With each generation, something unspeakable befalls our city…

The blood was not merely red; beneath the flickering light of the South Dakota moon, it looked black, like ink spilled upon an unholy altar. I stood there, breathless, staring at what remained of a man I did not even know, while his bones cracked with the dry sound of bubble wrap being crushed with frenzy. It was not a clean death. It was a deconstruction. A multi-limbed abomination, a thing galloping with far too many hooves to be real, had just turned him into a paper napkin tossed in the wind. And the most terrifying thing about all this carnage was not the creature itself, but the fact that I knew, deep within my entrails, that this moment had been orchestrated decades earlier, in the whisper of a muffled dispute between my parents in the middle of the night. The secret that had killed my grandparents, and then my parents, was now knocking on my door with inhumanly articulated fingers. Everything boiled down to three simple orders, a litany for survival: light a fire, burn the myrrh, stay close to the fire. If I made a single misstep, if the flame flickered for even a second, I would be nothing more than an extra splatter of gore on the driveway, another name scratched off a cursed lineage. The air had grown so cold that my lungs burned, and in the darkness beyond the circle of light, I heard the clicking of teeth that should not exist. It was the day. The day they had all feared. The day the blood debt had to be paid.

My parents never argued. They had disagreements, of course, but they were not the type of people to express them unpleasantly. They were kind people, somewhat reserved, but in a typical Midwest way. That said, there was one time in my childhood when they did not hold back, and I was not supposed to hear it. It was almost two in the morning. I was sick, bedridden with the flu, and I had to keep getting up to blow my nose. It was awful, but Mom had bought me a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic book that I read religiously. It is amazing how little it takes to transform something atrocious into an adventure at that age. I got up and headed toward the bathroom for another series of sneezes when I heard loud voices coming from the kitchen. It was unusual. I had never heard him speak like that before. My father simply did not get angry.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

We cannot pretend that nothing is going to happen, he was saying. We cannot send him there unprepared.

So, you are suggesting that we dump this on him here and now? replied my mother, her voice trembling with an emotion I did not yet understand. Do you think it is better for him to live his entire life in fear?

I think it is better for him to have a damn life to begin with!

My father was furious. His eyes were red. Had he cried? Mom was sitting at the dining room table, covering her face with her hands. She could not stop sobbing. I had seen her cry at the movies a few times, but never like this.

Maybe it stops with us, she sighed. Have you considered that maybe this is everything?

Have you considered the alternative?

My father sat across from her, taking her hands in his. His voice had softened, but the urgency remained, throbbing like an open wound.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

We do not need to make his whole life revolve around this. We will not do it. But can we please agree not to leave him in the dark?

What are you going to do? she asked between sobs.

I will figure something out. I promise.

They sat there for a good ten minutes looking at each other. I never heard the complete conversation. But the next day, I was told that my grandparents had passed away. They were sixty-three and sixty-five years old, and they had died at the same time. No one told me what had happened. I did not think much about that night until many years later.

I was twenty-eight when my parents died. Both on the same day, just like my grandparents. I did not get all the details, just an uncomfortable phone call from a police officer. Even as an adult, you never truly expect your parents to die. Of course, you know it will eventually happen, but it hurts you in a way you cannot know beforehand. You cannot prepare for those grand pains of human experience. And if it did not hurt, well, you have probably already had enough pain like that. I was an only child, so there was nobody to call except distant cousins and uncles, people I had not seen in years.

Amid the wave of funeral bills and condolences, I almost forgot to check what they had left behind. It was only weeks later, while going through their things, that I found a particular box with an attached note bearing my name. It was my mother’s handwriting.

Please read this.

I brought it into the kitchen and turned on the light. It was just a shoebox, but it was well taped. I cut the side and folded the cardboard to reveal only a few papers along with a handful of jars. One of the papers read:

If you are reading this, we have crossed over to the other side. If this happened before our time, there is a good chance something did this to us. Something we hoped to never see happen. Chances are it ends with us. But just to prepare you for the possibility that it does not, we want you to consider these steps when the time comes.

