"Fires" a short story by Steven J. McDermott
At first I'm not afraid, I'm just trying to get out of the room before it becomes engulfed in flames. The bedroom door is not an option—it's on fire, crackling and spitting pitch from its fir frame. The gap between the door and the hardwood floor pulses with blue tip flames, as if several blowtorches are being shoved under the door. No smoke yet, but it's getting hot. Somewhere in the house I hear screams cut above the roar of the fire. My sister? My mother? Now the fear starts, a constriction in my throat. Jake, our toy poodle is yipping, then stops . . .