House Of Flames

It was a bright sunny afternoon. We were driving up to our new home; a new beginning for all of us. My wife, Lauren and my son John, still snuggled up in the backseat of the car, deep in sleep. It was a long journey up the hills. A good 2 hours it took, but I was excited nonetheless. A rather big house, with 8 bedrooms, a wide, open garden and a lovely view of the ocean. All this for such a cheap price was too good to be true. The only problem being that the house is secluded from the city. It would take at least an hour to reach the city in case something were to happen. I cleared my mind of these thoughts as I pulled up to the gate of the house. 

I woke both Lauren and John. They looked around with groggy eyes, scanning the area. I opened the gate and drove into the driveway and parked my car. We got out of the car and went to the trunk to unload out luggage. There were easily 12 bags neatly stuffed in the trunk. Once they were all unloaded and brought to the front door, I took out the key that was given to me after I signed the contract to buy the house and opened the door. As I swung the door open, a gust of wind and dust hit us, forcing us to close our eyes and begin coughing. We picked up the bags and walked in. It was astonishing. The carved wooden flooring, the marble ceiling, the spiral staircase that led to the second floor, the many different odds and trinkets left behind from the previous owners. All our furniture had already been brought in by the movers. It was perfect. I could see a whole new life forming in this very house. Suddenly, the door behind us swung shut; causing a loud, booming sound to echo throughout the house. We dismissed it as wind and brought our luggages upstairs, unwary of the figure watching us from the window. 

John immediately chose the bedroom with the bunk beds and tinted windows. He threw his bags on the top bed and climbed the ladder onto the bed. He laid there with a smile on his face. He then took out his GameBoy and started playing it. I snatched it away from him and told him to go look around the house. He sulked, jumped off the bed and went downstairs. Lauren and I went to the master bedroom. It had a king sized bed with a fur rug on the floor and a crystal chandelier suspended above. We walked in and placed our luggage on the ground. I looked and her and gave her a tight hug, assuring her that everything would be alright. She looked at me and gave me a kiss. I told her to go find John and have a look around the house while I unpacked. She hugged me again and went downstairs. I proceeded to unpack our luggage; taking out my work clothes and hanging it in the closet. As I hung my last shirt on the rack, I smelled something burning. I looked around the room but found nothing to be ablaze. I called to my wife and asked if she smelled it too. She looked at me confused and said she didn't. I quickly checked every room, upstairs and downstairs, but couldn't find the source of the burning smell. After awhile, it slowly went away and I dismissed it as my imagination or the smell of the old house. 

Later that evening, John and I were playing football in the garden when he kicked the ball into a bush. I pushed through the leaves and branches and reached for the ball. Just then, I heard a scream from the house. It was Lauren. I grabbed the ball,  dropped it in the garden and rushed into the house. She was in the kitchen, making dinner. I ran in and saw the stove on fire. Lauren was hitting the open flame with her cloth in an attempt to put out the fire,but to no avail. I took a jar of water from the kitchen counter and splashed it on the fire, dousing it. There were burn marks on the walls and table but my main concern was for Lauren. I ran to her to make sure she was alright. She didn't know what happened, it all happened so fast. I comforted her and told her to go to bed and that I'll just make a sandwhich for John and myself. She took off her apron and walked upstairs. I picked up the burnt meal and threw it in the trash. I made the sandwhiches from whatever was in the fridge and John and I ate. After our meal, we freshened up and I put John to bed. I walked to my room to find Lauren already asleep. I laid in bed and read a book as I was not yet sleepy. After an hour of reading, I closed the book and was ready for bed. As I reached for the light switch, I saw someone at the door. It was either a child or a very short man. I assumed it was John and asked him what he wanted, but he just stood there, looking at me. I got up and walked to the door but the moment I did, he sprinted away. I looked out into the dark hallway and saw no one. I yelled; "stay in your room, John!" and closed the door. I got into bed and turned off the light. However, I couldn't shake that eerie feeling of something or someone watching me. 

The next morning, I woke up to birds chirping. I looked out the window and saw some birds huddled up in their nest. I looked to my right and noticed my wife had already gotten out of bed. I stepped onto the cold, wooden floor and went downstairs. I could smell breakfast awaiting me as I stepped into the kitchen. John was sitting in his chair, munching on his toast. Lauren was busy cooking some eggs for me. I sat down and talked to John. I asked him what he was doing outside the room door last night. He looked at me, confused, as if I had just said the strangest thing in the world. "I wasn't outside your door last night", he replied. "Now, you don't have to pretend, John", I said. "No really, I wasn't", came his response. I looked him straight in the eye, I usually know when he's lying, but this time, he really wasn't lying. Then who was that outside my door that night? Had someone broken in, was it my imagination? There were so many questions in my head, all unanswered. I decided to go to the landlord for answers. I ran upstairs and got dressed. I told Lauren and John that I would be going out and got in my car. The landlord lived in the city, which was an hours drive from here. I got ready for the drive to the city. 

Once I arrived at the city, I drove over to the landlord's house and rang his doorbell. A man, in his mid-50s, wearing a singlet and boxers greeted me from his door. I told him I lived in the house on the hill. His facial expression changed from a happy one, to a solemn look. He opened his gate and invited me inside. I walked in and noticed many old books and magazines arranged neatly on his shelves. There was a desk in the middle of the house with stacks of paper and documents on top. He told me to wait and went into one of the back rooms. I stood there, waiting for him. Scanning the house. The architecture was old and had not been renovated. There were layers of dust on his books and chairs. Just then, he emerged from the room, carrying a stack of books and what looked to be newspaper cuttings. He placed them on his desk and took out an article from an old newspaper. I took the newspaper and began reading it. The headline, in bold letters said: "Child dies in tragic house fire". I looked at the picture that was in black and white and recognised it. This house was MY house! I stared at the article in horror, my eyes scanning every word. "Fire", "death", "burning". Just then, the landlord called out to me. He handed me a VCR tape. He told me that the report was on that tape but he did not have a VCR player. I just so happened to own one however. I thanked him and drove back home.