Fireside by Sara Travis

The glow of the fire casts gloomy shadows around the room. Eerie creatures lurk in the corners, under the heavy oak desk, behind the thick drapes. I stand at the fireside and watch as the flames dance in my own private performance, I hear the crackle of the flames, the thud as a log slips, and step back as it spits its embers across the rug.

I sigh, the thick smoke heavy in my lungs, and fight the urge to cough and splutter. This is my penance; I must suffer still longer. The room is too hot, the smoke too intense. My collar is wet with sweat, this tie around my throat is too tight, this woollen blazer so heavy on my shoulders. I can’t bear it, the tie must come off, the jacket must be removed. My fingers, damp with perspiration, fumble with the knot, and the tie very nearly ends up in the flames. I am careless with the jacket, throwing it over the arm of the armchair behind me. I turn back to the fire, unbuttoning my collar, glad for some respite from the heat.

And then I see it – did it fall out of my jacket? Her black and white eyes still smile, despite the flames that lick at her face, her long hair is charring already, the corners of the picture curl round as her face is devoured by the blaze. The panic rises in my chest, a small yelp escapes my lips, and without thinking, I shove my hand into the flames.