Orange flames danced like demons above me. The wood crackled with their sick laughter. The underside of the attic roof was visible through burning holes in the ceiling. Smoke started to fill my lungs.
“Stay low!” Dad screamed.
I fell to my knees and crawled in fear across the ash covered floor.
Outside the open back door I could see the shadowy shapes of trees lingering in the black night. Dad pushed me out the doorway.
“Run!” he shouted.
“Dad,” I said and turned around.
He was gone.
The back window was covered in ice.
The reaper was still hunting.
Prompt from Friday Fictioneers. Photo Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.