Soul Fire Read online

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  I woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. I was still on the roof, but I wasn’t worried; this happened more often than one might think. The warm summer air combined with the surprisingly comfortable roof tiles usually lulled me to sleep.

  I drew my knees to my chest, hugging them in tight. In the distance I could hear traffic, which usually meant it was about six in the morning. Instead of the spectacular hues of orange and pink the sun normally displayed at sunset, grey light was slowly spilling over the township. It was almost as if the sun was saying ‘well, no one is going to be awake to watch it anyway. Surely I can get away with not putting on a light show this morning.’

  “I feel you.” I told the sun, lying back down on the dew covered roof and throwing my arm over my eyes. To anyone watching (as absurd as sleeping on a roof may be), it would look as though I didn’t have a care in the world.

  But past my old cubby house in the backyard, and over the rapidly deteriorating fence, I knew I had seen him again.

  The same man from yesterday, standing just within the trees as though hiding.

  I sat up again, slowly inching down the shingles and back into my room. This time I closed the window firmly and latched it for the first time in ages. I wasn’t happy about him observing me from a distance so there was no way I was coming back from school and finding him in my closet or something.

  I checked my clock – 6:54am. Great. I had about an hour before school, which meant there was no way I was going to get that assignment done for Burgess. As it was, I only had time to have a quick shower and stuff a piece of toast into my mouth as I climbed into my car.

  Driving to school was rather terrifying. I had forgotten about the broken tail lights which were now rendering my car defectable, and of course my luck demanded that the only cop car in Ar Cena was on patrol, and of course, it drove past me.

  I squeezed the steering wheel tight, keeping my eyes ahead. I had a funny feeling that they were just waiting for a nervous glance in their direction so that they could pull me over.

  The cop car slid past and I let out the breath I’d been holding. I turned up my radio again and slumped in the driver’s seat, one arm out the window. I knew Ar Cena like the back of my hand. And whilst I was prone to road rage, I had learnt that I couldn’t rage and swear in my home town, after an embarrassing incident in which I managed to call my grandmother a ‘fat lazy cow who got her driver’s license out of a cereal box’. That’s about when I stopped getting Christmas presents, and honestly, I don’t blame her.

  The school day passed quickly and I decided to skip English, lest Mr Burgess make true on his promise to call my mother about the absent assignment.

  I pulled into our driveway and immediately noticed that my mother’s car was missing. I sighed; she’d been working later and later at the hospital recently - I was starting to feel like an orphan. Usually I didn’t mind, but I was in the mood to talk with someone with the same mindset as me, the man in the woods weighing heavily on my mind.

  I let myself in using my key and slung my bag down on the shoe stand. Out of habit, I scuffed my shoes on the frayed rug that covered the floorboards, an act that my mother had promised she would gut me for, but one that she’d picked up herself without realising.

  I meandered through the living room and switched on the TV for some noise; I told myself it was for some background noise, but I knew it was because I wanted it to seem like there were more people in the house. A six pack of beer and a note on the table caught my eye, and I picked it up.

  Please be a good daughter and cook dinner. Yes, you can have a beer. Love, Mum.

  I tore a bottle loose of its cardboard prison, twisting the cap and listening for the satisfying crack. Since I’d turned eighteen, Mum had been a lot more lenient with my drinking than other mothers with daughters my age. Mum’s advice was ‘I’d prefer you learnt about it under my supervision rather than experimenting with others and making a tosspot of yourself.’ Despite her reasoning, she’d copped some pretty heavy criticism from her peers. She’d promptly told them to bugger off.

  I sipped the beer, wincing at the acrid taste on my tongue as I headed for the kitchen to start dinner. School always made me hungry, laughable considering I didn’t do much. I peeled open the freezer, hoping against hope there was still steak.

  “Bingo,” I told the freezer frost triumphantly, sliding two big, frozen steaks from its icy grasp.

  I pulled a fry pan from the cupboard and lit the gas stove, giving the lace curtains above it a half hearted tug away from the blue flames. Mum and I had always cursed whoever put those curtains there; as well as being a bloody nuisance, they posed a fire hazard whenever we cooked but we were too lazy to take them down. I drizzled some oil into the pan and left it to heat, heading back into the living room to check on the progress of whoever was trying to win a large sum of money on a show whose outcome had already been decided.

  Now I’ll take the time to flashback about six months ago.

  “What is that!?” My mother and I had both staggered into the hallway at the same time, wincing at the shrill screeching of something on the ceiling.

  “It’s the damn fire alarm,” she’d growled, eyeing it off, one hand over one ear and the other hand steadying herself on the wood panelling. “Pass me that broom will you?”

  I’d handed it over and then replaced my hands over my ears.

  Mum jabbed the broom handle at the fire alarm until the plastic buckled and the beeping gurgled into nothing. Now hanging limply from the ceiling like a dead bird, it was utterly silent.

  “Isn’t that illegal?” I’d ventured, watching it dangle.

  Mum had shrugged, already heading back to bed.

  “I’ll replace it soon.”

  Turns out this show was quite entertaining. I rolled the beer bottle between my palms, giving helpful advice to the man who was trying to choose between forty grand and his girlfriend.

  Suddenly, I sniffed. At first I thought I’d just let the pan get a bit hot and it was smoking. But then I turned around and caught a glimpse of those bloody lace curtains.

  Or at least, what used to be the curtains.

  “Shit!”

  I dropped the bottle, darting into the kitchen. I seized the mop bucket from the cupboard and filled it with water, dousing the inferno that was quickly engulfing the kitchen. Smoke filled the air and I coughed, squinting. It smelt like burning mothballs – a result of my Grandma being our cleaner. I pulled my collar over my mouth and nose, employing an old trick that I’d learnt in primary school.

  It didn’t work. My eyes were watering and I could barely keep them open. I dropped the mop bucket and watched as the fire began to grow and devour my home.

  Suddenly I was knocked out of the way. Against the smoke, I recognized my stalker. He flung his hands out as if to protect me, but as I watched, the flames grew smaller and smaller, until they tucked into a little ball that he picked up and slipped into his pocket.

  I must’ve drunk that beer more quickly than I’d thought.

  “You should be more careful,” he said, turning to me. “This could’ve been bad if- hey!”

  I held the saucepan at the ready, having snatched it off the counter and struck his arm with it.

  “What are you doing?” he spluttered.

  “What am I doing? What are you doing!?” I swung the saucepan up to my shoulder, ready to react to his slightest movement. “I’ve seen you watching me. And now you’re in my house.”

  “So you take up arms with a saucepan?” he asked, somewhat amused, though his dark eyes never left mine.

  I scowled but didn’t reply.

  Sirens wailed from down the road. Mrs Rogers next door must’ve seen the smoke. My stalker glanced around quickly.

  “I’m going to leave you now-“

  “Damn straight.” I snapped.

  “- but listen to me,” he gripped my elbow, which almost resulted in the saucepan coming down
on his head. “Listen to your dreams.”

  I lowered my saucepan a little.

  “What?”

  My eyes flicked to the driveway as a fire truck pulled into it, and I quickly turned back to question him further.

  But he was gone. The back door slammed and I ran to the window just in time to see him jump the fence, knocking a few more boards from it.