Gotta Start Somewhere

[Sparks]

Disclaimer: I ramble sometimes. Sorry and deal with it?

It took a lot of liquor to get me to start talking about this, and even more pestering by a certain mage friend of mine. Her last text was pretty definitive though.

Just tell the goddamn story already, and let me get some freaking sleep. Nobody will think you're insane.

Sheesh, wonder why she's so cranky.

Not that I care if anyone thinks I'm insane. I'm a musician - at least part of the time. I'm used to people calling me that. No whoop. Crazy tattooed girl who has been through five bands in the past month because she's too 'scary' for them. It's frikkin' rock, for chrissakes!

...ahem, I digress.

As I noted before, I'd studied mythology in college when I wasn't doing music. I did it for somewhat of a different reason than most people - though it was an easy way to make the dean's list. From what I can tell, most people don't believe that melusines, trolls, unicorns, ghosts, vampires, vampires that sparkle, aliens, zombies, and psychics exist.

Clearly most of you are of a separate persuasion. This is good. That gives me somewhere to start. I'm going to describe my first 'experience', see what you folks think. Hopefully you won't think I'm batshit like Mom did.

I grew up north of Baltimore. My family has lived in Pikesville since... sometime. Mom was never terribly forthcoming about when she left Russia or why. Considering it's Russia, there's a bazillion reasons. We'll say it's the weather. Point is, it made genealogical work very rough for me for reasons you're about to discover.

When I was 14, I was staying out late with some friends doing what kids in north Baltimore do at that hour. I had figured midnight was a good time to finally get home, what with school in the morn, so like an idiot, I was taking some shortcuts to get home. I'd grown up on those streets, I was big for my age, and I knew how to scrap. No problem, right?


"Got a light, little girl?"

What I had thought was a pile of trash scared the crap out of me; it was a homeless looking fellow - the raggiest, smelliest one I had ever seen. He had crooked yellow teeth, this long nose and... ugh, those eyes. I couldn't forget those.

"Don't smoke, sorry." I said. That was all a bold faced lie, but not the point.
"Mm, but what would a little girl be doing out so late in this town without making mischief?"asked the hobo, smiling all creepy like at me.

"Heading home." I said flatly, beginning to move quickly away.

I nearly freaked out when something brushed my leg - it was a cat. That's when I looked around briefly - there were a lot of felines.

Generally, I'm not a cat person. However, I had this weird feeling that they were trying to tell me that for once, they were people cats... or something.

The homeless man hissed, swatting at the nimble felines - who thankfully were just a bit too quick, before standing up from his trash pile. He was a bit hunched but... christ, he was tall. Way too tall - like, basketball player tall.

He had been about to say something, but I was a bit smarter than that - I ran for it, or tried. I don't think I made it twelve feet before I suddenly felt this heavy weight - like, two sumo wrestlers in weight - on top of me.

I had just hit the ground before he managed to heft me up - one handed, even - and breathe in my face. I couldn't decide whether to scream or vomit as those beady little eyes glanced me over, a long tongue licking parched looking lips.

"A bit old... but I suppose you'll do."it mused, pinning me to a wall by the scruff of my denim coat. My hands clung to his knobby fingers as I tried to pull myself away, downright terrified. I think that gave him a thrill.

In hindsight? Ew.

Rather than try to restrain me further or, you know, just murder me then and there, it began to fish through my pockets, looking for something to amuse it. That's when it found my first lighter. It was one of those old classic zippos; a brass, no frills lighter. I won't elaborate on why a 14 year old girl carries a lighter around, but just take it from me that I had good (or not) reasons.

"Shiny" It hissed, breathing ugly awful breath on me as it somehow managed to flick it open.

Sparking the flint, it kept flicking the lighter under my nose with a smirk, trying to scare me.

Okay, not trying. I'm not conveying what I felt right. It fucking scared the shit out of me. A dweeby 14 year old, who had probably wet herself, being hoisted against a wall by a 7ft tall hobo from hell, waving my own lighter in my face. And honestly, the hissing cats were not helping.

