Stories of Halloween: The Firebug

A Grand Plan

Smitty looked at his watch. 12:01. It was officially Halloween. He clapped his hands together and smiled. It was his most favorite day of the year. The one day he didn't have to hold back. The one day to let his real self show. The one day he got to light whatever he wanted on fire.

Every other day of the year he had to restrain himself from lighting things on fire, but not on Halloween. Halloween was the one time a year that he allowed his obsession to shine through. He had been doing it for fifty three years.

It started when he was eight. He was playing with a lantern in the old Donovan barn. He dropped the lantern and the whole place went up in flames. Tears had streamed down his cheeks. Not tears of sadness or regret. Tears of awe. Tears because he had never seen anything so powerful or so beautiful.

Smitty knew, right at that moment, that was what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to sit back and watch things burn. And burn they had. Up until he was in his mid teens he set fires regularly. Houses, stores, dumpsters, animal shelters. If it could could start aflame Smitty had lit it.

But before long the authorities started catching onto the fact that they had a firebug in their community. They started neighborhood watches to try and catch whoever the pyromaniac was, so Smitty had to step things back. It was then that he decided in order not to be caught he had to censor himself. He had to make sure that he wasn't out of control.

Halloween was a night of mischief and fun for children of all ages. Pranksters were always causing a ruckus and sitting things on fire on Halloween night. That would be the perfect time for him to continue his life's work and not be suspected for it.

So every Halloween he would light a fire somewhere in town. He remembered each and every fire with vivid detail. Starting those beautiful fires was the only thing that made him feel alive. It made him feel powerful. More than human. Godlike.

With a strange grin on his face he thought back to the Halloween of 1972. He had lit the whole cemetery on fire. He watched through binoculars from the woods as the fire crew tried to contain the fire that quickly spread through the grasses bushes. It took them an hour and a half to put it  out.

The year after that he set the pharmacy on fire. He almost got caught for that one. He remembered the rush of running from the two old, fat policemen who were chasing him. He lost them in the woods and he laughed to himself all the way home.

Two years after that he burned the orphanage down. The children had to sleep in the gymnasium of the local middle school for six months. Smitty was the custodian at that particular middle school and every time he saw the kids bed down on the hard wood floor he would chuckle to himself.

That fire had gotten out of hand. A little girl had died in it. That wasn't his intent, but it was a small price to pay for such a beautiful sight. Sacrifices had to be made from time-to-time in the name of his art.

There were other times that people had lost their lives due to his hobby throughout the years,  but what joy his little fires had brought him heavily outweighed any wee bits of guilt that may have tugged at his heart. For a fifty three year career not too many lives were taken. Only eight. Two women, three men and five children (counting the one from the orphanage). Smitty felt that was a fair trade.

After he checked his gear one last time he settled down to get some rest. Two cans of gasoline, two lighters and eight U-lock bicycle locks. Those U-locks would come in handy later as Smitty performed his masterpiece. The coup de gras of his entire career of arson.

When the middle school that he had worked at for so many years was having its "harvest party" in the gymnasium he would use the U-locks to seal all the doors shut. He would then douse the whole thing with gasoline and light it up.

The children inside and their parents would make a glorious noise when they saw that the gym was ablaze. How they would shriek and wail. It would attract everyone in the town. They would all see his handy work first hand. Did he like some of the kids? Yes, but this fire would be the granddaddy of all fires. It would be remembered as the grandest fire that was ever set. The most glorious blaze to ever encompass their town.

His other fires would make the local newspapers and sometimes the local news, but this one... oh how this one would make national news. Possibly world news. Smitty was excited. Smitty was ready. What was he ready for? The grandest part of it. Not the fire itself. The fire would be heavenly and terrifying,  but the most outstanding part of the whole thing would be that Smitty would finally be recognized for his life's work.

After this fire that would cost dozens their lives he would turn himself into the police. He would be famous. His face would be everywhere. An instant celebrity. He would be on every news station and tabloid tv show in the country. Maybe the world. He would be a god amongst arsonists. Their king.

"Settle down. Settle down, Smitty, old boy," he said to himself as he walked towards his bedroom. "First you have to get some rest before your grand finale."

He walked into his room and sat on his bed. He had to get some sleep if he was going to perform his swan song later that night. He was giddy with excitement, but without his proper rest he could muddle things up. Knowing that he might not get another chance like this again, he took his pills off then nightstand and popped them into his mouth, washed them down with the glass of water he had brought in with him, turned off his light and settled down on his bed.

Just as he closed his eyes he was awakened by a noise. Someone was knocking on his door.