Arsonist

CHAPTER 26

Nehor Stark went around the small house and made sure the clear liquid had doused the frame. The windows were soaked as were the doors. The interior was covered and the vapors were only a soft hint; they were seeping out of the house and tingling his nose. Only one more place to douse before the show.

He walked around the perimeter of the house. It was red brick with white trim and a nice fence surrounding it on all sides. The neighborhood was upscale and he had to hide in the bushes when a group of teenagers peeled out of their parents’ driveway across the street in a new Mercedes. The car came back for some reason and one of the girl’s ran inside. He watched her; her legs silky and smooth underneath the lamplight. As she came back out she glanced up, and their eyes locked.

Nehor immediately turned to his right and looked down to the sidewalk, pretending to be passing through. The canister was dropped from his hand into some bushes. He walked for a few moments before looking back and saw the taillights of the Mercedes up the street. He ran back to the house.

There was a shed in the back that held the lawnmower and other equipment. He sprinted for it and jumped, swinging his legs onto the roof and standing up. He glanced around to see if anyone was out, but the neighborhood was quiet. He climbed up the roof of the house.

The sky was dark with the exception of two stars and the moon, gray-black clouds slowly drifting by and covering its light before the icy glow returned a few moments later. Nehor watched the moon a long time and then undressed. Blood spatter was on his clothes and it looked black in the moonlight. He thought it oddly beautiful that it appeared darker than anything he had ever seen.

Nude, he began to douse the roof with the small canister he had brought with him. He went in geometric shapes; circles first, and then a pentagon. The pentagon would show through the fire; it didn’t mean anything to him, but the neighbors would be unsettled every time they looked over to the house. Maybe some of them would even have to move out later on.

When the canister was empty, he threw his clothes on the front lawn and then climbed down using the shed in the backyard. He went to the front of the house and stood on the lawn, listening to his breathing. He reached down into his duffel bag and brought out the match. He held it lightly in between his fingers and twisted it to the left and the right. He was quivering and sweat was beginning to show on his skin. It glistened in the moonlight.

He struck the match.

The front door was open and he flung the match on the porch. The porch instantly lit in three-foot-high flames, which raced around like a caged animal trying to find a way to escape. They dashed inside the house and the flames began to grow. Within thirty seconds, smoke billowed out in large clouds, darker than the night, and he could hear the screaming coming from inside. The flames grew and the roof caught fire; there was, in a single instant, a powerful, thunderous, glorious, explosion. The house now barely stood as the fire engulfed it.

Nehor stepped close to the house. He was erect now. He wanted to inhale the wondrous smoke, but he wouldn’t last longer than a minute before he lost consciousness. One day, when he found somewhere secluded enough, he would indulge himself. But for now he approached the little house cautiously.

The flames were so hot they melted the barbeque on the front porch. The conflagrations singed his skin and he felt his pubic hair catch fire, the tips lit red as they coiled like burning ants. He made a note to shave himself next time.

His skin was boiling. He could feel the heat inside him as sweat drained from every pour. It was cleansing him. He felt himself burning away, his memories, his thoughts, his emotions…they were lifted into the night like ashes and drifted away. The only things he could feel now were the pain and the heat that made him feel faint.

Another explosion flung him onto his back. The screaming had stopped; the fire had eaten that. He looked back and saw one of the neighbors on the porch, the phone to his ear. He grabbed his clothes and the duffel bag and ran to the car that waited for him up the street.

Monique Gaspirini woke to the sound of her car pulling into the garage. She was huddled underneath the sheets. They were pulled over her head and covered every inch of her. It was something she used to do as a child to protect herself from the boogeyman and she had found these past few days that she couldn’t sleep unless the sheets were over her head.

As the door opened downstairs, she thought of her mother and why she hadn’t called. Then again, she never called. They didn’t check up on her and Monique had always thought she liked it that way but she would have done anything to hear her mother’s voice on the other line of that phone.

Footfalls up the stairs. They were fast, faster than usual. Monique heard the door to her room open but she didn’t want to take the sheets off. She didn’t want to see him. As long as she didn’t see him, she could pretend he wasn’t real.

The light turned on. She smelled an odor from him she hadn’t smelled before; like burnt rubber. Slowly, she slid the sheets off her head, and looked.

He stood in the doorway nude and fully erect. Smoke was coming off his skin in barely visible wafts and all the hair on his body had been singed. The skin on his belly appeared like it was peeling. She saw his look, the horrible look in his eyes as he stared down at her. She screamed.

Slowly, he came into the room, and shut the door behind him.