One: light a fire.

Two: burn the myrrh.

Three: stay close to the fire.

You will know the day. Please do not go looking for it. It will be in plain sight. The myrrh is the sticky resin in one of the jars. There should be enough to last you a night. The less you know, the better. We have prayed every night since your birth that this would not happen. But if it does, you must promise to be safe. Light a fire and burn the myrrh. And please, my dearest boy, stay close to the fire.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

I did not even notice my tears until they touched the paper. There was no doubt in my mind that my mother had written this. She always called me that, her dearest boy. Something in my mind brought me back to that night when I was younger, when they sat by the table. If only I had asked them questions about it.

Over time, all their belongings were put into storage. I thought a lot about that letter and that day they spoke of. I trusted that I would recognize it when I saw it. But there was also this nagging feeling that I was missing something. They were speaking to the boy they knew. The adult me was a completely different person. I might miss something a younger me would not have missed. On the other hand, I did not know.

After a while, my paranoia faded into the background. I inherited my parents’ house on the outskirts of a small rural town in South Dakota. I had a job at the local hardware store and made a little extra money shipping things online. It was not glamorous, and I knew for a fact that the delivery driver was getting tired of dropping packages off at my place, but everyone has to make a living. I always kept the myrrh in the living room, right next to the fireplace. I kept the note in a drawer. I knew the words by heart. Light a fire. Burn the myrrh. Stay close to the fire. My dearest boy.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Four years after my parents’ death, my life had returned to a semblance of normality. I was dating a girl and looking to acquire a Saint Bernard puppy. I had found one from a local breeder and was preparing everything for him. Life was quite simple, but in a way that suited me perfectly.

It was a late April Saturday. The sun was setting, covering the horizon in a dusty red. I was charging my phone after falling asleep on the couch while watching a documentary. I woke up with a low battery warning. It is nice to watch Netflix and chill, but do not get too comfortable or you might sleep right through a Sunday morning you did not ask for. I had lunch with Annette the next day, which I was looking forward to. I had already prepared my fancy shirt, ironed and everything.

Then I heard something outside.

Hey! shouted a voice. I need to talk to you.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

I did not get many visitors, but I knew most people in town. I opened the front door without thinking. At first, I did not understand what I was looking at. There was a woman there. She was a few years older than me, but I had seen her around town. I think she worked at the florist. They had those weird blue sunflowers in the window. I saw them every morning when I left for work. She had those dark eyes and short, curly hair. Her skin was about the same shade as her shotgun stock.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Yes, a shotgun.

My eyes locked onto the weapon so hard that it took me a missed heartbeat to notice what else she had brought. There was debris on the ground, something that looked like a smashed chair and sheets of plywood, some sort of improvised bonfire. She had this wild look on her face and I could tell she was stressed.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

This is the day, right? she said. Is that right?

What day? What are you…?

I took a moment to pull myself together.

Why do you have a gun?

He told me to bring it. Bring the gun. Go to the easternmost house. Light the fire.

Burn the myrrh, I added.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

And stay close to the fire.

Myrrh? she mocked. What do you mean by myrrh?

Source of Beauty Fragrance

She lit the bonfire with a sudden gust of flames. She looked exhausted. She pulled a camping chair out of a backpack she had brought and sat down, dropping a bag of marshmallows onto the ground. I went inside and threw my firewood into the fireplace. My hand was shaking so badly that I accidentally pinched a finger. I also picked up a few splinters. I threw everything in, sprayed a little firestarter, and cracked a handful of matches. Another blast of heat. The heat burned my eyes as if telling me to slow down. I grabbed a handful of myrrh from the jar and threw it into the fire.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

As I went to close the jar, it slipped from my hands. Trying to catch it made things worse. I ended up spilling the whole thing all over my fancy lunch shirt. I let out a yell that the lady outside must have heard. She said something, but I could not hear what. I ended up opening the living room window, letting out a bit of the smell. Myrrh is not very pleasant. It is like burning wet mushrooms. I had a clear view of her from there.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Is everything all right in there? she asked.

