flames | The Lost Boys (1987) | revised

| ONE |

When I was thirteen-years-old, I set the woods behind my house aflame. It didn't spread far before my mother took notice and called the fire department, but I can still remember the curious excitement that buzzed through my bones as I watched the first tree go up in flames. All it took was a few matches. I didn't think of how it might hurt the critters living in the forest or how much damage it would cause. My only thought was that they would go away – the masked people.

I didn't tell my mother I was the one who set the fire. If I did, I have no doubt she would have sent me away, sent me to the mental house. She couldn't see the people; nobody could - except me.

They would only ever watch. They would stand just a few feet into the woods and stare at me through the windows of my house. Even if masks covered their eyes, and their clothes covered any discernible features, I knew they were looking at me. The feeling of their gaze on my body, my face, would make my skin crawl.

There was one exception to my discomfort around them, and that was a few years later. My house had been set aflame, not by me, and I had sprinted outside of my home to see them standing there. There were tons of them, gathered in clumps, watching the flames as they had watched me.

I stood in the middle of them that night as the flames danced around us. The deep warmth I felt made me wonder if burning to death would hurt as much as I believed it would. After all, how could something that beautiful be so deadly? We sang that night, a deep and low hymn for the death of this home and the birth of something new. The only thought on my mind was the pull of the flames, even with my mother's cries in the distance.

The backseat of my mother's convertible was one of the most uncomfortable places I had ever been before. I had been laid across the sticky, leather seating for hours now, and I doubted I would be able to peel myself from them if I wanted to.

After the fire had burned my house to the ground completely, my mother packed our bags and told me we were heading North. The townspeople had caught word of what had happened, and rumors spread quickly. Though nobody knew what had truly happened, it was believed that I was the one who made the house catch aflame.

To be honest, they had valid reasons to believe that. I was always one of the outcast kids, quiet in the classroom and never seen around the town unless my mother dragged me out. I even carried matches with me no matter where I was - a box in my back pocket, one behind my ear, maybe. Even now, I was twirling one between my fingers, something I found myself doing often.

There was a small itch in the back of my head, begging me to light it, but I pushed it back. I don't understand what is so enrapturing about flames, about the burn, but because of it, I found myself buying an excessive amount of candles, lighters, and more. Though, I always preferred a good match.

I jumped a bit as I made eye contact with my mother through the rearview mirror. Her eyes were practically slits as she glared at me. "Put that away this instant, Ivy," she snarled. She broke eye contact with me for only a moment to check the road before looking back. I sighed but complied, pushing it into the pockets of my shorts. It was a dud, so I wasn't too worried about it lighting on accident.

"Who are we living with," I questioned. I had asked her this on multiple occasions, but it never truly clicked in my head. After all, I had never really met any of my relatives. They all lived hundreds of miles away from me, so I never put in the effort to get to know them.

"Your Aunt Julia has so graciously taken us in, and we'll be living in her brick house." She emphasized the word 'brick' as a jab to the fact that she also believed I was the one who had set our house on fire. I rolled my eyes. "I don't know why I keep having to repeat this, but you'll be staying in her kid's old room." I remembered that. She has a son who moved out only a year ago, departing for college.

My nose curled involuntarily as we passed the border into Santa Carla. It smelled horrible, and it reminded me of why I hated places near large bodies of water. They always carried the stench of salt and death, though I never really understood the second one. Perhaps it was because people's personalities died here, getting replaced with something new and better.

Or maybe people just died here a lot. How was I supposed to know?

I lifted myself, groaning as my skin stretched, wanting to stay connected to the seats, as we made our way into the town. It fell into silence again besides the radio which was playing some poppy music that I didn't care to listen to.

The parts of the city that we passed through didn't seem all that neat. There were a whole lot of people that stuck out compared to the small town I used to live in. Punks with spiked hair and beat-up leather jackets mixed with girls in bright colors on roller skates. Back home, everyone dressed the same in muted colors with boring attitudes. It was an incredible change, but one that I could say I appreciated.

After a bit, the houses began to grow farther apart, and there were fewer people about, until we were fully submerged in the woods, driving down a dirt road. This was what I was used to.

"I want you to be out of the house tonight so I can talk to Julia without interference. I don't care where you go as long as you're out until at least ten. Unpack your bags and then leave."

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am," I said as we reached the end of the path. I felt my eyes widen as I took in the house. It was a huge, two-story building that was covered in vines and flowers that contrasted against the pale brick walls. It was truly beautiful.

My mother turned the car off and climbed out, still taking in the view of the house. Then, I heard a squeal and a door fly open, and I watched as a kind-faced woman came running towards my mom. She was clad in a long, flowing skirt with pretty patterns covering it, and a tan, wraparound top. Her feet were bare, and she had a maroon bandana on her head that matched her skirt.

My mother opened her arms, and the woman wrapped her in a bear hug. They were both grinning wide, and I heard the woman mumble "I missed you, Melissa."

My mother laughed a bit and patted her back. "I missed you, as well, Julia." I don't believe I had seen her this happy in a while.

The woman who I now knew was Aunt Julia then turned to me after pulling away from my mom, the grin still plastered across her face. She looked so inviting. "Oh, and look at how you've grown! You look so beautiful! Gosh, the last time I saw you, you were teeny tiny, just a little baby." Her voice was soft, reminding me of the sound of rain, or laying in your bed after a long day. "How old are you now," she questioned, taking my hands in hers.

"I'm eighteen," I responded, returning her smile.

Her face curled up, and I thought she might burst into tears right then and there, tears of happiness, though. "Oh you've grown, you've grown." She wrapped her arms around me and shook me a bit. "I've missed you so much as well."

"I've missed you, too," I mumbled, though I truly didn't even know her. I couldn't ruin her mood.

She sighed and broke away after a moment and wiped at the tears gathering under her eyes. "Why don't we all head inside and get settled. Ivy, your room is on the second floor, okay? The second door on the left. Why don't you grab your things and set up while I show your mother to her room?"

I nodded, and thanked her, grabbing my two suitcases from the back of my mom's car. Not much had survived the fire, but I would find a way to get money so I could buy myself a new wardrobe somehow. I hope there are work openings around the area.

I followed Aunt Julia's instructions and climbed the stairs quickly. They were right between the kitchen and living room, both beautifully decorated with all sorts of colorful ornaments and botanical items. The stairs led to a long hallway with around five doors, two on one side, and three on the other. I opened the second door on the left and entered the bedroom.

It was a huge room compared to my last one, and there was what I believe to be a queen-sized bed in the middle. There weren't many decorations besides a desk, lamps, and curtains covering the windows. There were two extra doors besides the one I entered through. One led to a closet that was triple my size, and the other led to a bathroom that was all to myself.

I placed my bags onto my bed and opened the curtains. They looked directly into the woods surrounding the house, and I found myself thinking.

I wonder if they'll follow me.