Blessed by Fire

by P W Hillard

  “Unlikely, ghosts very rarely attack people,” Mark stated, scanning the contents of the folder.

  “We need to check it out either way,” Florence got up, walked past them and opened her office door. She stood there impatiently, pushing the handle down. “Take tonight and head out in the morning.”

  Chapter 2

  Claire, lay curled up on her bed. Tears streamed down her face which was red and swollen from her torrential crying. She scrolled through photos on her phone, breaking into an audible sob when she reached a photo of herself with a boy in a dark blue tracksuit. They were outside a cinema, camera held up above them at an angle. In the photo Claire was looking at the camera pursing her lips whilst the boy was looking down at a phone. She scrolled off the picture, it hurt too much to look at. The phone buzzed in her hands, a message sliding down from the top of the screen. “Slut” it read. She threw phone off her bed and watched it bounce off a large stuffed bear. She gripped one of her pillows to her chest and let her anguish pour off her.

  A few hours passed, the sun had set, and Claire had neither bothered to draw the curtains or switch on the light. The room was washed with a pale moonlight, lightly illuminating it. She rolled over, and stared at it, a perfect milky circle floating in the sky. There was a loud scratching noise as her phone vibrated on the floor. I’m such an idiot she thought to herself. I should never have sent him those photos. Another loud rattle as her phone shook again. Then another she swung herself upright and rested her feet on the floor. Claire reached down and picked it up. One message. Unknown sender. She swiped her phone to open it. “I can help.” it said. Claire sat staring at the message. Three dots blinked at the bottom of the screen and a second message appeared. “We can get revenge.” Claire gripped her phone and typed a reply. “How?”

  Claire was alone, her parents having gone out for the evening. She enjoyed her own company, she felt powerful on her own, non-one to judge her. It was why she felt comfortable taking those photos. It had been less than an hour before the whole school had seen them. The messenger had left very strange detailed instructions, but Claire had followed them to the letter. First, she had printed every photo of him she had taken, plus the photos she had sent him. The instructions were clear they needed as many as possible, so she had clicked print until her father’s printer was printing only scratchy faded images. Next the messages had told her to draw a large circle full of ornate shapes. Claire had taken a large marker and drawn it onto the bottom of the bath, thinking it would have proven easier to clean off. Then the unknown writer had instructed her to gather what it called a sacrifice. Any meat would do, it had clarified, so she had taken some chicken breasts from the fridge. She had placed the pictures and the cold slimy chicken into the circle as instructed and waited. Her phone rumbled on the side of the sink. A new message. “Burn it”.

  Claire pulled out one of her mother’s lighters. As far as her dad knew she had quit smoking years ago. Claire felt strangely glad she hadn’t. She clicked the wheel to spark it, holding it at arm’s length turning her head away. The resulting flame was much smaller than she thought it would be. She reached into the bath and touched one of the photos, it caught alight and began to slowly burn, the papers edges fraying as it melted into embers. “Now what?” she text back. The reply was instant. “Watch.” Slowly the burning paper sped up its disintegration. The other pictures were catching alight now joining the slowly growing fire. The scattering of images shrank until the burning edge met the wet raw chicken. In an instant the faint glow became a flaming roar. The chicken erupted into a pillar of flame, it lapped at the ceiling. Claire watched transfixed as the pillar stretched and turned, as if were waking from a deep sleep. The fire was bright but let out only a dull heat. No smoke rose from the inferno.

  “Thank you, my friend,” a bizarre voice like crackling wood slipped out from the flames. They briefly became blue, the heat rising to a searing wave in time with its words. “Ah, I thought I might be trapped forever. Thank you.” Claire stepped backwards, falling seated onto the toilet. She stared at the fire transfixed. “Now then,” the flames continued “I did promise to help you.”

  “H-H-How?” stammered Claire. The fire seemed to shrink and expand, as though it were breathing.

  “Come closer, let me see you,” replied the flames. Claire staggered to her feet and stepped closer to them. “You are very beautiful; those others do not appreciate you. I will help you, all you need to do is say yes.”