I just lit the fire, I said. I dropped something. What was that story about myrrh?

Source of Beauty Fragrance

They told me to burn some. They said it would help.

So, you were not told to come here. You were told something else.

I live here, I replied. They just said: light a fire, burn the myrrh, and stay close to the fire.

Yeah. Yeah, she nodded. Bring a gun. Go east. Light the fire. Stay close to the fire. Do you know what you are supposed to do with this stuff? If your dad uses his final will to tell you to bring a shotgun, you bring a shotgun.

His will?

We stepped back and started over from the beginning. Her name was Marilyn. She was four years older than me. It turned out her father had died on the same day as my parents. In his will, he had left something similar to what I had received, but the instructions were slightly different. Marilyn had been told to bring a gun and go to the easternmost house. There, she would light a fire and stay close to it.

There were a few common points. Our parents were roughly the same age and came from the same region. Very different lives and jobs, though. But the fact that her father and my parents had passed away on the same day could not be a coincidence. I ended up sitting on the windowsill, one foot outside. The fireplace flames flickered back and forth, licking the wood. The sun had almost completely disappeared, bathing the flat countryside in long, sharp shadows. I offered Marilyn to come inside, but she was not sure if it was allowed. She was supposed to light a fire and stay close to it. It was not specified whether she could stay close to someone else’s fire. She did not want to take any chances.

I ended up sharing my experience with her. I told her about that night when I was a child, watching my parents have their first secret argument. Marilyn nodded, letting the shotgun rest on her knees.

My dad did that too, she said. Right after my grandmother passed away, he spent the entire night on the phone talking to his brother. I had never heard him talk like that before.

Marilyn had a husband and three children, but she did not want them mixed up in this. She thought whatever had told her to bring a shotgun to a stranger’s house was better left unsaid. Instead, we sat there talking about some of our relatives’ most disturbing memories. Marilyn was the first to state the obvious.

I think something killed him, she said. And I think it killed my grandmother too.

Looks like it, but why would they come looking for us?

I do not know, she shrugged. But it did not look like it was meant to come looking for our parents either. But it did.

But why today? I asked. How did you guess it was the day?

She looked into the distance while skewering another marshmallow with a thin metal rod. The bonfire was brighter than ever, rising high into the air.

My father used to sing me that song when I was a kid. You know, Bob Marley.

Sure. Yeah. Three Little Birds.

It was his favorite song. He sang it to me every night. No matter what happened. He would sing that song and tuck me in. I have heard every cover of that song by every imaginable singer for as long as I can remember. And you know what I woke up to today?

She raised the marshmallow before her eyes, inspecting it. It was burned, but still good.

There were three dead little birds on my doorstep.

She looked up at me, fire shimmering in her wet eyes.

And I knew, you know, I felt that cold. And I do not doubt for a second that today is that day.

I looked at my fire. I threw a little more myrrh in. I believed her.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

A few hours passed. I sat by the window trying to keep busy. Marilyn was looking at something on her phone. I grabbed a flask of whiskey from my liquor shelf. I am not a big drinker, but I figured it was as good a day as any to start. Marilyn indulged in a vice of her own, lighting a cigarette. She had quit about a decade ago when she had her first child. But she told herself tonight was a special kind of “evil.” The kind that did not really count.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

It was almost nine o’clock when I looked up and noticed something in the distance. Far out in the field, something was glowing. And looking a little closer, I could tell it was a fire. I pointed it out to Marilyn.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Looks like there are more of us, I said. Do you see who that is?

I can barely see the fire. Are you sure it is not a car?

