A Cold Fire

It was a quite calm winter morning. The snow outside the cabin lay undisturbed, save for one small trail from a squirrel that was searching for a safe cache for the two large nuts it was carrying in its mouth. It scurried atop the snow, stopping occasionally to dig beneath to test the solidity of the earth below. Just as the squirrel had finally discovered a patch of dirt tender enough for its needs, a man’s loud scream erupted from the cabin, making the squirrel scurry off in fear.

            The source of the scream inside the cabin was a somewhat scruffy-looking man sitting up in his bed. He was drenched in a cold sweat, breathing extremely heavily. He collapsed onto his back again, where he stayed for a few minutes until he threw his warm blanket off his body. Then he got up, preparing to do the same morning routine he does every day. He puts on the clothes he had laid on the chair next to his desk and then equips the heavy coat that was hanging next to the door. Squinting his eyes as he opened the door, he looked up into the sky, which was only visible due to the placement of the cabin he resided in centered in one of the few clearings in the thick forest.

            “Damn, I woke up late again.”

            As he was doing his business a few feet into the woods, he realized what day it was and rushed back into his cabin. He grabbed the sack that was laying at the foot of his bed and quickly trudged his way into the snow-covered treeline surrounding his house. After a half-hour semi-sprint through the snow and trees, he reached his location; an icy lake at the base of a massive mountain this forest was named after. It was by no means a small lake and even had a river leading out into greater bodies of water. He furnished his boots with the metal pieces that would provide grip as he walked out to the hole he had previously bored into the thick ice. He sat down and went through his bag before pulling out the coil of fishing line. He unraveled it and tied it to a three-pronged hook. After baiting the hook, he tossed it into the hole and waited. 

            After hours of fishing, he gathered all of the fish he had caught on a blanket, rolled them up, and stuffed the roll under his arm as he traveled back. Judging by the location of the sun, it was getting to be around two o’clock. He hurried back to his cabin and placed a couple of the fish in an ice box on the side of the cabin. He placed all of the other fish into two sacks and, just as he was tying up the second sack, he heard the sounds of many footsteps in the snow. As soon as he looked up, a husky dog ran up to him and started licking his face. Behind this dog was a dog sled being commandeered by a figure wearing a very thick brown coat.

            “You’re late Alex,” said the scruffy-looking man. 

            “Well, you don’t make it any easier,” said the man with the coat in a friendly tone. “Do you have a good number of fish this time? You gave me a little less last month than usual.”

            The scruffy man motioned towards the two burlap sacks at his feet and said, “This enough?”

            “That’s all fish? I’m impressed. You could probably start a fishing business with this kind of talent. ‘Jack and company’s fish emporium!’”

            “I wouldn’t do something like that. People wouldn’t want that from me.”

            “I certainly would,” said Alex, shuffling through his bag and pulling out a massive stack of newspapers. “This last month was pretty crazy. You’re lucky you live all the way out here. It is a shame that the only way you can get news is from me.”

            “Thanks,” grumbled Jack. “Sorry to send you home early, but I’ve been falling behind a little today.”

            “That’s fine. I’ll try to visit again next week, be sure to have a warm fire ready!”

            Alex was carried by his dog sled into the woods and quickly became obscured by the thin branches of the many trees. Jack brought the stack of newspapers inside and set them on his desk. He walked towards the fireplace, but cursed himself as soon as he realized that he didn’t have any firewood. He grabbed his handaxe and headed into the surrounding woods, dragging a wood sled behind him. 

            The setting sun darkened the sky and filled the forests with a mass of shadows, and it quickly became too dark for Jack to see without any aid. He sat down and pulled a small lantern out of his bag. He lit the lantern and stared into the flame, transfixed. It reminded him of that day. It always reminded him of that day.

            Pictures flashed in his eyes. His family. The mansion. A party. The fire. He was only eighteen, it couldn’t have been his fault. But it was. They all said it was.

            Jack blinked. How long had he been staring into this lantern? It was noticeably lighter than before, meaning most of the oil had probably been used up. There wasn’t a trace of the sun anymore, leaving him surrounded by darkness illuminated only by the bits of moonlight not covered by clouds. He traveled straight back to his cabin, picking up any sticks that he finds along his path.

            When he got back to his cabin, he immediately started the fire and took off his coat. He sat the lantern on his desk and began reading. The crackles of the fire and the hoos of an owl set a calm mood, perfect for his reading. As he read, he would occasionally see the flame of the lantern in the corner of his field of vision. This was still unpleasant, so he moved it a tad further out of view. The headlines from the past month didn’t help. “Fires wreak havoc across Australia and America.” “Prestigious church burns down.” “Millionaire businessman dies in tragic fire.”

            It was all the same. It couldn’t be his fault; it happened all the time.

            “Jack.”

            It was a woman’s voice. Jack ignored it and kept reading. It should go away. It normally does.

            “Jack. Listen to your mother.”

            He told himself it wasn’t real. It never is.

            “Jack! What did I say about playing with lighters! It’s dangerous.”

            Jack slammed down on his desk and turned towards the voice. “I know!” He shouldn’t have looked.

            The source of the voice was a woman whose face was barely recognizable due raging fire that had enveloped her. In her arms was a baby in the same condition. It was letting out loud screeches, as if it knew what was happening to it. “Look what you’ve done Jack.”

            She began crying, but her tears were easily drowned out by the baby. Jack got up and forced his eyes shut. He stumbled towards his bed and got under the covers. He knew she was right.

            “Join us, Jack. Experience what you made us experience.”

            He had to ignore it. He always did.

            Pretty soon, the volume of their cries lowered until the only sound was the crackling of the fire. He fell asleep, preparing himself for tomorrow, where he would meet his mother again.