Burning

Note: This story contains sensitive information such as mental illness and violence. Please read at your own risk.

Looking in the mirror, I spot a small bump on my face. Great—just one more thing to add to the list of worries.

As I prod and poke at it, torn between risking an even uglier scar or heading downstairs to face 15 people while hoping they don’t notice the volcano of pus on my face, my brother strolls into the room through the open door to my left. Flashing his annoyingly perfect, gleaming smile, he chuckles and quips, “At least it’s in season!”

“Yeah, why don’t we just spray my hair green while we’re at it,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath, which only makes him laugh even harder. 

“Come on, sis, it’s not that bad. You look fine. Let’s head downstairs—everyone’s waiting,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. I sigh, feeling oddly comforted but making sure to mask it with an air of annoyance. Can’t let him think I actually love him, or his ego would inflate even more than it already has. 

We head downstairs, and as I round the corner to the tenth step, I catch sight of the whole family... plus one? That’s strange—I don’t recognize this person, making the headcount 16 instead of the planned 15. I shrug it off, distracted by the warm scene below. Everyone looks happy and relaxed, chatting and laughing while Christmas music drifts softly in the background.

I wander over to the fireplace, taking a moment to admire the stockings and decorations as the warmth of the fire wraps around me. Still, I can’t help but wish I were back in my room. Pimple or not, I’d much rather be curled up with a book in peaceful isolation. Though, I wouldn’t say no to some cocoa.

I glance over at the man lingering in the corner—the stranger crashing my parents’ party—and catch him staring at me. His face is completely blank, pale as a sheet. He can’t be more than 5'11", dressed in what looks like singed clothing. How has no one questioned this guy? He looks homeless, and as far as I know, no one here even knows who he is. 

His unwavering stare sends a shiver down my spine, and the growing discomfort forces me to look away. Determined to get some answers, I head over to my mom and ask who the man in the corner is. My mom’s response only adds to my unease. 

“Honey, who are you talking about?” my mom asks, her face a picture of confusion.

“The guy in the corner of the living room—he’s staring at me. Still staring at me. Mom, this isn’t funny. I’m seriously uncomfortable.” I rub my left arm nervously, confused as to why she’s acting like she doesn’t know who I’m talking about.

“Jessica, there’s no one standing in the corner of the living room,” my mom says with a light chuckle. “Is this some kind of holiday prank you kids are into these days?” Her amused tone makes it clear she isn’t taking me seriously.

I take a step back, studying her for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. It’s clear she’s either pretending not to know or genuinely doesn’t recognize him. Given his appearance, I’m starting to think she invited him in from the cold to join us for food—after all, my mom is the type to offer the clothes off her back to anyone in need. I just don’t understand why she wouldn’t be honest about it. 

My mom watches me for a moment as I weigh my next move, then says, “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, honey, I understand. You can stay in your room for the evening if you’d rather. I know social events aren’t really your thing, but I just wanted you to spend some time with the family.” She sighs softly. “At least come down for dinner later when you’re hungry. Thank you for making the effort to show up.”

My mom has always been incredibly considerate of others, and I can’t help but admire that about her. I wish I could be more like that. Still, I don’t press her any further and seize the chance to retreat to my bedroom, carefully avoiding the rest of the family on my way up. But just as I’m about to take the first step on the stairs, my brother stops me. “Why are you leaving so soon?” he asks.

“There’s a creepy guy in the corner, and I don’t know who he is. I’m really uncomfortable.” As I speak, a chill runs down my spine, and I glance at the stranger. In that instant, his previously expressionless face contorts into a grotesque, snarling scowl. He’s angry. Did he hear me from all the way over here? 

“What guy?” my brother asks, following my gaze. 

“Don’t play dumb with me too—Is this some kind of strange joke?” I don’t give him a chance to respond and push past him, heading back upstairs to my bedroom. 

I close the door behind me and turn toward my bed, hoping to just lie down and lose myself in a book for the evening. But I freeze, staring at my bed. The man is sitting on it, now wearing a Santa hat. “Who are you?” I shout, louder than I meant to, but the adrenaline coursing through my body won’t let me calm down. Gripping the doorknob tightly, I brace myself to flee.

He stands up and starts walking toward me. That’s my cue—I fling the door open and bolt to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me and immediately lock it. I don’t even glance back to see if he’s following. 

As I struggle to catch my breath, I splash water on my face, trying to clear my mind and think. Then, I hear a calm knock on the door. “Go away!” I shout, my words catching in my throat. I back away from the door, staring at it, praying that the person on the other side is my mom, my brother, or anyone but that man. 