Cars do not flicker.

She rolled her eyes and stood up. She took a few steps away from the fire and shouted at the top of her lungs.

Hey! she yelled. Are you staying close to the fire?

Someone answered from across the field. I did not catch a word. Marilyn tried again, more slowly.

Are you staying close to the fire?

A word back, one syllable. It sounded like a yes.

At ten o’clock, there were two other fires across the fields, making five people in total. None of the others came to the house, and they all kept their distance from one another. Marilyn was swaying back and forth, trying to keep her eyes open. I could tell the worst of the stress had passed, leaving her sleepy and warm. The fact that it was a windless spring night did not help.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

Hey, I said to try and keep her awake. You should burn some myrrh too.

Hm. Why?

She shook her head, trying to keep herself from squinting and dozing off.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

If they were clear about burning some, there has to be a reason.

It smells like an old cat and not the good kind of cat. Do you want some or not?

She thought about it and nodded. She stepped a few closer. I put a few nuggets of resin into a matchbox and tossed it to her. She caught it and shook it, making it rattle.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

A crappy gift for the King of Kings.

A what?

The King of Kings. Lord Jesus, my friend. You have not read your Bible.

I like my books with pictures.

Myrrh was one of the gifts from the three wise men, she said. Along with frankincense and gold.

Gold? I mocked. That is a hard gift to follow up.

Yeah, she said, throwing myrrh onto her fire. It is symbolic. Gold for the king of the earth, frankincense for the son of God, and myrrh…

She threw another nugget.

It is embalming oil, a symbol of the mastery over death.

I do not remember what time it was, but Marilyn and I noticed someone shouting from across the field. We could not tell which fire it came from. Marilyn tried to answer, but we got no response. After a few seconds, I saw the distant flames flare up in an explosion, only to die a second later.

Marilyn stood up, clutching her shotgun. Her camping chair fell over, but she did not even look at it.

Oh shit, she murmured. Oh… did you see that?

The fire went out.

It was right next to it, she pointed out. It was right next to it and it just… What happened?

She tried calling out to them again. The words echoed across the field, but there was no answer. Someone from another fire replied. I could not make out all the words, but I am pretty sure I heard the last two:

It is big.

I slipped inside and stayed close to the fireplace. I threw in a little extra firewood for good measure, along with a few extra nuggets of myrrh. There were noises coming from the fields, shouts, maybe screams. Another fire went out around midnight. Shortly after, I saw movement. Someone was running toward us.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Marilyn was on her feet, her shotgun ready for use. I could see a pale face running toward us, barely lit by Marilyn’s bonfire. It was a man, maybe forty or forty-five years old. He was running at full speed, his eyes so wide they looked black.

But there was another sound, too. Something that sounded like galloping, but with a few too many hooves. As the man reached the ditch on the edge of the road, something slammed into him. I saw his white shirt disappear into a bush. A few seconds later, there was that sickening bone crack, fractures bursting like bubble wrap. A shredded corpse was hurled out of the bush like a napkin in the wind, leaving a trail of blood on my driveway.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Marilyn’s fire flickered. The embers receded, pulling back into themselves. We looked away for less than a second, but by the time we looked back, the man was gone. All that remained was a torn sleeve, blood, and a backpack.

Once the fire flared back up, Marilyn swept the perimeter with her shotgun. There was nothing out there. One more fire glowed across the field, but they were not answering. Nothing moved over there. Nothing to defend against.

We held our breath, trying to hear something. Anything. I do not know if it was my pulse or not, but I swear I could hear the sound of galloping on the side of the house. One, two, three, four, five… pause. That same pattern over and over. It was big, fast, and I could tell the limbs were of different sizes. Some followed immediately, others were staccato.