  “Say yes to what?” Claire asked.

  “To me,” said the flames.

  Glyn sat on the swing laughing. Two of his friends were spinning a third on the large metal wheel in the centre of the park. The third was shouting at them to stop. He reached into his tracksuit trousers and pulled out his phone. He laughed to himself, looking at a photo a friend had sent him. They had applied a filter to one of the pictures Claire had sent him, adding dog ears and a lolling tongue. “A right dog!” read the message beneath.

  “Hey lads check out this one,” he called out. There was no reply. The three boys messing with the merry-go-round had stopped, they stared at a figure strolling across the park. She wore a bright red dress than ended beneath her knee. She was wearing makeup, her hair tied up into an elaborate bun. Her lipstick matched the vibrant dress.

  “It’s Claire,” said one of the boys, “You’re in trouble I think.” The three of them laughed at him. Claire reached the metal fence that surrounded the play area and pushed open a gate that squealed with years of missed maintenance.

  “We need to talk,” Claire stared at Glyn, her eyes seemed to shine in the dark.

  “Ooooooooo,” chanted the other boys.

  “Silence,” Claire commanded. She looked at them, a righteous anger in her eyes. They stopped. “We need to speak alone. I suggest you leave us.”

  “Go on lads, I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Glyn gave the other boys a thumbs up, and they walked through the open gate into the night. He motioned for Claire to take the swing next to him. She stepped forward, instead standing before him. “Listen babe, I’m sorry, one of the boys got my phone and- “

  “Unacceptable.” Claire interrupted. “You have taken advantage of this girl. Used her for your own gratification and then slandered her to her social circle. Is this what people have become?”

  “What? You swallow a dictionary or something?” Glyn let out a nervous chuckle.

  “Still you mock her.” Claire crossed her arms and leant forward, bringing her eyes level with his. “Tell me, why do you feel the right to do this?”

  “You’re being weird,” Glyn leant back on the swing, uncomfortable at how close she was. “Why are you always weird.”

  “I see,” said Claire. “I see what we are dealing with now. I’m sorry, I think you may be unredeemable. I would have respected honesty, if you had admitted you simply desired it.” Claire closed her eyes and sighed. When she reopened them, her irises glowed a pale gold. They seemed to flicker like flames.

  “The fuck are those, you look- “Glyn was cut off, his words becoming a strained gurgling as Claire gripped him by the throat. With one hand she lifted him from the swings seat, his legs dangling as she held him in the air. His phone slipped from his hand, landing in the chipped bark that covered the floor.

  “Now, because I am generous, I am going to tell you what happens next.” Claire turned still holding him in the air. “I will release you, and you will run. I will chase you, and when I catch you I will inflict torment on you a hundred-fold what you gave this girl.” Claire let her grasp go and Glyn crumpled to the floor. He spluttered trying to catch his breath. “Now,” Claire said reaching down to pick up Glyn’s phone. She snapped it between her hands like a biscuit. “I suggest you start running, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I didn’t give you a sporting chance.” She reached up and with a tug tore the chain that held one of the swings from its frame. Claire pulled the other end free from the chair and tested its weight in her hands. “Well come o
n then. Get to it.”

  Glyn ran, the rough bark of the playground giving way to slippery mud of unkempt field. The playground was at the centre of the park, which featured several fields used by the local school to practice cross country. Glyn now wished he has paid attention in those lessons. His breath felt ragged and horrible. He tasted blood from his bruised throat. His knees ached from where he had been thrown to the floor. He pushed through the cluster of trees and bushes that formed the barrier from one field to another. He erupted on the other side in a flurry of leaves and branches. His face was scratched, his tracksuit top torn. Glyn had emerged onto the parks football pitch, he stopped for a second to catch his breath.

  “This doesn’t inspire my confidence in you.” Glyn looked up. Claire was leaning against a goalpost, her bright red dress illuminated by a floodlight. She was spinning the chain around in a wide arc casually.

  “Fuck off!” Glyn shouted.

