A Dangerous Gift

A young man, clothes charred and sooty, stands at the top of a hill, staring down as a roaring fire engulfs his home. Flames lick the night sky, casting an unnatural glow upon the landscape. He falls to his hands and knees in the dirt.

"Lord forgive me!" He sobs. "I tried to rescue my family. It was impossible. I remain the lone survivor of my own destruction. Never again will I use the power which lies within me. It is untameable, worthless, a curse."

***

"Wow. That's… heartbreaking." Phil pushed the antique leather-bound book across the table towards his father Lucien. "And you're saying he's my grandfather?"

"Yes. I am the last of the Fire Bearers. The power will be transferred to you as your twelfth birthday begins at sunset."

"Then what happens to you, Dad?"

"I'll be released from the burden of my power once you receive it." Lucien pulled his chair closer to Phil. "Only one living male in the family can have the fire power at a time."

"So… what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Nothing. It cannot be used for good."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes."

Phil frowned. He ran his fingers over the embossed patterns on the book.

"Can you show me how you do it? Just one tiny flame?"

"No. I swore the oath of my father to never use it."

"What's the point of having a gift you can't use? Surely there's some way to control it. If you've controlled it enough to not use it all these years…"

"Son, it's no use to anyone. Thousands of years ago, when raw fire was the source and sustainer of life, such a gift was admired and honored. Today, when everything runs on electricity, a man who can conjure up fire is feared and hated. Your grandfather was an outcast, a pariah. They would have had him burned at the stake, but he disappeared across the border."

"Well, you sure did a good job of keeping it secret all my life." Phil rubbed his forehead. "I can't believe this is real."

He sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at the antique book.

"Is this why I don't have a mom?" He asked, a quiver in his voice.

"Yes." Lucien bowed his head. "I foolishly tried to reignite the stovetop pilot light with a lighter. But my power slipped out instead and caused an explosion."

"That's crazy! How did we survive and—and Mom didn't…"

"Heaven only knows." Lucien sighed. He put an arm around his son's trembling shoulders. "We are the last members of the Stokes family left in the world."

***

At sunset, Phil and Lucien were sitting inside by the living room window. Phil wondered why his father had a bucket of water next to him. They watched as the last wavering orange light faded away beyond the hillside.

Phil's change commenced immediately. A warmth ran through his veins. Euphoria landed as suddenly as a bird. He jumped up with a cry. His eyes squeezed shut as he imagined what he wanted to see.

"Man, I'm invincible! Look, Dad!" He held out his pointer finger. A blue flame no bigger than his fingernail wavered on its tip as if he were holding a candle. "It's true. I'm a Fire Bearer now!"

Lucien shook his head with a mournful gaze.

"Can you put it out?"

Phil closed his eyes again, picturing the flame dying out like a lighter. When he opened them, it burned higher and brighter. He gasped, sticking his arm up into the air to try to avoid touching anything.

"Help! I can't stop it!"

Lucien grabbed his son's hand and shoved it into the water bucket he'd prepared. The flame fizzled out in a cloud of steam, leaving Phil drained and gasping for breath.

"You see now? Don't use it. Suppress it. Forget you ever knew you had it. How can you use fire if you can't extinguish it?"

Phil, pale and sweaty, stared at his shaking fingers through which the fire could be channeled.

"I… you're right, Dad. The power is more powerful than I am. I'm scared!"

Lucien held him close.

"Heed the harrowing examples of your grandfather and I. Protect yourself and others from this curse at all costs."

"Yes, Dad!"

***

Phil sat up late into the night, poring over the old leather book which now belonged to him. It contained journal entries from several generations of Fire Bearers.

He was surprised to find these entries included secrets of how they were able to master their power and do great things with it. Disaster had apparently begun with his grandfather.

I bet I can learn to control the power. I'll make Dad proud of me. How hard could it be?

Phil went into the bathroom and started practicing cautiously in the tub with a steady supply of water at hand. He quickly grew tired, however, and remembered the warning written by one of his ancestors: do not use your power when you are weary. The risk of either fizzling out or losing control was greater.

I'll practice every day after I get home from school. It'll be part of my homework…

***

Phil's fascination with his power grew into an obsession over the next few weeks. If Dad finds out I'm training, he'll be upset. But there's nothing he can do to stop me. It's like a muscle, getting stronger with each use.

One morning, Phil wanted to make himself breakfast. Lucien was sleeping late. Phil pulled a box of frozen sausages out of the freezer. Say, why bother turning on the stove? I'll just heat them up with my fingertips!

By now he knew the techniques for starting and stopping his flames, as well as controlling their size. This is easy. Why did Dad warn me not to use my fire? Imagine the electricity we'd save if I did all the cooking like this!

Phil decided to see if he could broil a steak for his dad. Won't it be fun to have steak for breakfast? The steamy, savory smell of meat filled the air. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him on the stairs.

"Phil! What are you doing?!"

He spun around and stared guiltily at Lucien, the flames still waving off of his hands.

"Uh, just cooking breakfast, Dad." Phil shut off the flames. "See, look. I can turn them on and off now. I've been practicing."

"No. You can't do that. Before you know it things will get out of hand. The power is beyond anyone's control."

"But Dad! It's all in the book. I can do this. Watch me!" Phil drew a circle in the air, tracing a living ring of fire like a circus hoop, floating in front of him.

"What good do you think will come of these parlor tricks?" Lucien demanded. "Stop right now!"