Before I could say anything, I saw Marilyn grab a piece of wood from her fire. With it, she rushed out to retrieve the backpack. The moment she left the light, the galloping went from a hint to an immediate threat. It came from the left side of the house. I yelled at Marilyn to come back and she threw herself into the shelter of the fire. As she did, something ran past. It was much bigger than a horse. It kicked up dust and the edge of the thing struck the side of my sedan. The whole car shifted four feet to the right, breaking the left headlights. The thing kept going, disappearing into the darkness on the other side.

I had crawled into the living room and pressed myself against the fireplace, holding the myrrh jar as if cradling my own heart. I yelled at Marilyn through the window:

What the hell are you doing?

It looked heavy! I do not know!

She launched into a barrage of spitting and shouting. Just by glancing out the window, I could see her hands shaking as she cradled her shotgun. It was only then that I realized she was holding it more like a crutch than a weapon. Maybe she had never fired it.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

She opened the backpack. There were a few items, a water bottle and a piece of candy along with a pack of cassettes. There was also a player, but the batteries were dead. There was a power cord attached, but there was no way to power that thing out there. We had no rope to pull it over to me, so Marilyn decided to toss it.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

If we pass the cassette player over, then we toss the cassettes!

Marilyn counted to three and sent the player flying. I was half leaning out the window when I caught it. It was heavier than expected and almost made me lose my balance. I had to grab the fireplace; inches away, I would have burned the tips of my fingers. We repeated the toss for the cassettes. They were all arranged in that sun-faded plastic carrying case with a latch on it. The fragile key was inside. I just had to turn it. This one was easier to throw, but we still counted.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Once I caught it, Marilyn had to do a little dance to release the tension. I plugged in the cassette player and put it on the windowsill. There were six cassettes in total, so I popped one in. I turned up the volume so Marilyn could hear.

The first cassette started in the middle of a discussion. A cacophony of voices, all fighting to talk over each other. At first, one might have thought it was a fight, but once you listened closer, you could tell it was an argument. As the crowd quieted down, a single voice rose.

They all died the same night! thundered the voice. We lost family all on the same night. What does it matter if one lived forty minutes longer than the other?

We need to look at the data, said another voice. Half of them died at the exact same moment, to the very minute. Anything beyond that has to mean something.

And what is that? continued the first voice. You think this is scared of fire, of smoke? Everyone who stayed near a bright fire lived an average of four hours longer. Four hours!

The argument crashed into another eruption of loud voices. I noticed Marilyn holding her hand over her mouth. I paused the cassette as she shook her head.

That’s… she stammered. That’s them on the tape.

The discussion continued. The picture became clearer. It was our parents holding some sort of meeting. From the way they talked, their parents, our grandparents, had recently passed away. From what we could gather, our grandparents were working on something. Most of them were Stanford grads, and they were working on some kind of project back in the seventies.

There were only a few details. Something about an echo, a telecom project, something they had tried to throw in the river. It had caused their deaths. All of them. And by various means, our grandparents had let their children know in no uncertain terms that now, this was coming for anyone with even a tangential connection. Our parents did not know if they were next or not. But in case they were, they wanted to understand.

So, they gathered the data they had. Marilyn found a few notes in the backpack. They summarized most of what was discussed on the cassettes. Everything mentioned in the background or muttered as an afterthought. It was all there. That and a few rules this other person had relied on.

Find a field to the west. Do not say a word. Light a fire. Stay close to the fire.

The people on the tape had tried to summarize what was different about those who did not die at the exact same moment. For example, one person had a gun in the house. That person lived twenty minutes. Another had burned myrrh. That was another hour. One person was drunk, which bought them another five minutes, it seemed. Smoking cigarettes bought four more. But the most decisive factor was that of a living fire. Everyone who stayed near a live fire lived roughly four hours longer than those who did not.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

Yet they did not make it through the night. None of them.

From what I understood, our parents did not want to leave things to chance. A few deceased people exhibited multiple factors at once. For example, a man had a fire in the house but smoked cigarettes; he died at the exact same moment as those without a fire. It seemed some things could be up to chance, or there was a correlation factor we were not seeing.

