The Prairie Fire is a story I wrote and submitted to a few magazines a couple years ago. However, they did not accept my story. I think the style isn't what they were looking for. Needless to say, it is one of my favorite stories I have written so far.I hope you enjoy it,Cuyler Callahan*********************************************************************************************
THE PRAIRIE FIREByCuyler CallahanAnon, Anon...Wake up. Wake up Anon...WAKE UP!Anon shot straight up in bed like a jackrabbit realizing the coyote was about to take a bite out of its back. Somebody had been calling him; there was no one in the orange room though.
Who called me?Running his bony fingers through his short, brown hair, he was about to fall back onto his straw stuffed pillow when he heard a crackling roar outside his window. Anon smelled ash in the air, tasted it on his tongue, and abruptly realized it was harder to breath then usual. The air was hot. Dry.Orange room? He lived in a log cabin, miles and miles away from anyplace he could possibly buy theway-to-expensive orange paint. Anon watched the orange room dance. Dance? A room can't dance. Noticing, now- after sleep slowly slid from his eyes- the color as a dancing, orange glow, floating through his window onto the logs creating his homely abode, and not an orange paint, Anon Cursed his luck- realizing the glow had a high chance of being a prairie man's worst nightmare.Tossing the buffalo skin blankets off himself, he ran to the window, placing his hands on the smooth glass he had brought from his parent's home in Ontario, to his farm, here in central Saskatchewan. His pale, white face danced with the flickering orange lights.Not noticing his hands, sizzling, on the window, he watched- heart ripping at his ribs- in wretched horror, at the devilish fire engulfing his cabin. Anon jerked his hands away from the window and held his smoking palms against his small clothes shirt. Smoke and the steamy smell of seared flesh, brought Anon to his senses, just to have them knocked away as a fiery arm punched through his window, sending him crashing into his bed on the opposite side of the room.Moaning, Anon sat up against his bed, swatting his smoldering three day facial hairs. Did that fire just punch through the window? Impossible, it must be... no, it didn't matter. He had to get out of the cabin. He must warn his wife and get the baby out. She had always thought beds to soft and probably lie asleep with the baby boy on the kitchen floor.Anon's bare feet pounded the fresh wood floor he had just lied down, days before, as he entered the kitchen. In pure agony, Anon sank to his knees and yelled at the flame engulfed roof. “No, not this. Anything but this. Noooooooo!”He wept and rocked on his knee's. His native wife, with night black hair, smooth brown skin, smoked in a mottled heap in the middle of the raging furnace that was once a homely kitchen he had watched her raise their son- tucked under his mothers unrecognizable arms- and make their favorite meals.Anon, back on his feet, watched his dead family, not aware of the hell around him. Luckily, they had passed out, in their sleep, before any flame touched them, he assumed, but the thought only lingered a second as he took a step towards them.
Now ,now, you don't die yet, that is my choice, a crazed chuckle filled Anon's head.
You will fulfill your duty. Run out of the cabin you fool!"Who are you?" Anon screamed at the voice in his head. "Leave me be to die as I wish!"
