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Thursday, October 11

The God of Hellfire

"The God of Hellfire"
Short Fiction - Crime
By r2

I am one of the world’s best-kept secrets.

I have to be. If word were to ever get out, there would be panic. I can’t have
that. People would no longer trust the institutions designed to protect them.
People would no longer feel safe, because there is no safety. There is no
escape. There is only hell.

So every night you double and triple lock the front door. You check the back
door. You make sure all the windows are locked. If you live in a house, maybe
you check the garage door to make sure it is down. You turn out the lights.

Maybe you’re with someone. Maybe you make love. Maybe you kiss your loved
one goodnight and then turn on your side. Maybe you’re alone. Maybe you
read. Or, watch Dave or Jay. Then you pull the covers up to your chin and fidget
a little until you’re comfortable. Maybe you whack the pillows a couple of times
to get them just right. Then you close your eyes. Eventually you sleep.

When you fall asleep, you’re dead.

There once was a song, “Fire” by a group called The Crazy World of Arthur
Brown. Anyone who heard it remembers it. It was a single during a time in the
60s when there were other songs about fire; “Light My Fire” by the Doors, and
“Fire” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Arthur Brown began his live concerts by insulting the audience. Yelling at them.
Cursing them. Then, he would light his head on fire and scream the beginning
of his song: “I am the god of hellfire and I bring you…Fire!”

That was entertainment. I am real. I AM the god of hellfire.

Take Betty. Tonight she dies. She’s in her little bed all snuggly warm. Let’s see,
there’s a cat by her bed. He’s already dead. And Betty can’t even smell the
gasoline I’ve poured all around her. It’s on her chest of drawers. In her mattress.
On all of her pretty little clothes. The fumes have knocked her out. She’ll never
even wake up.

The cops have never caught me. I’m too tricky for that. I never leave clues.

No fingerprints. No DNA. No dirt samples or fiber samples. No tire tracks. No
witnesses. Only gasoline. And one charred match.

I’m very careful in my work. I am a secret because I am clever

How do I choose my victims? Easy. If you piss me off, you’re gonna burn. There
are too many people that are bothersome, nettlesome, just plain annoying. A
good, cleansing fire is the best way to remove their stain on humanity.


You just never know whom I’ll pick. If you’re rude, it might be you.

Betty Linder never thought she would perish. But she’s an awful person. I was in
a cafeteria line and I asked for more tater tots. She said they were out. Out of
tots? I love tots.

Now I’m standing over her bed. All I have to do is strike the match. Do you
know people’s skin actually melts if it gets hot enough?

I love the wompf gasoline makes. I love the crackle of fire.

“Somethng smells funny”

“It’s nothing.”

“I heard that awful song playing. Are you burning your sister’s dolls in the
utility sink again?”

“Go away mother.”

This is so much more rewarding than frying ants with a magnifying glass. I AM
the god of hellfire.

6 reactions:

Kelly Parra said...

Great POV, R2, thanks for sharing with FM!

Anonymous said...

Twisty story about a very twisted little man. I loved it.

lojo

socalledauthor said...

what a delightfully horrible story! Nice job again, r2.

CDickson

Anonymous said...

Than you for the comments, everyone. As one who constantly scours the net looking for Bo Fexler stories, it was nice to see that I could offer some entertainment in return.

r2

Anonymous said...

Enjoyed this piece! Scared me and made me laugh at tator tots. Nice twist with burning dolls!

Patricia J. Hale
patriciajhale@aol.com
patriciahale.blogspot.com

Anonymous said...

Thanks again for the input, everybody. Patricia, as you know, I really enjoyed your latest story at Powder Burn Flash.

r2