Burn For Me

Twelve years ago an arsonist burned down a house, reducing it to charred wreckage with the family inside. By morning, no sign remained of the four residents except one single bone. Everyone believed them dead, myself included. We were so wrong.


1. Refuge

 Twelve years ago my neighbors’ house burned down in a mysterious fire, the flames so hot that not even the expedient arrival of three fire engines could save it. By morning, nothing was left, no sign of the residents remaining, save a single charred bone. No one knew what happened there, what started the fire or how it managed to obliterate the property so completely. But, more importantly, no one knew where the owners had gone, or even if they were alive.


 They never did rebuild that house. The lot stands abandoned and empty now, growing weeds where once it grew neat clusters of flowers. Well, not totally empty. The ruins are there, buried under scraggly plants and thick grass.


 No one goes there now. It’s cursed. It’s haunted. It’s dangerous.


 I’ve always had a thing for danger. Fear, it’s nothing new for me. And that empty lot, it’s the one place I know no one will find me, no one will laugh at me, curse me, hurt me.


 That place, it’s my last refuge. That burned down house is my last home.

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