  “Charming,” said Claire. She flicked her wrist sending the chain lashing across Glyn’s chest. The end was sharp, and it cut into his skin, tearing his jacket in a spray of blood. He fell to the ground clutching at his wound. Claire walked over to his screaming, writhing form. “Here, let me help.” She touched his chest with her open palm. There was a loud sizzling and faint wisps of smoke. Glyn screamed. “Now, now. That should stop the bleeding.” Claire crouched down, placing her mouth next to his ear. “Now I would resume running if I were you.”

  One foot in front of the other. Glyn held his chest, it pounded in agony from where it had been cauterised. He limped, having twisted his ankle as he had fallen. One foot in front of the other he thought to himself, forcing himself slowly away from whatever that thing was. It certainly wasn’t Claire anymore. She had been so quiet, so shy. When Glyn had asked her out she had jumped at the chance despite never really talking to him before. So was so easy to tell what to do, to have do his homework or go to the shops for him. The idea that maybe whatever was chasing him was right and he had used her never occurred to Glyn. He simply limped onward with a determination he had never before exhibited. The lights of the football pitch were fading behind him. He could see the entrance, a huge twisted wrought iron thing. Its elaborate design of leaves wrapped around the bars gave it horrible shadow against the street lights outside, a wall of barbed thorns. Escape in sight, he redoubled his efforts, forcing himself to jog, ignoring the pain of his ankle.

  “Pretty pathetic attempt really,” Claire was leaning on the brick pillar the gate hung from as Glyn stepped from the park onto the street. He stopped awestruck, letting out a slow wheeze as he tried to catch his breath. “I have to say I expected more. I guess that tracksuit is just for show.”

  “Hel-,” Glyn’s cry was cut off as Claire held up her hand. A series of rough scratches floated in the air, burning fiery orange.

  “That’s enough from you I think.” Claire lashed out with her foot, striking Glyn in his twisted ankle. He collapsed to one knee, his mouth wide in a silent scream. With a second kick Glyn tumbled backwards into the park side of the entrance. He held his side, there had been a horrific cracking when Claire had struck him. He coughed drizzling blood on the ground. A slow echoing screech rang out as Claire pulled the park gate closed. She winced as she gripped the gate by one of its sculpted leaves. There was a faint smell of burning. She reached down and picked up the swing chain from beneath a bush. “Now, time to keep my promise.”

  A cheery chime rang out from the phone on the bedside table. Claire reached across and slapped the screen to turn it off. She slipped her feet into a pair of pink slippers she left and her bedside table and adjusted her pyjamas that had become skewed during the night. She yawned, pocketed her phone and shuffled down the stairs.

  “Morning love,” her mother said half distracted as she packed a laptop into its bag. “There’s toast on the side.”

  “Thanks mum,” Claire replied, taking a slice and biting into it hungrily.

  “Sandra, take a look at this,” said her father striding into the kitchen, his dressing gown uncomfortably open.

  “Jesus Mike, cover it up,” said her mother, pulling her husband’s robe closed as he reached up to the ancient CRT television that had sat in the corner of the kitchen since they moved in. It came on with a flicker.

  “Police are asking this morning for anyone who was near the Ynysangharad park in Pontypridd to come forward- “said a news reporter standing in front of an obvious greenscreen.

  “How many times did you think he had to practice saying that?” Mike asked.

  “Ssh,” replied Sandra

  “Police discovered the body this morning in what they are describing as a ritual killing. No specifics have been released yet, but several eyewitnesses report the victim had been torn into pieces and strung across a chain tied to the park gate. Police refused to clarify if this was indeed the case.”

  “Grim isn’t it?” Mike said, muting the television.

  “And you felt the need to share it why?” Sandra asked disapprovingly.

  “Well they said he went to Claire’s sixth form. A Glyn Powell?” Mike looked expectedly at Claire.

  Claire shrugged. “Don’t know him, different classes maybe?”

  Claire stood in the bathroom. No trace of her little pyre remained. She had been sure to clean it up. She ran her hand under the tap. A large burn had formed on her left palm, a perfect leaf pattern. She stared in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, grinning wildly at her. Her own face was sullen.

