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Spontaneous Human Combustion

A Short Story About Purple Fire

By Valerie HoltPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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Trust me when I tell you my tale is real. I was there. I saw it happen. I know most will find it hard to swallow. For all those who find it hard to believe, please keep in mind that I’m only telling my tale to help others. In fact, it pains me to even think about what happened, much less talk about it. I hope that in hearing my tale that it can keep others from meeting this unfortunate fate.

It was a morning in December 2010 when I was bringing firewood to Michael Flaherty’s house. Mr. Flaherty was my neighbor for years; he was a quiet old man in his late 70s with a small drinking problem. He never caused anyone any problems and kept to himself. I guess I felt bad for him since he didn’t seem to have anyone family or friends alive. I used to bring him firewood every week or so in winter to make sure he kept warm. I was heading over to bring him more firewood.

I was stacking the wood by the front door, below the overhang. Normally I stack the wood there and leave, but for some reason, I had a strange feeling that day. Uneasily, I stepped on top of the stack of wood and peeked inside the window, viewing the front room. What I saw forever changed my life. Mr. Flaherty was sitting in front of his fireplace in his comfy chair, talking. The flames were purple and responding.

“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, Michael Flaherty,” the flames hissed.

“I’ve done everything humanly possible.” Mr. Flaherty was shaking.

“That wasn’t the arrangement, Michael Flaherty. You will now have to pay the price.”

“Please no.” Mr. Flaherty reached for the empty comfy chair next to him, the chair that used to belong to his long departed wife. He fell from his chair, reaching with a cry of despair. He lay on the ground for a moment, shaking.

“Do you have anything to offer us, Michael Flaherty?” The fire crackled after a while. Mr. Flaherty shook his head no.

Now before I go any further, let me tell you Mr. Flaherty was a very careful man. His fireplace had a long ledge and was completely confined with a wire fence blocking the fire from anything nearby.

Mr. Flaherty then burst into flames, a good five feet away from the contained fire. He was engulfed in flames of angry purple. The ceiling above and below him got scorched, but none of the rest of the room. The flames died down and just about all that was left was one really badly burnt skeleton. The fire then turned to a normal orange and burned normally.

I immediately called the authorities who brushed the whole incident off. I think they were afraid. The official story is that he caught on fire from the fireplace and I called after smelling smoke.

But I’m here to tell you that that isn’t true. Mr. Flaherty died from spontaneously bursting into flames. Spontaneous human combustion is real and caused by deals with purple fire. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s real. So please, whatever you do, don’t trust purple fire.

fiction
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About the Creator

Valerie Holt

In permanent beta: learning, improving, evolving...

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