Phil waved his hands. The fire ring shrunk down to a spark, which settled onto a china plate before he could fully extinguish it. He watched as the flame continued to burn on the plate without any apparent fuel.

Lucien took another plate and clapped it over the flame to smother it.

"I swear, you'll be the death of us. How could you? After everything you've read, after I've told you your own mother died because of my power. There's no use for this. Cooking, indeed. That's why people invented electric stoves, for crying out loud."

Phil stared down at the floor. The power tingled in his hands. A brief spark slipped out. He suppressed it, clenching his fists.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I won't use it again."

***

At school, Phil wanted to tell everyone his secret and show them what he could do. But he knew it would horrify people rather than impress them. Now I understand why Dad warned me about becoming an outcast in society. Why can't I just be a normal boy again like everyone else?

He trudged down the hall with a sack of books. "Big Jake" grabbed one of the straps, pulling Phil sideways.

"Whatcha up to, little kid? Need some help with your homework?"

Phil yanked his backpack out of Big Jake's hands.

"Go away, bully. Go pick on someone bigger than you for a change—if you can find a boy that fat." He ran off as fast as he could.

In his mind's eye, Phil could see himself hurling out a shot of flames that swallowed Big Jake up like a piece of kindling. The idea was at once shocking and satisfying. His hands itched to go back and try it out. Whoa, wait a minute. I can't do that! Shoot, what's gotten into me?

Phil scowled to himself. Dad was right—this power is dangerous! Jeepers, if I wanted to I could take over the world… He held out his hand and formed a baseball of fire, bouncing it up and down in his palm. Such an amazing ability going to waste. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'll use it for good. Isn't that ok?

He squelched the fireball and kept walking, head down, ruminating.

Phil glanced up as he went past the house of his best friend Tony Sanders. I wish I could at least tell him. I bet he wouldn't be afraid. He'd think it's cool. Whoa! Is that Jake?!

Big Jake stood in Tony's front yard, pinning the smaller boy in a chokehold and laughing as he turned blue.

"Hey, stop that!" Phil dropped his backpack and ran towards them.

He was not intending to use his power—indeed, he had no clue how he would rescue his friend—but his hands outstretched involuntarily. The furious disgust in his heart spilled out into orange flames, tearing across the space between him and the other boys.

Phil dragged himself short. He tried to stifle the fiery outburst, call it back into his soul. He managed to redirect the glob of flames so that it missed Jake's head by an inch, smashing into the wall of Tony's house with an explosion of glass and wood.

Jake let out a wild scream. He released Tony and took off running. For a moment all Phil could think of was making sure Tony was ok. He got down beside him in the dirt.

Tony sat up, gasping. He tugged on Phil's sleeve, pointing to his house, his eyes bulging.

"Phil! My mom's in there! And my dog, Captain!"

Phil turned to look. His heart skipped a beat. The house was burning rapidly, clouds of black smoke billowing up. No—not me! Not Tony! This isn't happening.

"Stay back! Call the fire trucks! I'll get them out."

"No!" Tony tried to stop him.

Phil tore out of his friend's grasp and plunged into the house through the unlocked front door. He found himself surrounded by ignited furniture spewing toxic fumes. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose and headed for the sound of frantic cries and barking.

A superheated whirlwind bore down on him, crackling and roaring like a volcano. Sparks landed on his clothes. He smothered them with his bare hands. This is impossible! I must save the innocent, even if I die trying.

Phil unleashed a wall of fire around him, blue and smokeless against the dense black and flashes of orange. He had no idea what he was doing. It was enough, somehow, to allow him to advance into what remained of the kitchen without burning alive in the leaping flames.

"Captain! Mrs Sanders! Are you there?"

Tony's mom was backed into a corner, coughing, with the dog huddled behind her. She tried to hold off the fire with water and towels from the sink.

"Hang onto me! I'll get you out."

Phil lowered his firewall and pulled them into it. A section of ceiling came down with a tremendous crash somewhere. He grabbed Captain's collar to keep him from running away.

The smoke was so thick, his eyes were streaming with tears. Every breath choked him, knifing his throat. He didn't know how to find his way out of the maelstrom, much less bring them with him.

All he could do was maintain his circle of blue flame and try to crawl towards where it seemed like an exit might be.

Phil tripped and went tumbling down, his energy near exhausted. This is it. I'm falling straight into my own fire. I tried my best to save them. Lord forgive me!

***

"Wh—what happened? Where am I?"

Phil struggled to sit up, his chest heaving. He gagged and tried to breathe. The cold, damp grass of a neighbor's yard chilled his aching bones.

"Relax." Lucien wrapped strong arms around his son. "You saved their lives."

"I did? How?"

"The firemen refused to enter. They said it was hopeless. But you came crashing right through the wall with a burst of blue flames. You weren't even conscious when you hit the ground. Tony's mom and Captain were right there with you."

"You mean—I—I… burned my way out of a fire? Is that even possible?"

"It is if you're a Stokes kid, I guess."

Phil slumped against his father's embrace as a multitude of voices surrounded him.

"I didn't mean to start a fire, Dad," he whispered, blinking away tears.

"It's ok. They're alive. Everything is fine."

***

I, Philip Stokes, seventy-five years old, am the last Fire Bearer. Having no sons to pass the power on to, I conclude this book with my own account. They can't erase the truth of those who came before me. Whatever purpose we once served in the world is now complete, and I finish knowing I did my best what I was given.

Word Count: 2,280-ish
Written for "Horror Writing Contest" 
Prompt: Fire (no demons!)