The Hungry Intruder

It had to have been the candle. There’s no other explanation. The small hungry flame got tired of its wax-encrusted prison and jumped off. It landed on the newspaper, slowly creeping across, consuming the day’s events faster than it had taken for most of them to occur. Starving for more, more of anything, the growing flame spilled out onto the table. The tablecloth screamed silently as the flame hungrily devoured it. Soon the table felt itself being devoured by the voracious flame; because of its stalwart build it held out longer, but soon enough it shared in the tablecloth’s merciless fate.

With an exuberant leap the flame jumped off the table onto the floor. The flame savored the taste of the carpet as it dried it of whatever moisture it may have had. Growing in girth, and speed, the flame cruised along picking off anything in its path; chairs, various papers and trinkets that should have been put away. It made a turn for the living room. It sat comfortably in an armchair, taking in the chair’s delectable smell. Then the flame caught a glimpse of the bookshelf. It gluttonously read the works of Lewis, Jackson, Fitzgerald, Williams all at once. Books make such good finger foods. The chair too was devoured, but not before first comforting the flame with a few seconds rest. The living room cried out at its loss, but soon reluctantly resigned itself to the same destiny as the restless flame went from chair to couch to love seat.

The flame crackled and snapped in hunger. It was famished! It crept into the master bedroom. The bed looked thick, full, and scrumptious. The flame crept closer. The bed shrieked in horror when the flame chomped down on the bedposts. In an act of desperation the bed tried to save its silken pillows, but it was for naught. The flame gobbled them up like a four year-old around cookies. The vanity mirror stared blankly as the bed was consigned to its own place of rest.

The flame grew hungrier. It needed more. The other bedrooms proved satisfying with their toys, and sundries, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. Pictures of times gone by on the walls were good snacks, but they were not enough to quell the ever-growing appetite of this hunger pang-ridden intruder. Irritated, the flame marched into the kitchen. Food, food everywhere, but nothing worth eating, though it was all eaten anyway. Records, letters, desks, flowers, clothes, garbage, and a plethora of dust. All of it consumed, but it still was not enough. The flame stormed to the back door of the house, opened it, and stood staring into the backyard. It peered left. It peered right. Then it caught a glimpse of the fence. On the other side a large two-story Tudor towered towards the sky. The flame licked its lips and decided to pay them a little visit.