Get out of the cabinnnnnnn! As loud as the fire and in audios replica, the voice howled at Anon in his head, rattling his brain, he thought, through his ears.Anon jumped to listen- especially now that the small clothes covering his bottom became alight. Swatting his arse out with scorched hands, his bedroom roaring behind him, and skin glistening with reflecting orange sweat, Anon looked for a way out.He had no time to be surprised when he saw a path through the pond of fire his kitchen had become, as straight as an arrow, towards the door of his cabin; roof support logs began falling.Racing flames closed in behind him like the Red Sea behind Moses' Israelites, a story he heard once. Running, he burst out of the frying pan and into the fire, literally. This time around, however, the fire seemed a better place, at least right then.A roughly laid, wide spread path- fire for guiding walls- led ahead of him into an circular arena of flame. Anon didn't give a rat's leg why the crashing loud flames burned the way they did. He didn't care about anything except to get to the ring of fire where he suspected the heat would be the least. Reaching the ring of fire at a dead stop, he turned around and looked at the destruction of his farm.It burned, plain and simple. The barn he built last summer now collapsed with a sickening creak and rumble. Animals screamed in all directions, breaking out of their quarters in sheer fright of dieing. Through all the screaming, Anon smelt burning flesh, like branding season, though hundreds of times worse. The farm he built within three years was going to ash. His hard work, his family, his crops, his animals, taken from him overnight.Realizing this through his shock, Anon fell to his bare knees, threw back his head, and thrust out his muscular chest, renting his shirt in proper agony. He cried at the stars, shining through the burning, orange glow of fire and hell his heavenly farm had become, daring the God he never prayed to, to take his life. “Kill me now,” he sobbed; his body shook, his eyes red, “let my pain end.”Exhausting his breath Anon brought his head down and his hands to the ground. Looking at the frightening wall of flames, figures of fire danced with it, giving it a dizzying ethereal feel- he was sure he saw fiery spirits.“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he screamed; tears flew like rivers down his face, eroding the ash like soft mud. Through the blur of his tears, Anon thought he saw the figures stop dancing in response. Then, throwing back their heads to laugh, they started dancing even more feverishly now, laughing more crazily as they went. Anon through his hands over his head and buried it between his knees. His hurting head was a jumble of sounds: Roaring fires, laughing fires, his beating heart, and now, on a instant sudden, a rush of something terrifying. Looking up from his weeping, and seeing the ring of flame had broken towards him, Anon jumped up suddenly and prepared to die. Happily.A black canvas coach formed, moving at a tremendous, rumbling speed, beating the flames to Anon.His eyes opened up in horror to see the horse drawing the coach had a mane, tale, and eyes of fire. It snorted fire from it's nose. The driver sitting on the coach box wore a black top hat on his shiny, sleek, black hair. A long tailed suite formed the man's small body. Mustache and teeth, made of fire, echoed the pits of fire the man had for eyes. In flames though the coach was, it did not burn.“Hop aboard unless you wish to die,” the man said.It was, but flames licked his scorched rump, changing his decision. Jumping aboard, into the cab, Anon watched consciously, the flames burning endlessly on the coach. Out of the quickly diminishing ring of fire, the coach flew, traveling, now, through the sea of fire stretching farther then Anon could see. His little spot of safety- now disappearing under a storm of flame- was one dot of heaven in hell.Flames covering the coach, driver, and horse, all diminished as abruptly as the coach flying through the wall of flame onto the dry prairie grass; grass untouched by fire for only a little while longer.Stopping the coach, the driver turned around on the coach box, looked at Anon and said, “Come up and sit with me Anon.” How did the man know his name? Was he even a man? Touching the coach door briefly, to make sure it would not burn him, Anon opened it slowly; warily.Standing on the prairie ground, bare toes gripping the black soil, dry grass rippling under his rough hands, ready to burn, he looked back towards the soft orange glow of his farm. Surely the prairie fire must be past his farm, letting his work, family, and animals fuel it's own.“Anon, come sit with me. We need to keep going before the fire reaches us.” The man's voice was soft and friendly, though how far could he trust the man. Anon's imagination, thrown in with massive flames, must have created the fiery image of the man and horse- that was what he thought.He climbed aboard shotgun of the coach box. Asking how Anon was doing got the driver no response. Anon sat with his face buried in his hands, rocking back and forth in his silent mourning. Getting the coach moving again, though this time slower, the driver began to speak.“I lost my family in a prairie fire. My wife, my children, my dog, my animals. I had my own place, though I owned a ranch and a good five hundred head of cattle at that. I lost it all, every bit. You should be happy to be lucky to have extended family left. From what I know of your wife, you a have a whole Blackfoot tribe as in-laws.” The driver paused and looked at Anon with a menacing grin.