Feuer, Feuer!!!
Excerpt
It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust. Gray smoke drifted around her room. It was coming from the closet. Angie flung open the door and fell back coughing as a dark cloud of smoke hit her in the face.
Gasping for breath, she clutched her bedpost. Her Christmas dress was on fire, the one Mom had given her. She had worn the red silk gown on her first date with Mike. It had puffed, gathered sleeves. The empire waist tied in a red bow. The high, button-up collar looked old-fashioned. All the kids had oohed and aahed over it. Chrissy had gone wild. She wanted to wear it on a date with George.
The fire had started around the neckline and was burning down the sides. Bright, orange flames crackled as they made short work of the dress.
Angie dashed into her bathroom. She grabbed an empty pot for watering her plants. She turned on the water full blast and filled it to the top. She hurled it at the fire.
The angry, orange flames acted like Angie had thrown gasoline on them. The fire burst high in her closet and enveloped all her other clothes in bright orange and red flames.
In desperation, she grabbed her blankets and beat at the stubborn fire with all her strength. What appliance had she left on? Perhaps it was a short in the wires? Nothing made sense.
Her blankets caught fire. Angie dropped them. "Dad!" she screamed. "Dad, help!" Choking on the smoke, Angie stumbled toward the door.
Angie turned the knob. It was locked! Just a moment ago she had opened the door and looked down the hall toward Dad's room. Then she had shut it and locked it herself. She'd even heard it click. Was the lock jammed? Broken? No matter how she struggled with the knob, the door wouldn't budge.
Angie pounded on the door, screaming, "Dad! Dad!" at the top of her lungs. But the house was silent.
The flames licked at her back. She hurried to her window and tried to fling it open. That too was stuck. No matter how hard she tugged, the double-hung window wouldn't budge. She hurled a vase at it. The glass wouldn't shatter.
The room was thick with smoke. Angie could hardly breathe. She picked up the phone and dialed 911 with shaky fingers.
"Hello?" she said. "Hello?"
The phone was dead. There wasn't even a dial tone. It had worked fine just yesterday. What was going on?
In a panic Angie dialed again. "You've just got to answer," she told the phone. Then she dropped the receiver, "Oh my God!"
The flames leaped around the room, catching on the drapes and the bedspread. A wall of flame blocked the way to the bathroom. She was going to die horribly. She was going to burn to death if the smoke didn't suffocate her first.
Angie screamed and screamed and screamed.
Against the solid wall of red flame Angie saw a faceless shadow in the shape of a woman with long hair over her shoulders. She was reaching out to Angie with her long, sinuous arms. She whispered in a low hiss, "Come! Come!"
It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust. Gray smoke drifted around her room. It was coming from the closet. Angie flung open the door and fell back coughing as a dark cloud of smoke hit her in the face.
Gasping for breath, she clutched her bedpost. Her Christmas dress was on fire, the one Mom had given her. She had worn the red silk gown on her first date with Mike. It had puffed, gathered sleeves. The empire waist tied in a red bow. The high, button-up collar looked old-fashioned. All the kids had oohed and aahed over it. Chrissy had gone wild. She wanted to wear it on a date with George.
The fire had started around the neckline and was burning down the sides. Bright, orange flames crackled as they made short work of the dress.
Angie dashed into her bathroom. She grabbed an empty pot for watering her plants. She turned on the water full blast and filled it to the top. She hurled it at the fire.
The angry, orange flames acted like Angie had thrown gasoline on them. The fire burst high in her closet and enveloped all her other clothes in bright orange and red flames.
In desperation, she grabbed her blankets and beat at the stubborn fire with all her strength. What appliance had she left on? Perhaps it was a short in the wires? Nothing made sense.
Her blankets caught fire. Angie dropped them. "Dad!" she screamed. "Dad, help!" Choking on the smoke, Angie stumbled toward the door.
Angie turned the knob. It was locked! Just a moment ago she had opened the door and looked down the hall toward Dad's room. Then she had shut it and locked it herself. She'd even heard it click. Was the lock jammed? Broken? No matter how she struggled with the knob, the door wouldn't budge.
Angie pounded on the door, screaming, "Dad! Dad!" at the top of her lungs. But the house was silent.
The flames licked at her back. She hurried to her window and tried to fling it open. That too was stuck. No matter how hard she tugged, the double-hung window wouldn't budge. She hurled a vase at it. The glass wouldn't shatter.
The room was thick with smoke. Angie could hardly breathe. She picked up the phone and dialed 911 with shaky fingers.
"Hello?" she said. "Hello?"
The phone was dead. There wasn't even a dial tone. It had worked fine just yesterday. What was going on?
In a panic Angie dialed again. "You've just got to answer," she told the phone. Then she dropped the receiver, "Oh my God!"
The flames leaped around the room, catching on the drapes and the bedspread. A wall of flame blocked the way to the bathroom. She was going to die horribly. She was going to burn to death if the smoke didn't suffocate her first.
Angie screamed and screamed and screamed.
Against the solid wall of red flame Angie saw a faceless shadow in the shape of a woman with long hair over her shoulders. She was reaching out to Angie with her long, sinuous arms. She whispered in a low hiss, "Come! Come!"
