Soulful Flames

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It’s as if the flashing of the fire up against the setting sun awoke something in me. I shook a little knowing the sun going down meant I had to get through another night of camp. I leaned over to my camp counselor Dottie, to ask who would be occupying that old cabin after this long, and in the condition it was in. Shingles falling off, part of the chimney caved in, glass missing from every window except that one. That one window. She kind of shrugged me off and leaned back into Tom, the newest camp leader, some surfer from California. Typical. Since she ignored me, I went across the fire to talk to Ryan, my only real friend here. She was a nerd like me. Camp wasn’t necessarily her typical scene, she’d rather be building legos or reading the new National Geographic magazine issue. “Hey,” I called out to get her attention, she looked up, the camp fire glowing in her face, she’d just peeled away from her book. She gave me a nice nod. Not very talkative this one. I turned her attention to the cabin, “Isn’t that old cabin abandoned?” She looked at me deeply, “What,” she asked. I asked again a bit louder, the other campers were getting rowdy, s’mores sugar getting to them. “That old cabin”, I shouted “Isn’t it empty?” “What cabin,”she said rhetorically, “There is no cabin”. A chill ran up my spine, like someone had zipped my skin shut. “Miller’s cabin burned down a few years ago”. Instantly, I felt someone grab my shoulder so forcefully I began to fall backwards. Then I woke up. Dripping sweat, almost gasping for air. The camp bell had just begun ringing, 7:00 am. I scurried to the showers before my bunk mates could see my distress. I couldn’t wait to tell Ryan about my weird dream, the thought of it still raising the hairs on my arm all day. Ryan was a couple years older than me so our schedules were different, but we always met up at the campfire. Silently sitting together. The sun was setting and the bell went off for the campfire group but she was nowhere to be found. I ran back to the cabins and checked for her, the bathrooms and the mess hall. I found her at last right next to the campfire where I began my search. I sat down next to her, nose in her book again. “You wouldn’t believe this dream I had,” I started, but before the next line could come out of my mouth my jaw dropped in awe of what I saw happening before my eyes. Blood hitting the pages of Ryan’s book and slowly trickling towards her lap. “Ryan,” as I shouted in terror, her melted face lifted up eyeball sockets vacant and eerie, liquified eyeballs running down her cheeks. All around me the air became hotter, I almost couldn’t breathe. The smell of burnt marshmallows turned into a different smell. A flesh smell of searing skin. Then laughter around the campfire turned to screams, echoing, each getting louder. In horror, I stepped back falling into the fire, I woke at that moment. This was torture. Drowning in my sweat again, I stood up. I paced. Shaking this time —too real. I grabbed my shower caddy and ran towards the restrooms. Heart still thumping and mind racing. I realized all my weird dreams began when I saw the candle lit in that creepy little house so I had to see who was in there. As I approached the area, to my right I could see the smoke was still going out from the campfire. When I looked closer, it seemed to be reversing back into flames. The sky became shades darker, time seemed to be rewinding. Hopping and skipping over holes in the porch floor boards, before I realized it, I was standing at the front door. I could hear campers laughing and squealing with joy. It was pitch black. With some force, I pushed open the door. High winds swept around me, sending chills through my body, my blood turned cold. A sense of familiarity washed me. It felt like someone stepped outside of me as I walked through the door. I screamed hello, not a peep. I looked around for something or someone and there was nothing. So right before I was going to leave, a door creaked. The door to the candle lit room. I could see the glows of the light hitting the walls up the stairs, enticing me. I crept up the stairs and as I went I could tell I’d been here. With a sense of presence around me, I felt frightened, but I couldn’t stop moving forward. When I looked back, I could see nothing but darkness, no way out. As I entered the room, I knew this place, endless books on the walls and a soothing rocking chair by the window, already rocking. Seeing my reflection in the mirror jolted my entire memory. I was Ryan. This was my reading hide away. I grabbed my favorite book and sat down. This house seemed to like me there. Seemed to hug and hold me in the chair as though it was alive. As though I was alive. The windowpane showed who I was. A memory. My melted face took form and I could no longer deny what I knew. Many years ago, as I was sitting in my usual spot reading, the house moaned and settled, startled, I knocked the candle over. Like any living thing the house didn’t want to be lonely. The house had seemingly chosen me at the very beginning of my camp stay that summer. I was a loner, quiet and out of place. I was lured into the house when I saw my favorite book on the porch. In perfect condition. It’s almost as if the house had been watching me for a long time. By the end of the summer, I’d made the reading room my own. As the fire began to spread, I tried to get up, the chair just gripped harder. Then, like someone walking behind me, speaking in both ears, I heard a low grumble say, “It’s our time Ryan.” The flames took me and the house’s life that dreadful summer. The unfathomable, I was actually dead. A pill I still hadn’t swallowed completely. Neither the house nor I was really there. Even older Ryan wasn’t real, she was who I projected myself to be. An unrested soul. I finally blew out the candle and like a shadow, I disappeared.