In the Middle of the Bed (A Saira Collings Story)

June 18, 1995 (Devon's Story)

I swear, with just this experience, I should've known better than to stray towards fire.

As always in my life, teenagers are being idiots.

A bonfire, huge, burns in one of the fields near my house. My sister is at this bonfire, but she doesn't know that I know. Or that I'm there.

I sneak around, staying out of the ring of firelight. People dance with jerky motions around the burning logs, laughing and joking.

I see my sister, Fairen, dancing with a boy from her class. He gets a little handsy, but she's too drunk to notice. Or care.

Looking away from my sister, I see a boy standing in the shadows, the same as me. As I walk closer though, I realize that it's not just one boy, but half a dozen, all cheering on two brawling boys with their shirts off.

I watch the fight, silent as the shadows wrapping around me. My mind flashes images of Lucas and his friend before my eyes, but I don't heed my subconsciousness's warning.

Like Lucas, one boy falls beneath the other, struggling. Though no blood splatters the ground at this brawl.

The taller, broader boy lets the other up, then grasps his shoulders.

"A deal's a deal, Devon. Walk," says the broader boy. The other boy, this one skinnier and shorter than the other, nods, accepting whatever his punishment is.

Devon walks towards the blazing bonfire, and I have a horrible feeling in my chest. No, I think. No, no, no.

But Devon keeps walking, his feet sliding in the dirt. I get the feeling that he's used to taking orders, even when they call for his own life to be on the line.

The boys who had cheered for his blood now cheer for his body to burn. I hear some people join in, once they see Devon walking towards the orange blaze.

They all scream, now, yelling at him.

Go on, Devon! You were never going to make a difference anyways! Better you die now!

I try to block out the screaming voices, but I can't. They're too loud, too strong, too numerous. And all of them cheer for Devon's ashes.

I try to turn away as Devon's foot kicks up ashes. I try not to hear his yelp of pain as the fire burns his bare foot. I try to tear my eyes from his silhouette as it walks into the fire.

I almost close my eyes, but then I feel something like clawed fingers pull them open. I hear a raspy voice in my ear, saying that pain is best experienced through sight.

Blurriness clouds my vision as tears spring to my eyes because of the smoke and pain the clawed fingers are causing to my eyes. But I still watch. Still watch, but do nothing but stand there as a boy walks to his death.

A scream rises from the fire, from the dark shape that is Devon. I look around, and see that most of the people in the field turn away, cover their ears, close their eyes.

Luxuries I can't and won't have. Ever.

I listen to Devon's screams die out as the fire takes its toll. The Devon's grip on me lossens, and I can finally blink.

I can feel its claws travel down my back, to a spot where no scar lays; to between the scars given to me by Sami and Jake, which span between two of my ribs.

This scar is a mirror image of Kayleigh's: curling along my right ribs, with the main part of it crossing my back, intertwining with Kayleigh's.

It burns like the fire before me, the fire that claimed a life just a few seconds before.

"Beware, Saira Collings. More scars are to come," the demon hisses into my ear.

How I would hate that name in the coming years.