An old, decrepit snake, Kreacher by name, lay comfortably on a warm, cozy rock and told his tale:

Before, when I was a snake of only twelve summers, I had a good friend named Catchy. Catchy and I were adventurous young snakes, having no notion of and complete disregard for danger. Danger, to us, was something from another world, unheard of.

Epic adventure awaited us when we heard about a haunted farmstead about a mile away. Farmer Mordecai had committed suicide a couple decades ago and rumor had it that his spirit was confined to his old farm.
“Great,” I said. “Haunted houses must have plenty of places to explore!”

Inside the dark house, we noticed that we were in what must have been the sitting room. Jars and broken chairs cluttered the room, making it difficult to advance.
“Kreacher, check out this chest over here” Catchy said.
“Looks more like a coffin to me” I replied.

Making my way towards the coffin, I saw a dust-coated inscription on it. Near the inscription, there was a strange symbol ? carved in the wood. On the inscription, I noticed letters from a different language scribbled at random.
“Pray, Kreacher” Catchy called. “Queer to find this coffin here, isn´t it?”
“Rightly noted, Catchy; let´s open it, shall we?”
“So we shall” he answered.

Tampering with the lid for awhile, we managed to pry it open. Under the lid, the skeleton of a snake of gigantic proportions lay in a grotesque position. Vaguely remembering that Mordecai had loved snakes, the thought that perhaps he was the snake occurred to me.

Wary of snake-men, we decided to leave the farm before Snake-ghost Mordecai woke up and noticed us there. “X´ing” ourselves to ward off any evil spirits, we slowly trudged back home.

Yes, we had an adventure that night, but we decided to stay away from that place from then on. Zeal, fun, and thrills are all good, but remember to always be very careful about where you go.