Cobra in the House!

I distinctly remember that day, it was my rest day. So I hopped on a bus and went over to my parents' place, 40 kms. from where I worked. I was still single at the time.

I usually went over on my rest days whenever I can because it was kind of boring at the bunkhouse where I stayed; my housemates were either asleep in their respective rooms or out on duty at the copper smelting plant. So, there I was, at my parents', watching a movie on VHS. Midway through the movie though, the sound of breaking glass at the bar behind me "interrupted" Steven Seagal, just as he was about to deliver a deadly blow to the bad guys- I had to press "pause" on the remote.

My younger sister, who was in the kitchen at the time, heard it too, so she went over to where the sound came from, to investigate. A few seconds later, she yelled, "Cobra!"

I leapt from my seat and ran to get my late grandpa's machete. It was a souvenir from world war II, given to him by some G.I. before they headed back to the USA. I hurriedly went back towards the cobra, it was more than two feet long, its head as big as my thumb. It slithered towards the staircase. I hacked at it, aiming for the middle of its body, but I missed, breaking the rusty machete in two near its handle in the process. Son*@#*%ch! It stood up, its hood widened in the process, and to my surprise, it hissed like a cornered cat!

Ever broken out in a cold sweat? And you feel the back of your shirt is wet, heavy with cold perspiration, and you suddenly feel something funny in the pit of your stomach? That's how I felt as I faced the cobra, hissing angrily at me.

"Get the Baygon spray..." I said to my sister as calmly as I could, meanwhile, I had grabbed a pushbroom's stick and kept it between me and the cobra. She handed it to me a few seconds later and I sprayed at the cobra's eyes. It hid under the piano and coiled its body, ready to strike at any moment. I aimed for the head and emptied the Baygon's contents while my other hand stabbed its body with the stick.

Suddenly it rushed towards me, I aimed for the head this time and whacked it with the broomstick. I hit its tail instead, but enough to slow it down. I cannot recall how many times I struck at it out of fear; I once read in the Reader's Digest that once you kill a cobra, your image will be embedded in its dead eyes, its mate will get to see it and hunt you down. It must be why I beat its head into a pulp.

How it got inside the house, I'll never know.

Edwin Kierulf

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