It was the night of his eleventh birthday when it became very clear to his parents that Frank Iero wasn't a normal child. The night of October 31st was colder than it had been for the whole month, it seemed, and Frank had been Trick-or-Treating with his friends in the afternoon. His pillowcase was filled to the brim with sugar and sweets of every kind (having gotten extra candy at nearly every house when he happened to mention that it was his birthday). All of Frank's friends were emptying their bags on the table and trading chocolate for Skittles, and Reese's for gummy worms when Mrs. Iero walked into the room and turned off the light, the cake in her hands sporting the only light in the room now, eleven little blue candles.
As soon as the cake hit the table, the room was filled with the singing voices of kids and adults alike, but Frank's eyes were glazed over with fascination at the tiny flickers of light swaying from side to side at the changes in the air. The singing had stopped and there was a timid tap on Frank's slack shoulder. He snapped out of his seeming daze and looked around to see everyone staring at him expectantly. The boy's confused mind clicked into its reality and he felt an odd pang of guilt as he leaned over the table and puckered his lips, blowing cold air onto the weak flames and killing them in one breath.
The night went by as it was, Frank opening his presents and the room filling with excitement at each tear of the wrapping paper. The girls eventually left the party and the boys took off their costumes and makeup, starting a heated splash fight in the bathroom. After everything had settled down, Mr. and Mrs. Iero started off to bed, leaving the group of little boys to their own devices. The small mob of about 5 of Frankie's friend's gathered into the bedroom and started to drift off to sleep, but the birthday boy lay restless in his bed.
Frank bolted upright at the idea in his head, dazed and excited as his feet carried him quietly across the bedroom of snoring children. He opened the door softly and crept down the hallway past his parents' room. There was an eerie silence downstairs when Frank reached the kitchen and he was alone with all of the empty space. It felt like ice down his spine when he shivered at the touch of cool air against his skin. The boy searched around the room for what he was looking for. His eyes became frantic and his fingers itched, opening up each cabinet and drawer.
Frank's eyes lit up and he nearly squealed as the object in the computer drawer became visible. A long red lighter that seemed to twinkle under the fluorescence of the lights in the ceiling. He quickly snatched the lighter from the wooden drawer and looked around the room for something, anything that would give him an idea of what to do with it. There were two things on the counter: a nearly full roll of paper towels and a medium-sized, white porcelain bowl sitting on top of the cool marble. The knobs and gears in Frank's brain were working at full speed as he put the lighter under his arm and grabbed the two things from the island counter.
Sliding open the glass door at the back of the kitchen wasn't easy to do with his hands full-- especially when trying to do so quietly-- but Frank managed it. As he was stepping outside, he began to realize just how cold it was. But he powered through when the boy's bare feet hit the brick stairs that lead down to the patio. Frank almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a little voice behind him asking what he was up to with a lighter, a bowl and paper towels. He froze, not knowing how to answer at the moment because-- what was he doing?
Instead of uttering any logical reasoning, Frank simply shushed the boy-- Caleb-- and said that he'd find out if he went outside with Frank. That part was true, I suppose, and it seemed like a good enough explanation for Caleb because the boy just beamed and skipped across the kitchen, taking the porcelain bowl from Frank's arm. The cold air hit him as well, but Caleb didn't mind as much because Frank was setting everything down on the tiny wooden table and twiddling the lighter methodically. As soon as the light flicked on and the tiny flicker lit up Frank's face, Caleb set the bowl down on the table next to the paper towels.
There was a simple mutterance of 'watch this' before Frank started to rip off little pieces of paper from the towel roll and bunch them up in his hands. He set each wadded up piece in the porcelain container and once it was about filled to the brim with the paper, Frank picked up the lighter again. He flicked it on (though it did take him a few tries with the wind blowing a bit more harshly) and set the flame against the top of the paper stack. Caleb caught onto what was happening later than one usually would but became slightly confused at Frank's undying fascination.
Frank had long forgotten the other boy at this point, he leaned close to the fire and breathed softly inward as the scent of burning wood filled him. It smelled like summer, a bit like roasting smores, and the enticed child wondered where the burning paper got its bittersweet aroma. He watched the one flame sitting on top of the paper towel split in two, consuming and blackening the edges bit by bit. Little strings of orange and blue flickers multiplied at each edge, finally pouring down toward the middle of the paper. Before Frank could blink, the porcelain bowl was filled with a crackling waterfall of warm hues and it had bled through every little piece of paper in the bowl. The white and pristine life of the paper was gone, coal-black ripping through its soul in its place.
Caleb called for Frank but the other boy couldn't hear over the suffocating daze that gripped him. The flames were beginning to streak scorch marks on the shimmering porcelain. Embers spun like primadonnas and caught in the wind, leaping from the bowl at each lick of air and each breath from its north direction. Frank's heartbeat was deafening in his own ears and quickening still as he fixated himself on the pieces of fiery paper dancing out of their darkening prison. The fire started to land on the table and it was too close for Caleb's comfort, so he spoke again. It was to no avail.
Frank couldn't tear his eyes away if he wanted to as the tabletop caught fire and Caleb ran back into the house. A sickening satisfaction gripped Frank's stomach; The wooden table was burning, a new fire born from the paper's ash. He almost enjoyed watching the flame split again, larger the second time as the table's edge charred. The fire charged like a nation in battle, a beautiful army with millions of little soldiers dressed in yellow and orange. It captured each respective territory and expanded its horizons, and it was the most gorgeous chaos that one could imagine.
Frank didn't grasp the situation, his mind minutes behind as he was yanked to his feet by the back of his shirt and he gasped for air. Then it was cold, freezing, and the army in yellow was massacred by pouring rain. Frank held his throat, angry, but his blood became ice when he looked up to see his father, livid, holding a bowl with only drips of water left in it. His mother was rushing through the door after Frank heard her voice tell the boys in the kitchen to stay put. Her hair bounced on her shoulders and she drank in the scene with terror in her eyes.
Frank had set the table on fire and watched it burn. It was black and rigid now. Mr. Iero had poured water over Frank and the table. The little boys that Frank had brought over to celebrate his birthday with were all in the kitchen chattering among themselves. The aforementioned birthday boy looked at his hands and understood what he had done and why his father was so angry. But he didn't understand why he let it happen in the first place. There were only confused murmurs now and Caleb's voice was heard above the others, just barely.
"Frankie set the table on fire."
-----❤-----
YOU ARE READING
Fire and Phobia
Fanfiction"It was the night of his eleventh birthday when it became very clear to his parents that Frank Iero wasn't a normal child." [Description subject to change later]
