The Flare

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Angry red shadows seeped onto the walls of the tiny hallway leading to my bedroom door. A red orb hovered several feet above the floor, tiny tendrils crawling from its core. My pulse quickened as it emitted a strange, pulsing crackle. I stood on the last step of the stairs, gripping the banister in fear. My mind scrambled to form an explanation. This had to be a mistake. My eighteenth birthday was six weeks away, and The Crimson Flare had never been known to choose its victims early.

I gathered my thoughts and turned to sprint down the stairs. My foot had barely touched the second step when I heard the growing crescendo of a familiar tune. I recognized the haunting melody, but my lips could not form the words. I hesitantly turned toward the deadly glow. The music began to drown out my frantic thoughts and beckoned me to take another step closer to my undoing. I watched as my feet shuffled forward and as my hand lifted higher. A stabbing pain shot through my fingertips as they collided with the light. My vision exploded into red, and I felt everything drift away.