“As I denied my duty, each member of my extended family started to die in prairie fires. The longer I held off, the more died. It is a sad prospect, but it is destiny.”Anon's voice, exasperated and tired, croaked out, “How do you know everything about me, about my family? What are you talking about- duty?” He desired to know about weird happenings. By all accounts, he should be dead, dead as his family, though the fire held at bay for him. It did, he was sure of it.“I know all about you. I have watched you since I have started contemplating who I should choose.”“Choose for what?” Anon suddenly sprung nervousness- though he had been nervous all night- recognizing the man's voice. The voice in his head; the voice warning him to get out of the cabin.“Choose you as the next Prairie Fire of course.” The man could have been talking about the weather, or saying a rock was hard.“The what? What do you mean the next prairie fire- do I look like a fire? Why would you choose me as the Prairie Fire, or whatever it is?”“You look the part, you were just unlucky I chose you,” He started to laugh maniacally. “You know, I died in a prairie fire. I refused my destiny even after everyone I ever loved died. Eventually the Prairie Fire just took me. Are you going to refuse. As I recall, a Blackfoot camp lies just a little ways from here. Your wife's family I think.” Laughing harder, the driver sped the coach up, the horse at a slow trot.“What? No, you can't kill a whole camp,” Anon held onto the sides of the coach box as the coach jerked. “Are you mad? What are you talking about? I can't become a fire. How can I? I am a person. I fire is just a fire.”“Do I look like just a fire you insolent fool?” the driver screamed at him, leaning close enough to Anon to almost come off his seat, close enough for Anon to see fire in his eyes. “You will be the next Prairie Fire. You refuse and the camp goes up in flames."Anon couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't a happy laugh; a sad laugh, a desperate laugh, a nervous laugh. He was scared; sitting by a madman, he was in trouble, but did not believe a word the man said. Shakily he said, “Prove it then. Become a prairie fire.”“You despicable lout. Fine, watch and learn my powers.” He snapped the reins hard, the coach surged to rumbling speed and burst into flames, except for where Anon sat; who was holding on more tightly to the coach box. His rump, despite being burnt, pressed hard to the coach box board, sending searing pain through his body.The horse sprouted flames, jetted fire from it large muzzle. Beside him, Anon saw the driver take on his fiery smile. His hair lit afire beneath the top hat, while slowly, the long tailed suite burst into flames.Jumping off the coach into the long, dry, prairie grass he erupted into a mass of fire. Anon looked at a human shaped, flickering, flame running beside the coach, reminding him of the fiery figures he saw while weeping.Long prairie grass exploded into a rampart of flame behind the man, flame higher then the coach, the coach a source of it's own horrific kilometer long line of fire.Traveling opposite the normal direction, a strong northeast wind began blowing the busy fire towards the Blackfoot camp.“Nooo! I believe you. Stop! Don't let the fire towards them.” Almost jumping out of the flaming coach himself to stop the fire, Anon held back. He couldn't stop a fire this size by himself, let alone in his small clothes, with no tools, or protection. The fire would burn him up, or would it... seeming to avoid him before? Maybe he could stop it.Heedless of the coach's swelling speed, he jumped out of the coach and tumbled onto his stomach. Ignoring the bruising pain, he jumped to his feet and ran towards the humongous wall of fire. The fire parted for him, not touching him. Anon tried to get closer, but every time, the fire would surge away.Managing to get close, sometimes, he had to pull back, for the heat was to strong. Besides, there was no way he could stop a kilometer- and a half now- long line of burning, raging fire.Falling to his knees, Anon began to weep again. It was shameful; him a grown man. He began to pray. Of course nothing happened; he had never been a religious man.“Are you ready to become the Prairie Fire?” Anon looked behind him at the driver who stood naked as the day he was born. Laughing, the man said, “I lose my clothes every time I take the form of fire- those were my extras I burnt.”Anon didn't care. He had to find a way to stop the fire. “ If I become The Prairie Fire will I be able to meet my family again someday?“After you fulfill you duty.” Nodding his head seriously made the naked man look comical; though Anon had no time for laughing.“I will become the Prairie Fire then, but you have to stop this fire first.”“Sorry, it doesn't work that way. You become the Prairie Fire now, and take care of it yourself.” The driver spoke as if a cow couldn't push him over, his decision was final.“I don't know how to control fire!”“You can't control my fire, but you can make your own. You'll have to save the camp yourself. You will have a better chance saving the camp as a Prairie Fire.”Anon did not have time for arguing. “Make me the Prairie Fire. I will take care of it.” Taking on a determination that would make senile bear move out of his way, Anon vowed he would not let what happened to his wife and baby happen to her kin and the baby's cousins, aunts, uncles.The driver rubbed his hands together excitedly.