So, instead of telling everyone to do everything, our parents had divided things up, hoping at least some of us would end up with the right combination of factors. That was why we had received different rules. They had no idea what the best course of action was. They had no idea what we were facing. As the tape ended, Marilyn’s father chimed in one last time.

If that day comes, I will stay inside and light a fire. If it works, I will tell my daughter to do the same. If it does not, I will have her try something else when her turn comes and I am gone.

Then a new voice.

This might stop with us, said the voice. I am not dragging my dearest boy into this unless it is absolutely necessary.

Mom.

Marilyn moved her chair to sit with her back to the house. Her hands clenched around the shotgun. I could see her grimace when she moved her fingers. We looked at that bloodstain on the driveway. Nobody said anything. As the clock ticked past one in the morning, the last light across the field went out. Marilyn checked her watch.

Two o’clock, she said. We are only two hours in.

What?

The first one went out around eleven. It is a little past one. They said the ones near the fire live about four hours longer.

What are you trying to say?

I am saying we will be dead in two hours unless we try something.

She was right. I felt safe and cozy by the fireplace, but she was right. Four hours, give or take, was the maximum the fire could give us. At least, if the data was correct, we might squeeze out a few more minutes if we combined the other factors properly. I threw a little more myrrh onto the fire.

I kept playing the cassettes while Marilyn flipped through the man’s notes. They were ruling out a few factors and adding others. It seemed fire was the only answer. Electric light seemed to have no effect. Our parents were second-guessing the things they were going to try. My parents had done it too. They were going to stay in their car and stay together. That was how the police eventually found them. Marilyn’s father had stayed near a fireplace like mine. He said on the tape he would be sitting in his rocking chair, listening to music and smoking a cigarette. We did not have an exact time of death, but he had not made it until dawn.

This is not a solution, recounted Marilyn. Fire is not a solution. It is not a cure. It is not… it is not the whole story, but it buys us time, right?

Time for what? What can we do?

We can try something or at least write everything down. If we do not make it, do you not want your family to know what happened?

Marilyn’s face turned livid. She had not even thought of that. On the other hand, if you stuck to the cassettes, it was better not to know. Apparently, some people who had been completely left out of the loop had made it out unscathed. Maybe that was what our parents had hoped for us. Perhaps by letting us in on the secret, they had accidentally dragged us into it.

As Marilyn started writing something down, I pulled a few papers from a drawer. My hands shook as I jotted down every factor I could think of. I started with the man who had come running in. He had left his fire. That was true. But there had to be a reason for it. Maybe it was about to go out.

Is there anything else in that backpack? I asked. A lighter, wood, anything for a fire?

I do not know.

Marilyn was not paying attention. She was sniffing and writing something on a note, pressing it against her thigh. The pen kept tearing through the paper, and I could tell she was getting frustrated. Finally, she ripped the paper and threw it into the fire. She let out a cry, striking the dust into the air. When she turned to face me, something in her face had changed.

The backpack, I repeated. Can you check?

She nodded. There was a lighter and a handful of what looked like wool. Cross-referencing the notes, it appeared wool was one of the decisive factors. Everyone who had worn some sort of wool fabric survived ten minutes longer. Marilyn was just wearing a blazer while I wore a simple white cotton blend t-shirt.

What if we added everything up? asked Marilyn. Would that not be enough time?

Someone in the meeting tried that, I said. It is right there, four minutes in. They said they would do it.

So, did it work? Do you think they would let us all die if it had?

She shook her head. Of course not. Besides, it had already been established that certain factors seemed to cancel each other out. There had to be a pattern, but we were not seeing it. We considered the biblical angle. Myrrh, frankincense, gold. The problem was there had been a man with frankincense and another who had a lucky gold coin. Both had died to the minute. That did not mean it could not be a factor, but the odds of it mattering were slim.

