the face whispered. The voice was that of embers crackling.Tim shook his head.“Kill.”“No,” Tim whispered back at the fire.A thin sliver of flame leaped from the fireplace, like a finger pointing. It was gesturing towards the poker.“Use it. Feed me.”“Fuck off,” Tim hissed, clamping his eyes shut and pressing his hands over his ears. After seeing the face for the third time, Tim had stopped using the fireplace and scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist. His brother was a schizophrenic and the last thing Tim wanted was to end up like him, locked in some hospital. But his appointment wasn’t until next Thursday.And Audrey had wanted a quiet, romantic evening. He had cooked the dinner, chosen the music. She had picked out the wine.And she'd insisted on lighting a fire.What could he say? “Sorry, babe, but any time I use the fireplace the flames tell me to--”“Kill her! Feed me!” The flames spat out the words, glowing embers popping and hissing so loudly Tim could hear them through his hands.He opened his eyes and uncovered his ears.The face seemed to smile at him, floating from side to side in the flames. “Kill.” It said again.Tim jumped to his feet. He didn’t know what he was going to tell his date, but he had to put out the flames. He could feel the words echoing around in his mind, and had to remind himself that it was all imagined.He was falling in love with this girl. And he damn sure wasn’t going to kill her to appease something that he knew was in his head. He wouldn’t end up like his brother.Tim looked at the flames again. The face’s mouth opened wider, the dark splotch covering the lower portion of the fire.“Feed me,”
