Storyteller's Cabin
Adapted from folklore by Craig Dominey
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In the summertime, Martin liked to take Sunday off and sit up on a rocky bluff near the top of Stone Mountain. There, he would play his fiddle and watch the sun come up over the green, rolling hills. Sometimes he would spend all day up there, playing reel after reel until the sun dropped from the sky.
One day, Martin was playing a slow, leisurely tune on his fiddle when a rattlesnake slithered out from under a rock, curled up in the sun, and watched him play. Then another one came out and joined him, followed by yet another. Before Martin knew it, the surrounding rocks were filled with rattlesnakes. Most people would have fainted dead away in terror at that point, but Martin was fascinated. For the snakes made no move to strike -- instead, they swayed back and forth to the music like scaly, reptilian metronomes.
As the sun went down and dark shadows filled the valley, the snakes slithered back into their nests. Martin packed up his fiddle with a chuckle, and made plans to come back next week -- but with a surprise.
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