As Marilyn contemplated setting a trap or even burning down the house, I heard that noise again. The galloping was closer, moving across the field. I could hear the thudding as it moved through the mud on the west side of the building. I raised my hand toward Marilyn and she immediately went quiet, raising her gun.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

It was darker outside and the fires looked smaller. As something moved in the field, I saw Marilyn sweep her shotgun from left to right, waiting for something to show itself. I could hear her breathing. Those big, long inhalations. The dull, irregular thud of its paws echoed as it moved just out of our sight. Then a sound like a sharp intake followed by a staccato clicking. It stopped moving. It exhaled and Marilyn’s fire flickered. Her breath turned into a cold cloud as her teeth began to chatter. Her fire was dying.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

As the thing began to move, I heard something shift. An intensity in tension and direction. It was heading straight for my house. Marilyn stared at her dying fire, watching the bright flames turn into dying embers within seconds. Inside, I yelled:

Now!

She stepped away from her fire as something came down the driveway. As the last ember went out, something crashed into the ash, sending pulverized coal shooting into the air. Marilyn loosed both barrels of her shotgun as something knocked her over. She must have hit something. I heard a thud, and the thing changed its angle of attack. It was going to plow straight through the house, but ended up crashing against the guest bedroom wall. I could hear the window shattering and bricks breaking as it struggled to keep going, maintaining its momentum.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Marilyn was shredded, hurled straight through the front door hanging from its broken hinges. I could hear the thing coming back. It was still moving, turning around for another pass. Marilyn was there, in the hallway, in the dark. She was unconscious, and it was freezing cold. I could see my breath forming a puff of white smoke.

I broke the third rule. I did not stay close to the fire.

Running down the hallway, I could hear thunder approaching. I grabbed Marilyn under the arms and dragged her back toward the fireplace light. Her foot caught on the corner of my couch. The sudden pull made me lose my balance, falling backward. As I lay there, I heard those heavy footsteps slow down. It stopped dead in front of my front door, pawing at it. The wood tore from its hinges, pieces slamming into the floor. Then I saw a hand reach in. It had that gray texture, like old leather. Four fingers of different sizes, not like our fingers where there is an opposable thumb, an index, and so on. No, everything was off. One finger had four joints. One had two. One was really long and curled outward.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

It felt along the floor, its black, sharp claws scraping the wood. It was so soft. It was looking for Marilyn. I inched back, just a few centimeters. That was enough for the hand to retract. Without a sound, I went back to the fire, throwing in a little more myrrh.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Marilyn’s eyes were open, but I could tell she had a concussion. Her right arm was broken, but she did not seem to notice. I had to call for help. I did not know what I was going to say, but I had to try. Picking up my phone, I typed my password and stopped. There was a black square blocking most of the screen, and it started making this horrible high-pitched sound. I dropped my phone, smashing the screen. Marilyn rolled her eyes toward me.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

Point four… she muttered. The ones on the phone… are dead.

I blinked. It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the cassette notes. The people who had called for help had not survived as long as the ones who had not. Was that a factor? The fire flickered. I could only stay close to the fire if there was a fire to stay close to. Time was running out.

As the flames shrank, I tried throwing in more wood. It did not work. The flames were no longer biting. I tried putting in a little more firestarter, emptying half the bottle and splashing a good handful onto my fancy shirt, but nothing worked. It was as if the fire was no longer hungry. It stopped trying.

I pulled Marilyn close to me, closer to the fire. Her eyes could not focus and she was barely breathing. If she held her head at the right angle, there was less bleeding.

It is killing the fire… I muttered. It is killing it.

Make more…

I tried using my mattress. I tried setting fire to the fringe of the rug. Then one of the chairs, the curtains… nothing worked. It was as if the fire had forgotten what it was supposed to do. As if it was no longer even fire. It just looked like it. I was panicking. I ran through every possibility in my head as the fireplace dwindled down to embers. Maybe it was not about what they were not doing. Maybe it was about what they were doing. They all had heartbeats and pulses. They all had dinner. They all had something to drink. What if that was the answer? What if it was not doing something, but abstaining from something? Oh, why had nobody suggested this?