  “I told you we would get revenge,” said the reflection. “This is just the start of a great partnership.”

  Chapter 3

  Jess stepped down from the bus. The door behind her closed with a hiss and the air was bitter and cold. She zipped up her windbreaker, pulling the zip up to her neck. Jess shivered and tucked her hands into her jacket pockets. Her breath hung in the air, a tiny frozen cloud. She strode down the street; her feet pounding eagerly to get out of the cold.

  The sky was dark, streetlights blocking out the stars. Jess often hated having to travel for work, but that was one thing she was grateful for. You very rarely saw the stars in London. Her hand reached out and touched to small metal gate that sat at the entrance to her front garden. She jostled the gate open, the cold made it creak as she did. She stepped down the small gravel path with a rhythmic crunch. She reached for keys, her hands shaking from the cold. They jangled as Jess struggled with the lock. The keys turned with a click and the door slowly swung open. The corridor within was dark. There was a thudding noise, growing closer as she stepped inside.

  “Muma!” The thumping became a roar as a small girl burst into the corridor, her tiny legs kicking furiously as she ran. She stopped before Jess and grinned. She produced a sheet of paper from behind her back. The girl had drawn a crude drawing of a house and three stick figures. “I made this!” the girl announced.

  “That’s wonderful Lana, need to add it to the collection.” Jess took the picture in one hand and scooped up the girl in the other. She carried her down the hallway, flicking on the light with her elbow. Lana played with Jess’ ponytail as they walked. She pushed down a door handle with the back of her hand carrying the picture and stepped into the kitchen.

  “Welcome home love.” A blonde woman stood at the kitchen sink scrubbing a dish with a brush. She smiled. Her long hair was held back with a headband, she wore a floor length floral dress. An unlit cigarette hung from her mouth.

  “Hannah, I wish you wouldn’t smoke around Lana.” Jess stepped over and pecked the woman on the check. She set Lana down in a chair by the small table they kept in the kitchen but seldom used.

  “It’s not lit, I was waiting for you to get home,” Hannah said, putting the cigarette down on the kitchen counter. “There’s a plate in the fridge for you.” She watched Jess open the fridge, attach the picture with a magnet, and pull out a plate. She peeled off the foil and walked over to the microwave. “Speaking of which, you are home now right?”

  J
ess sighed. “No, I’ve got another case,” she said, pressing buttons on the microwave as she spoke. “I head out in the morning.”

  “I know what you do is important,” Hannah said, putting her hands around Jess’ waist. “But I wish you could be home more. Lana is starting to ask questions. She knows her mother isn’t home as often as the other children’s. Our situation will be…,” she thought carefully about her words, “more difficult, for her than most children anyway.”

  “I know,” said Jess blowing steam off the plate. A pair of sausages, a pile of mashed potato and some peas wobbled in tandem with each other as she turned and placed the plate on the counter. Hannah turned with her still hanging on to her waist. “It’s just… I can’t protect her from bigots. Not all the time. At least doing my job makes everyone, Lana included, safer.”

  “That includes those bigots,” said Hannah, letting go of Jess’ waist and putting her hands on her hips.

  “I know,” admitted Jess opening a cupboard and taking out a small tub of instant gravy. She flicked the kettle on. “We’re raising smart girl, one day she’ll be able to tell those people to fuck off- “

  “Bad word!” shouted Lana, she giggled.

  “But, what I see out there,” Jess continued. “I could live without her ever knowing about it.

  Jess sat on her sofa. The lights were off aside from the faint glow of the television. A trailer for a documentary on a failed festival played on repeat. The sound was off, and Jess was reading through her copy of the report. Hannah lay on the sofa, her head resting on Jess’ lap. She was asleep. Jess sighed and tossed the report on the arm of the sofa. She stared down at Hannah and began to stroke her long golden hair. She wished she didn’t have to leave. Recently Jess had spent more time on the road than at home. She was certain she saw Mark more often than her own wife and child. She leant back staring at her ceiling. A thick gash had been cut into the artex. Hannah had wanted to remove it, but Jess had refused. It was a reminder.