Ashes, Ashes, We All Must Die

Chapter 3

Blood soaked through Christopher's clothes as he lay in the street, where Axel had stood moments before. Axel left nothing but a dark pool of blood, now smeared on the pavement. Christopher grabbed his ears, rocking back and forth. Shrieking, screaming.

Then came a thought. And he screamed more.

Tears flooded Christopher's eyes, threatening to fall. He wouldn't accept it. It couldn't be true. His best friend, Axel, could not be... dare he even say it... dead.

Paramedics had arrived after a neighbor called from the blood and Christopher's shrieks. Nobody but Christopher claimed to have seen the tragic vanishing of Axel. They claimed that Christopher's brain couldn't cope with whatever horror he'd witnessed, and virtually erased his memory of it.

Christopher had only said a single word since the incident.

"Axel"

Claims of a wild animal carrying off Axel's corpse were made.

Search parties weren't put out. "Nobody survives as much blood loss as that," a police officer, Sam, announced. Sam wasn't a very well liked person. She was always quick to jump to conclusions. However, this time, her argument was quite strong.

Blood still pooled in the street, smeared around, and completely covering Christopher, but he put little thought into it. He just wanted to know where his friend was. He wanted to know he was safe. Alive, even.

The Lees hadn't shown up either. Something was very wrong, but Christopher still said nothing. He couldn't. He just sat and continued to sob, and scream.

Axel was running from something, and Christopher knew in his heart. He would kill this thing, to avenge Axel. To set things right. He stood up, when the adults' heads were turned, and made for the Lee residence.

Step by step, Chris carefully approached the door of Axel's house. With a tiny creak, the door slid open, to reveal a squeaky-clean white living room. Nothing seemed out of place. Chris journeyed further into the house. As much blood as Axel had lost, not a single drop was in sight.

Venturing into the kitchen, he saw a cold pan of chicken broth and uncooked noodles accompanying it on the counter nearby, as if it were unfinished.

He stared at it a moment, confused. Slowly he became aware of a strange ticking noise coming from the stove.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

Louder and louder the ticking grew faster.

Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!

Suddenly, the stove erupted in a burst of white-hot flame, knocking Christopher off his feet. The flame settled, bringing the pot to a boil.

How strange, Christopher thought. He feared the house catching fire, and turned the stove burner off. Again, the ticking started.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

Christopher backed away, slowly.
Tick! Tick!

Once again the stove lit itself. The pot began to boil again. Bubbling almost to the top, rising rapidly.

3 centimeters from the top... then 2... then 1... just as it was about to boil over...

BAM! The pot fell off the stove, spilling boiling chicken broth all over the floor, splashing onto his shoes and burning Christopher's feet.

With a woosh, the stove shut itself off, ceasing the flames. With a flash, the lightbulb above Christopher's head exploded in a crash. Shattered glass rained over him. Cutting his face, arms, hands, and neck. Gashes plagued his body, and small shards remained sticking out of his flesh.

With a scream, Christopher fell to the ground, head spinning, and slipped out of consciousness.