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 1

My mind raced as I struck the firewood with a poker.

Come on, come on, come on!

The pounding returned, slower this time, deliberate, and within a minute, something heavy leaned against my broken front door, cracking the wood under immense pressure. It went dark as the embers cooled. I held Marilyn tight against me. Something tightened and a six-jointed finger wrapped around her foot. She muttered something as I pulled her away, freeing her from its loose grip. It barely fought me back.

I still had a few matches, but I did not know what else to do. I pushed Marilyn behind me, stood up, and took a deep breath. Maybe a little light would be enough.

Do not worry… murmured Marilyn. About anything…

Mom’s dearest boy lit the mattress.

It had gray leather skin. It was so big it barely fit through the door. There were limbs, but of different sizes. It was like something that had forgotten what people were supposed to look like and how big we were supposed to be. The eyes were wrong. They were aligned on the sides like a horse or a frog. They were big. Too big. Way too big. I thought they were going to pop out of their sockets. I could not even see all of it as it moved. Maybe that head was not the head. Maybe the arm was not the arm, but something like a mouth opened and leaned closer, and its teeth dripped with charcoal ichor.

Source of Beauty Fragrance+ 2

The matches slipped from my hand. All urge to fight left me. I will be the first to admit it. I would have given anything at that moment. I just wanted to live. The matches landed on my fancy shirt, the one splashed with firestarter and myrrh. The tiny grains of resin glowed as the ember reignited.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

I looked down. There was a fire there, deep down, at the very bottom. I grabbed the shirt, wrapped it around my hand, and blew. An ember breathed. I blew again. A staccato click approached as something heavy dragged itself across my floor. I wrapped my entire arm in that damn shirt and waved it like a fucking flag, screaming for it to work.

And then it ignited.

My entire arm lit up in flames. Half a dozen eyes blinked and turned away as that leather thing bolted into the dark. It was too big to turn around. It screamed in fear and I screamed in pain. I stepped forward as if the flames themselves were pushing it back. I thrust my arm forward to push the pain away from my chest, hoping the fire would not have time to spread. I stepped forward. It backed away. It crawled on its belly into the guest bedroom, finally rolling out the window. I could hear the crack as its weight slammed into the bushes outside. A few seconds later, the galloping resumed at full speed toward the fields.

Source of Beauty Fragrance

I tore the shirt off, stomping on it to put it out. I was burned up to my shoulder. I fell to my knees as I noticed the cracked screen of my phone light up. The black square was gone. I could call for help. I tried to explain all of this as a home invasion gone wrong. I wanted to say exactly what it was, but Marilyn had advised against it. After all, that thing tended to attack people who knew what it was. From what we had learned, it was better to keep quiet, it was safer.

We survived that night, albeit with burns and a severe concussion. Marilyn also had a compound arm fracture. But hey, that is a small price to pay considering the alternative. We have seen each other a few times since. We wrote down what we know so we can present it to our own children in case of sudden death. After all, who is to say this thing will not come back? We do not know the rules. No one knows them for sure.

I researched a few other people’s kids who had attended that meeting. Some died that night, others were fine. It seems not everyone is treated the same way. There are factors we do not understand yet.

In the end, I stayed close to the fire. Any fire. Even if I had to become the damned fire myself. I do not think that is what my parents wanted me to do. But ultimately, everything boils down to what gets you through the night. Sometimes, we do not have the luxury of following the straight path. Sometimes, we have to burn.

I have not had another day like that since. I figure I never will. But if that day comes and I see three dead little birds on my doorstep, I will know what to do. I will be mom’s dearest boy, and I will stay close to the fire.