“OK! Now we're in business,” he laughed crazily.Flashing into fire, he danced around Anon, grinning so wide all the while, his face look split in two. Slowly, then faster and faster and faster. More flaming figures appeared around him. All dancing around him in a circle. The display reminded Anon of a dance performed by the Blackfoot on his wedding day. More and more figures of flame appeared until a solid rhythmic wall of flame surrounded him, then it closed in, slower and slower, but ever getting closer.The heat effected his eyesight; blurred his vision. Nose shriveling in response to his own melting skin, Anon cried in pain, tears evaporating on his burning red cheeks. His whole body burned. His hair caught fire. Fiery hands reached for him, covering his mouth, his face. They grabbed his arms, his legs. Some hugged him. A moment more and they leaped onto him like wolfs on a horse, like a coyote on a mouse.He screamed, moaned, yelled in pain. Finally, he collapsed in a heap on the charred prairie, whilst more and more fiery spirits attacked....Anon woke. He felt no pain. He stared into the charred remains of the prairie. He looked up into the Sky. The sun was just shining, barely, on the horizon.Anon couldn't see his body. Fire had taken it's place; he looked like the driver. He wanted his body back; the driver had a body. How did he get it? Anon fixed a picture of himself in his head, what he remembered himself looking like in the mirror. Looking down, he had a body, but it didn't feel real; it felt fake. Hardly noticing, Anon's gaze fell upon a hill of ash on the burnt, black prairie. Remembering himself burning, he knew the ash as his body, but the thought raced out of his head; a more important one barged it's way in. Morning. It can't be. I must reach the camp. So concerned was he, he didn't notice his nakedness- his clothes burned off like the driver's.Maybe, just maybe, he could reach the camp before the fire did. The coach stood motionless in the distance. The race was on. Sprinting for it, not taking notice to his bare feet, Anon jumped into the driver's seat. Snapping the reins, he turned the rig towards the camp, setting the horse at a dead run.It ran hard, moving faster then he could remember. I am the Prairie Fire. I must fix this mess. Smoke billowed up, a gray line on the distant horizon, stretching for kilometers, father then Anon could see. Fire sprayed from the horse's fist sized nostrils, smoke streamed of it's back towards Anon. It picked up speed- if that was possible- at the sight of fire, flickering in the distance- it's kin. They caught up quickly.The coach smashed through the wall of flame only a quarter kilometer, and closing, from the camp. The bouncing coach, Anon standing on the coach box- terrified as a gopher with no hole to run to and a hawk in the air- rattled, while he barely steered it around tepees through the camp.He hollered and shouted as loud as he could. “Fire coming. Wake up! Fire coming. Fire is here to save you.” He laughed out loud.A new instinct kicked in; Anon sprouted flames. I'll burn it all down. He about jumped off the coach onto a tepee, wanting fiery destruction wrought, but he fought himself. I must hold on. Save the camp first. He suppressed his mad desire to cause destruction, but allowed the flames to appear in full force. Oh, how his soul cried to release the fiery demon inside him. He had to hold on, wait until he was far from his relatives.Reaching the other side of the camp, he jumped off the coach, rolling to his feet as a fiery, human spirit. He looked into the camp and saw Natives stirring, rudely awakened, from their sleep, appearing from their tepees, looking towards the fire. Running, they yelled, hooped and hollered. Anon understood only some of the words, but he knew they warned about the fire, telling others to wake up and run. Worried cries echoed from the women, herding their children ahead of them.Hundreds of people ran towards Anon's position, away from the fire, but without help, they would not survive the hell approaching them. Anon took no notice of the people stopping, realizing they would not outrun the fire, and pointing at him. Whispering.Wasting no time, Anon ran in a straight line before the camp. A wall of fire sprang up and raced the same way as the wind blew, northeast. The Natives caught on quickly, running towards the already burnt prairie grass. Fight fire with fire, he thought. Anon spanned the width of the camp, his Blackfoot relatives an awed audience.Finishing up the fiery deed, he regretfully dissipated into his false body and walked towards his family. Oblivious of the stares he received, Anon walked up to his father in law. “You will be safe now.” The man stared at him with shocked brown eyes.What is wrong with him? Then it struck Anon. “Oh. Umm... I umm....” All the Natives watching him intently now had effect. They didn't even seem to take notice the fire sweeping through their camp, destroying everything; their tepees, their belongings.Anon's instincts tried to break through his mental suppression. He had to go or something bad would happen. “I am the Prairie Fire now. Your daughter and I will watch you from the heavens.” With that, exploding into fire, he ran to the coach, sitting in the charred remains of the camp.The instincts of fire smacked through his mental block, his human soul unconscious under the door. Anon hooped, hollered, screamed, yelled, laughed insanely, and rumbled away on the wretched coach to wreak fiery havoc on the prairies.
