Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Jake's Diary

Friday 29th October

I can hardly write this.

Even now as I look back over these notes, my stomach churns and my heart aches. It's clear now. Whatever I'd tried to do, it wouldn't have been enough to stop him.

After my chat in the garden with Lottie, the day passed into evening and we snuck inside before David returned from upstairs.

'Are you sure we need to tell him?' I asked her as we sat at the kitchen table. 'It'll just worry everyone.'

'We can't keep secrets, Jake.' She played with the end of her sleeve. 'Look, I'll tell David if you don't want him to know you were in the garden.'

'No, no,' I said. 'We'll tell him.'

As we waited, an uncomfortable silence fell, and Lottie's eyes searched the room.

'Tell you what,' she said, 'let's light a candle.' She stood abruptly and left to fish through the drawers in the kitchen, returning with a vanilla-white Yankee Candle in a hard glass jar and a box of matches.

'How did you find that?'

'I spotted it a few days ago.' She retook her place at the table. 'And they're so relaxing, aren't they? Would be a shame to waste it.'

I agreed politely and watched as she struck the match and my heart fluttered.

Something about the fire was different. Its reds, whites, and yellows smoked through the wood, and inexplicably, I was drawn to it.

Lottie lit the wick and it exploded into colour. She warmed her hands against the flame before excusing herself to the toilet.

Once the door shut and I was alone, I watched the tiny splat of red.

When I was younger, like most kids, I would poke my fingers in the wax and take casts of my fingerprints, enjoying the slight burn and the inevitable telling off from my father. I'd roll the soft wax into all different shapes and animals, squash them back into the liquid, and watch them melt.

This is what I did now.

I poked out a finger, and, narrowly avoiding the hot glass and burning wick, dipped it in the wax.

But the pain never came.

Odd.

Perhaps I was too old?

I blew out my cheeks and sighed—there was nothing to do but wait and watch the candle.

Eventually, of course, temptation got the better of me, and I bent my finger so the knuckle touched the flame.

The door swung open. David paraded in with a screaming Caleb.

I whipped my hand from the fire and, surreptitiously, took a second to check it.

Nothing.

No burn at all.

'Where is everyone?' David asked, patting down the cushion before sitting at the head of the table and placing Caleb in his high chair.

'Lottie's in the toilet, and no one's seen Lily all afternoon.'

'Hmm.' David had his elbows on the table, fingers inter-weaved.

After a while, and after a few fractured attempts at conversation, Lottie and Lily arrived to end my torture. Lily came next to me, explaining she'd been asleep all day.

I wondered how her painting was going.

After fetching a platter of cheese and stale bread, we took our seats—just the five of us—and Lottie wasted no time in beginning our garden story.