The thought some future scholar might place the blame for your actions on a cosmic event appeals to you. But, you have to admit, that isn’t likely unless you upscale a bit; hard to imagine anyone constructing an elaborate theory about the destruction of an old shed on an allotment.

You look up into the clear night sky and you think perhaps you catch a glimpse of a shooting star. At the same time something in the shed catches, and all of a sudden the structure is fully ablaze. You sit up and feel the displaced creature fall out of your sleeve. The shed is blazing brightly, the heat licking at your face and warming your skin.

The scream returns long before the fire is out, though, even before you hear the sirens tearing ever closer through the quiet dark of the night. He wants more, so much more. He needs feeding, and his appetite is far greater than an old shed, or a run-down bus shelter. These things are too easily overlooked, too easily written off as accidents or pranks.

Tonight, you think, will be different. Tonight, they are going to notice you.

POSTED BY thefirewatcher AT 5:46 AM

4 COMMENTS

Gengen97 said . . .

Wow! That is soooooo cool!!!

RDAtack said . . .

Meteorites are cold to the touch when they reach the ground. There are no credible reports of them ever causing fires. The weather conditions at the time—a long period of high temperatures, and widespread drought, combined with the fact that the predominant industry in the area, logging, meant the countryside was littered with sawdust and stacks of dry timber—is a far more likely cause.

Babelicious69 said . . .

Wat u gonna burn next?

Firebug69 said . . .

Love u man! I burned a shed once but it wun’t tak. What petrol u using?

The receptionist in the Medico-Legal Center on Watery Street eyes Tyler suspiciously, like he’s an out-of-date bottle of milk she’s just found in the communal fridge. He tries to reassure her with a smile but feels the scar pull at the corner of his mouth. If anything, this seems to raise her suspicions further.

A door opens and Elliot arrives, his skin jaundiced, gray bags suspended under his eyes; he reminds Tyler of the portrait at the Old Vicarage. “DS Tyler, do me a favor, man,” he says, yawning and cracking his neck with one long-fingered hand. “Never, ever, ring me again.” He ushers Tyler through to the morgue. “Where’s Jim?”

“In court.”

“What did they get him for this time? Let me guess, missing alimony payments.”

Tyler ignores him. “Thanks for pushing this through.”

“Your DCI Jordan is a persuasive woman. I had to call in a favor from a colleague. Forensic dentist.” His tone suggests forensic dentists are something of a rarity and that they’re lucky he managed to find one. Perhaps they are, but he’s thanked the man already, what more does he want?