I just remember thinking I don't know what I had done to deserve this, and if I could get home, I'd stop sneaking out at night and be a good daughter.

Finally, the lighter went fwoosh. It singed my nose a bit, but... well, that's when things get blurry.

I remember screaming - not mine, his. This awful, inhuman screaming. I couldn't see anything - everything had gotten really bright - but I remember the smell of awful charred flesh, and... well, warmth.

Somehow, I had some idea things were going to be okay.

I woke up to the ground of klaxons and shouting firefighters.

I was shivering as I came to. It took me about half a minute to realize I was a rooftop - my rooftop. It was also a November midnight, I was naked, and it was freezing.

There was a blaze about half a mile off. I remembered seeing firetrucks rushing to the scene. I remembered the ugly bastard that looked like it had wanted to eat me, and how it had been in that very alley the firefighters were going to

My zippo couldn't have done that... could it?

Being far too cold to think, I scrambled inside. I managed to sneak into my room via the usual method - which also happened to involve a window - and get myself dressed - as dressed as I could given the whole scared shitless thing.

After that, I examined myself thoroughly in the mirror, to make sure I wasn't dead. I was a bit bruised from being flung around, but that was it.

I was alive. Somehow.

The paper the next day noted arson. Apparently it would have had to have been a lot of fuel to get that much trash going. My father mused at how south the neighborhood had gone. To the surprise of both of them, I hadn't said a word all morning. They didn't press the matter though - they knew I kept late hours doing whatever they were resigned to letting me do.

I think they'd have preferred the idea I was out smoking cigarettes to apparently being a live version of Carrie. It goes without saying I never told them.

Kids make dumb choices sometimes, eh?

After a couple days of tormenting myself, I went back to the arson scene. Whatever had happened had realty torched the place. It looked like something went up and torched everything within 10 or so feet around it. I felt bad for anything that would have been caught by that.

Well, except that child-eating bastard.

Some cats came up and rubbed my leg. It was a trap of course; one of them scratched me when I tried to pet it. I remember swatting them away, before seeing that my lighter - somewhat dinged - had been flung clear, probably when the bastard got burned.

I picked it up, flicking it a few times. I was worried that it had been broken, and still had some sentimental cling to it. So I kept flicking it, hoping and praying it would still work.

At which point, it did - with a giant fwoosh.

I jumped backwards, dropping the poor thing in the dirt again. The wick stayed ignited for a few moments before burning out. After waiting a moment for it to cool, I opened it up to check - the fuel had been empty. I remembered having made a mental note to steal some lighter fluid off of Dad when I got back.

So how the hell did it do that?

After this, I scared my parents by... well, being a good daughter. I studied hard. I didn't stay out late and do (as many) illegal things. I even went to church - my relationship with the faith is a complicated one. I still haven't had the guts to tell them about the fire thing though.

Maybe one of these days.

[Grace]

I think I get your nick name now.

[Sparks]

Astute. Clearly that's why you're Nemesis.

[Rowan]

A giant, child-eating . . . ]thing? Perhaps your hobo is related to the creature from the Gingerbread House.

Or maybe it’s something all otherly do.

Whatever the case, I don’t think you’re crazy, Sparks—yet. But then, I’m probably not the greatest judge.

[Ron Caliburn]

I've seen a couple things that could be mistaken for a street person that liked to kill people.

One or two of them that the local cats and birds didn't like either.

[Sparks]

I had to go back and read the Gingerbread House thing... my scary fellow was not that scary fellow, I don't think.

Mr. Caliburn - you don't say. I've heard similar chant from people, but I have yet to run into another. Hell, I still don't know what happened to 'mine'.

[Ron Caliburn]

Well check out this one. It's from 6 years ago next week.

[Sparks]

Well -that- is unsettling... likely that means it's still lurking about for Russian-American boys and girls to eat...