Another calm knock sounds on the door, and my pulse quickens as I struggle to figure out my next move. I don’t have my phone with me—I can’t call anyone for help. 

As I slowly step backward from the door, the knocking grows louder and more frantic. Suddenly, it stops, and I freeze in place. My heart races so wildly it feels like it might leap from my chest and run off without me. I silently beg it not to abandon me now.

Suddenly, I feel a hand rest gently on my shoulder, but the touch does nothing to stop the scream that escapes my mouth. "MOM!!" Tears well up in my eyes as fear floods my body. I jump forward, spinning around to see who’s behind me. My eyes widen in horror as I find the man standing there, now wearing a Santa jacket over his clothes—still burned in the same way as before. I scream so loudly my voice cracks, desperately shouting for him to go away, repeating the words over and over until I lose count. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, convincing myself this has to be a nightmare—people don’t just appear behind a locked door. But then, I hear another knock at the bathroom door, followed by my mom’s soft voice from the other side. “Honey, are you okay? We can hear you screaming from downstairs. Please open the door...”

The sound of her voice immediately steadies my pulse, and I force my eyes open. It’s as if I’ve woken from a terrible dream. I glance around the bathroom, realizing I’m completely alone. I check behind the shower curtain—nothing. I even open the cabinets—empty.

“Honey?” I hear my mom again, her voice laced with growing concern. 

“I’m okay, Mom, I’m sorry, I must not be sleeping well. I thought…” I hesitate, considering telling her the truth, but decide against it. She’d think I’m crazy—if she doesn’t already, thanks to the screaming. I unlock the door and open it. “Mom,” I say, somehow feeling more relieved than I did just moments ago. Tears start to well up in my eyes. 

“Honey, what’s going on?” she asks, lifting her hand to my face. I gently take it in mine. 

“It’s nothing, Mom. I just need some sleep... Can you walk with me to my room?” I ask, hesitant to go there alone with these hallucinations still lingering. I’m beginning to realize that my mom truly didn’t see anyone when I came downstairs earlier this evening. 

“Of course, honey. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me,” she says, taking my hand as we walk to my room together. Once we’re inside, I lie down on my bed. She kisses my forehead and gently brushes my hair back with her hand. “Get some rest. We’ll all be downstairs if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry for scaring everyone,” I say, sighing as the last of the adrenaline fades from my body. I settle into bed, shutting my eyes, and soon drift off to sleep. I tell myself it was all just from poor sleep, and when I wake up, I’ll feel better.

When I wake up, my pulse spikes to an unhealthy level. I’m paralyzed, unable to move. The only light in the room comes from the moonlight streaming in through the window to my left. I frantically scan the room, praying that I’ll be able to move soon so I can run. 

My eyes freeze on the darkest corner of my room, and my heart skips two, maybe three beats. I want to scream. I want to run. Please, God, let me run.

The man is now fully dressed in a Santa outfit, still burned, still unnervingly calm, and slowly walking toward me. A mix of confusion and dread floods my mind as I watch him gradually glow. Is that… fire? Is that fire?!

More than ever, I want to scream. I want to run, to call the cops, to do something, anything. Someone, please help me. What is happening?

He continues to ignite, the flames growing hotter as they scorch the floor and edge of my bed, getting closer and closer to me. He leans over, his eyes locking onto mine, his gaze piercing. Soon, my entire room is engulfed in flames, yet I don’t feel the heat. This has to be a nightmare. I can’t feel the fire, I can’t feel the flames. None of this is real. I repeat it over and over in my head as I stare back at him, silently begging myself to wake up. Wake up... Wake up... WAKE UP!!

My eyes snap open, and I bolt upright in a panic, drenched in sweat, breathing as if I’ve just run a marathon. The room is bright now. I take a moment to steady my breath, staring down at my knees, praying it was all just a dream. But then, I notice something. I’m on the floor. On... burned ground. Charred wood. What is happening? 

I lift my head and look around me. I’m sitting in the middle of my living room, and I’m the only one here. The entire house has been reduced to ashes, the light illuminating my surroundings now coming from the sun. Then, it all comes rushing back to me, and I begin to cry uncontrollably. 

Realization coils around my mind. Of course it was a dream. Of course I feel guilty—this is all my fault. That man was my father. He wasn’t creepy, he loved me. And I killed him. We had one stupid argument, years ago, and I killed him. I should have been home, I shouldn’t have left candles burning in my room, I should never have snuck out, I should have listened to him. I should stop coming back to this place—the place where I killed my whole family. This is all my fault... I’m so sorry, Dad... I’m just... so... so... 

sorry...