November Writin' #1-- "Lit"

So just me and my friends have decided we're going to try to write at least 750 words, so I'm going to be posting them up on the ol' blog here. So here's the first, it's just a short story, I might make it part of an anthology, not sure yet. 

Thomas sat in the backyard of his house, the air calm and quiet, it was a Saturday morning. While he was only seven years old, his parents felt he was responsible enough to take care of himself, as long as he stayed home. He didn’t mind being alone, he had found a new game to play. He smiled as he struck the match on the box he had taken from his father’s night stand. Thomas lowered the lit stick to a piece of paper, it moved slowly down the white expanse. He loved to watch the flames twirl and flicker as if dancing, he would become hypnotized.

The red hot flames crept along the paper, leaving only blackened ash. Since he had found this wonderful toy he had spent many mornings lighting random pieces of paper on fire and watching them burn, but today Thomas decided that today he would make the biggest fire yet. The fire had devoured most of the paper, leaving only a sliver.

Thomas picked himself up and walked inside the house, he needed something before he could play. Rummaging through the kitchen he found what he was looking for in the fourth cabinet, underneath the sink. Thomas had seen his father use this before when he cooked with the grill, it made the fire bigger. It looked like water, but Thomas could tell it was different, it smelled funny. He had just begun to learn to read, and he was proud that he could make out the word “lighter”, but the other word was odd, he spelled it out, f-l-u-i-d, but he didn’t know how to pronounce it. He placed the box of matches and the strange liquid into his Spiderman backpack.

He adjusted his blue cap and tightened the Velcro of his light up shoes as he prepared to go on an adventure. Thomas had decided he wanted to go somewhere special so he left his house and began to walk down the sidewalk. The small town of Crimshaw was quiet today, and aside from the occasional car driving by Thomas didn’t see any adults. The sidewalk came to an abandoned strip mall, the windows of the stores broken, the paint on the building faded. From where he stood, something in the alleyway between what used to be a hair salon and what used to be an electronics store; it was a large green dumpster. Thomas walked up to it, he looked around, no one.

Using a milk crate, he was barely able to see over the ledge of the dumpster. He could see rags in the dumpster; he was excited to see how it would burn. He took the cap off the strange water and poured it all into the dumpster. As he struck the match he thought he heard a noise, looking around he didn’t see anyone, so he continued to light the match. He held the match in his hand and watched the flame slowly move across the stick. He dropped it, the tiny flame quickly spread across the rags. This was not the same kind of fire he had come to love. This was a ravenous, hungry creature violent lashing the sides of the dumpster. Horrible dark fumes began to rise; Thomas coughed as the smoke hit his nostrils. He fell off the milk crate; he quickly pushed himself against the other wall of the alley.

A rumbling shook the dumpster, so violently that the heavy metal lid fell down. Smoke billowed out of the every hole it could find. An orange glow from inside grew brighter and brighter, then Thomas could hear screaming. What started as panicked mumbling became incoherent screeching. The thing inside the dumpster vainly hit the lid, it barley moving. Another burst was quickly followed by a hand pushing its way through the crack. It was red and bloody, steam came off of it.

The hand pushed harder revealing an arm it was blistered and bloody. The thing in the dumpster continued to scream, Thomas couldn’t move at all. A shoulder pushed through followed by a head, it’s hair smoldering. The burnt man stared at Thomas his mouth agape; he let out a stuttered groan as he fell, unmoving. Thomas walked up to the man, halfway in the still burning dumpster. Thomas bent down and picked up his Spiderman backpack, putting the box of matches inside the bag. He ran, out of the alleyway, down the sidewalk back to his home. He quickly grabbed a piece of paper, and ran to the backyard. He sat down, wiping a tear from his cheek. He lit the paper, his heart filled with terror. Within the flame Thomas could swear he could see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back.