Reid had been faced with an impossible decision—watch his friend be consumed by the creature, or heed Clint’s last heroic plea and run for his life. As helpless as he was, it still seemed cowardly to run and leave Clint to his death. But what could he have done? Could he have stopped it? He could no more have stopped this evil than the one that had crept though his mother’s body. Still, he felt responsible.
His father’s words echoed through his mind. It’s all your fault, you worthless piece of shit. She’s gone, and what am I left with? A rotten, good-for-nothing waste of space.
For a moment, Reid cowered on the other side of the hatch door, shaking at the memories, waiting to feel his father’s fist. But it didn’t come. In the end, he’d followed his friend’s instructions and ran for his own life. He’d made it back to the hatch door and slammed it shut behind him, then collapsed in a heap of despair, back against the door, hearing the muffled cries of Clint as he burned. Like the boy who had just sat there and taken blow after blow from his father, he sat helpless and petrified, hearing wail after wail from his friend.
That had all been some time ago. Everything around him now was silent. Perhaps it was better to think about his father beating him than what Clint had gone through.
His friend’s voice in his head pushed all thoughts of his father out. Heather and Alex, get them outta here, okay?
Reid forced himself to open his eyes and check his surroundings. He held the lantern out. The hatch door behind him was gone, but he didn’t care, nor was he surprised. Time to move forward. Time to get Heather and Alex the fuck out of here. He was back in the first room they’d entered when they came into the house. When had that been, anyway? For all he knew it could’ve been days, weeks even. Or had it been mere hours? This house made him lose all his senses. Thirst raked at his throat. The pungent smell of dried sweat came off his body in waves. It made him sure he’d been in this house for longer than he’d originally suspected.
The crackle of the fireplace drew his attention. A log collapsed, sending sparks and ash forward. Reid sighed. Lost in a maze. He felt like a rat, running round and round, never finding the way out. Of course, the front door wasn’t there, nor was the window, for all the good they’d done in the past.
The view of the fireplace became obstructed, like he was looking through a murky window. He squinted, and then the fireplace disappeared as the shape of a man came to be, huddled on the floor in front of it. Reid had seen this man before. It was the same man they’d all seen, except this time he was alone. No baby, no wife.
The man’s figure bucked and heaved, no sound at first, only the jerking motions. And then, as if someone turned the volume dial on the radio up, Reid heard sobs. Chills climbed his spine. Men weren’t supposed to cry, Reid knew that. When they did, it meant they were either weak or something awful was happening. Like when his mother died and he came upon his father sobbing.
He shook the thought from his mind. Cautiously he rose to his feet, hoping to get a better view through the dreamlike haze but not draw any attention. The cloudiness of the scene in front of him dissolved, getting clearer the closer he got.
The man continued crying, seemingly unaware of Reid’s presence. As Reid came up behind him, from the side, he could see him covering his face with his hands, his sobs muffled.
Through his hands, the man muttered, “They’re dying. Both of them. And there’s nothing I can do. Why does God punish me so?”
The scene sucked Reid in, and he needed to test the reality of it. He reached out to touch the man’s shoulder, but it went right through. Frostbite stung his fingertips and he gasped, clutching his hand to his chest.
In the fireplace, the flame cracked and shot up, lighting the room. Reid flung back to the wall. It was as if the fire was alive, and even more disconcerting, the flame spoke. It had an inhuman voice, neither male nor female, and was garbled and scratchy. The volume faded in and out with the quivering blaze.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. They can stay. They can stay.”
The man pulled his hands away from his face and gazed into the fire. He drew in a deep breath and halted his sobbing.
Reid, too, held his breath, waiting for what might come next, afraid to be noticed by anyone or anything in the room.
But there was silence.
He began to doubt if he’d ever heard anything in the fire at all. He exhaled. Just the mind playing tricks, of course.
The man also seemed to give up on having heard anything, and lowered his head again.
After gaining courage from the stillness of the scene, Reid stepped forward again, just off to the side of the man.
“Hey. Hey, Mister. Can you hear me, Mister?”
The man didn’t move.
