Pants on fire

Kerosene fumes waft in the air as his clothes soak it up.

He closes his eyes and pulls out a set of matches. Without hesitating, he lights one up.

"No, don't do this!"

He ignores the cries of the people tied up in the room. The fuel drips from his shirt and down on his face. His shoes are also soaked, making him smell terrible.

"Please," a woman whimpers. "Don't do this."

Turning to them, he says, "I'll see you in hell."

And he drops the match.

---

3 hours earlier

"Jared, it's not what it looks like!"

It's exactly what it looks like.

"Save it," Jared says, slamming the door shut.

He'd just walked in on Cynthia eating his lunch. Devastating.

The front door rings and Jared goes to answer it.

But before he could even touch the doorknob, Cynthia's there, pushing him away.

"Ow Cynthia! What the-"

"Hide! NOW!!"

Jared looked at Cynthia in fear, an expression which she reciprocated. He ran down the stairs and locked himself in the safe-room.

He couldn't hear what the police officer and his sister were talking about. All he heard were muffled sounds.

He suddenly felt dizzy, and clutched his side in pain.

Must be the hunger, he thought.

Blackouts weren't a stranger to Jared. He'd had them for a long time. A medical condition consumed him from the inside. A strange one, too. His mother argued with countless doctors on the phone. No one had any idea what Jared had.

His mother, his father, they must've had it too. That's what Cynthia told him, anyways. They died terrible deaths. Jared was always scared that it'd happen to him, but Cynthia kept him on pills to prevent them from happening.

Cynthia. That was all he had left.

His grandparents were still alive, thank God. They were coming to visit tomorrow.

Jared could feel himself slipping away, as he passed out on the cold floor.

---

Cynthia screamed.

He was sure it was her voice.

Jared tried to reach out to her, but failed to.

Her screams were agonizing, like she was being torn apart. Another voice joined hers, and panic flared inside Jared. His grandfather.

What was he doing here so early?

Jared felt himself gaining a little bit of consciousness, and heard the voices die down.

He opened his eyes and nearly screamed himself.

Cynthia was leant against the walls of the safe-room, covered in blood. Jared couldn't see any visible injury, but was still startled nonetheless. His grandfather held what looked like a javelin, pointed at Jared.

"What happened?" he asked, staring at the stick in horror.

His grandfather dropped it and ran to hug him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Jared shook his head slowly. "Cynthia?"

Cynthia looked at him and smiled a bit. "I'm fine."

Jared looked at everyone in shock. "Who did that to you?"

"Policeman," his grandfather said, pointing to the dead policeman on the ground.

It took all of Jared's resources to calm down.

"I need fresh air," he said. Cynthia shook her head.

"To your room. And bolt your door."

Jared had a million questions. "No, wait. What happened? Why did he attack you? Why didn't you let me answer the door? Why-"

His grandmother shoved an apple in his mouth and pointed upstairs. Jared, realizing defeat, went to his room.

He was severely shaken by the turn of events. If Cynthia let him answer the door, would he have been killed?

Jared threw the apple in anger. It hit the wall and dislodged a book, which fell to the ground with a thud.

It was strange. He'd never seen that book before. You'd expect him to, living in the house and all, but scarily enough, Jared didn't even think that the book belonged to him.

The cover was faded and the pages were yellow.

He opened the book and read it. It was a diary.

The more he read, the more intrigued he became. It must've been written by a doctor, for who else would write about mental illnesses in criminals?

Criminal psychology, Jared thought. Then he saw who the book belonged to.

Shivers ran down his spine. It was his mother's.

---

"Cynthia?"

Jared walked around the house and finally found his sister and grandparents in the living room, all cleaned up and worried.

"Do you need anything?"

Jared glared at her. He then tied her to her chair.

"What the hell Jared!" his grandfather said, leaping up.

"SIT DOWN!" he roared, shoving his grandfather back into his seat.

His grandmother didn't object to anything, instead, whimpering as Jared tightened the ropes around their hands.

When he was done, he stood in front of them, holding the diary.

"Recognize this?"

The reaction was instantaneous. Cynthia's eyes grew wide, his grandfather looked to the floor, and a tear rolled down his grandmother's cheek.

"I'm a psychopath," Jared said, throwing the book to the ground.

Cynthia flinched, and started crying.

"I killed them didn't I?" Jared said coldly, staring at Cynthia.

She shook her head and sobbed even harder.

"No more lies!"

His grandfather nodded.

Jared scoffed. "And I thought whatever illness I had took them. Turns out that I was the illness."

"No," Cynthia said, rocking back and forth.

Jared clenched his jaw. "I killed the police officer too, didn't I?"

No one answered.

"AND I NEARLY KILLED YOU TOO!"

Cynthia shook her head violently. "It wasn't your fault!"

Jared poured the fuel all over himself.

"It is, Cynthia. I could've killed you. And that's why the police came to our house, right? There were more I took."

His grandparents and Cynthia stayed silent. That was all Jared needed as conformation.

The match burned brightly, his eyes reflecting the glow.

He looked at his family for the last time.

"I found the cure," he said softly.

He lit up in a ball of flames, as the fire ate him whole.

He heard Cynthia's cries, but ignored them.

This isn't as bad as I thought it would be, Jared thought, feeling his skin melt. I'm on fire. And I can't hurt anyone now.

His vision stared blurring, and this time, Jared felt relived. He wasn't going to hurt anyone now.

The last thought that came to mind, before everything became black, was the words Cynthia used to sing to him when he denied ever having eaten her food. He chuckled at the memory, and the irony of it coming true.

Liar liar, pants on fire!