strutted in still yelling.

“I AIN’T AFRAID OF YA, RACCOONS! SPIDERS! POSSUMS! EVEN YOU, STUPID CHIPMUNK—I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE SOMEWHERE!”

He marched right to the mower, chest puffed out like he was about to wrestle a bear. But when he sat down, he realized something critical.

“Aw, for cryin’ out loud,” he muttered. “Left the dang key in the house.”

He spun around to march back out—and froze.

Right there, not six inches from where his hand had just flicked on the light, a long, scaly tail was slithering into the light switch fixture on the wall.

For half a second Smitty’s brain shut down. Then it restarted in full panic.

“SNAAAAAAAAKE!” he bellowed, sprinting out of the shed like he was being chased by a flamethrower. He didn’t stop until he was bent over in the middle of the yard, clutching his knees, gasping for breath.

Margaret leaned out the back door. “Honey, are you alright?”

“Snake!” he managed between wheezes.

—

Hours later, after pacing, sweating, and muttering battle plans under his breath, Smitty tried again. He wasn’t about to let a little reptile rob him of his yard work. He stomped louder this time, yelled even more ridiculous things—

“ALRIGHT, SLITHERIN’ DEVIL, THIS IS MY TERRITORY! YOU DON’T PAY RENT, YOU DON’T LIVE HERE!”

Then, cautiously, he poked his head around the doorframe like a burglar checking for alarms. He squinted at the light switch. No tail. No snake. Nothing.

“Ha,” he whispered to himself. “Must’ve slithered off.”

He strutted in, still shouting bravely. Just as he was congratulating himself on surviving the ordeal, his boot landed on something soft and lumpy on the shed floor.

It was just an old wad of dried grass from the mower. But in his mind? It was an ANACONDA, twenty feet long, coiled and ready to swallow him whole.

“YEEEAAAHHHHHHHH!” he screamed, launching himself backward through the door, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Margaret reappeared at the back door, arms folded. “Honey? You okay?”

“J-just my mind playin’ tricks,” he wheezed, face pale.

—

But Smitty wasn’t about to surrender. No sir. That lawn wasn’t going to mow itself. He squared his shoulders, stomped one more round of threats into the shed, and this time, he went all in. He hopped on the mower, turned the key (retrieved from the house earlier), and triumphantly drove it out of the shed.

The victory felt glorious. He even allowed himself a cocky little grin.

“See? Nothin’ to it. I got this.”

Just then, Margaret strolled across the yard with her coffee, as casual as could be. She glanced at him, then tilted her head.

“Smitty, honey… what’s that on the back of your seat?”

His heart stopped. Slowly, painfully slowly, he twisted around. And there it was. The same snake, curled up like a king on his throne, riding along behind him.

Smitty levitated off that mower, arms flailing, and hit the ground running. He tore across the yard screaming like a man who had just seen the devil himself. Margaret just sipped her coffee, watching him bolt for the house.

The mower sputtered along with the snake perched proudly on its seat, ruler of Smitty’s shed once more.

THE END

Ha Ha!

Have a great week and keep reading… and writing!