“Hey, buddy! How the hell do I get out of this house? Is this your house? What did you do?” Reid felt like he was going to burst from everything he’d seen and done since he led his friends into this place. “Hey, fuckface! Cocksucker.”
The man still didn’t budge.
“Dip shit. Douche-nozzle. Penis-breath! How do I get out of this hellhole?”
The fire spit forward, a flame licking toward the man, whose head shot up, and Reid bolted backwards.
“Fire consumes. Fire cleanses. Fire renews.”
The man shook his head, covering his ears. He mumbled, “Madness. I must be ill as well.”
“The fire consumes sickness.” The voice sounded like the hiss of a snake, and slithered across Reid’s skin like a living thing.
As Reid stared into the fire, he thought the flame appeared to have a serpentine quality, a tail curling in on itself, wrapping around and around. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. No snake, only a flame.
“I know a way they can stay,” the fire whispered.
The man leaned forward, sucked in by temptation.
The fire licked out again and this time touched the man’s face like a lover’s tender hand, stroking his cheek. When the man didn’t draw back, another flame came out to his other cheek and caressed as it whispered,
“Lean closer. I’ll show you what you must do.”
The man moved to hands and knees and crawled forward, his face just inches from the fireplace. The flames still held his cheeks, coaxing him closer.
Reid struggled to hear as the voice’s volume rose and fell. He couldn’t make out much of what was said, but he had a feeling he was missing something unseen. As if the fire showed the man what must be done. The flames drew back like a vacuum had sucked them into the fireplace, leaving the man’s cheeks scorched.
“To burn, to burn, as you must, too.”
And then the fire went out.
Reid risked turning the lantern back on, hoping that whatever had been in the room was now gone. Part of him knew it was a memory playing out in front of him. A memory imprinted on the room, the house.
He looked back to where he’d entered the room and found the hatch door there once again. He
jerked the door open and climbed through.
Frightened voices reached out from the darkness, to him.
The first one said, “Someone just opened a door.”
A female voice said, “I can’t see past the light. I’m scared, Alex.”
Reid breathed in a sigh of relief. “It’s me. It’s Reid.”
He stepped further into the room, shining the lantern light toward Alex, who sat on the ground, beside Reid’s mother’s rocking chair. Or at least, what remained of it. It was snapped, broken, pieces of it strewn around Alex.
Reid hesitated. “Alex, is that really you?”
“Who else would I be?”
Reid held the lantern as close to Alex as he could without stepping forward any farther, and studied the face of the boy who sat before him. Alex’s brown eyes twinkled back at him. The glare made Alex cringe, and Reid couldn’t help but stare at his best friend’s almost-unibrow. If it hadn’t been such a dire time, he would’ve laughed. Leaning closer, he noted the soft, uneven scruff of a mustache that’d been coming in for the past six months. He’d been bugging Alex to shave it for some time. He unconsciously brought a hand to his own chin and stroked it to see if his stubble had yet begun to grow in since he’d last shaved. Wondering how long they’d been in the house.
Finally convinced the person in front of him was Alex, he then turned the light to Heather, who was standing and brushing her hands on her pants.
“Heather?”
Her eyes grew wide and she raised her eyebrows as she fumed at him. “Did you hit your head or something, jag-off? You’re acting wicked dumb.”
“Yup, that’s you.” Reid reached out and helped Alex to his feet.
“Where’s Clint?” Heather asked. “You find him?”
Reid took a step toward her and then froze, realizing what she was covered in. He’d been in this room not too long ago with Clint.
“Stop. Stop, stay still.”
Heather ran a hand across her face, leaving an ashy smudge above her lip and across her cheek. “I fell in something. Like sand or—”
“Stop that right now!” Reid yelled.
“Whoa, whoa, chill.” Alex put a hand on Reid’s chest.
Reid dropped his head toward the ground. “Yeah, I found Clint, but…it was too late.”
He scanned the room, then spotted the chest in the corner and moved to it. Flung it open and pulled out one of his mother’s scarves. Strode to Heather and brushed the scarf over her face, trying to remove the smudge. He wondered how best to break the news, to tell Heather what was right in front of his face, and all over hers.
“The ash on you. That’s Clint.”