The Fire Coma Stories
Uncovered fragments of the Fire Coma storyline written by Steve Vai that finally evolved into the concept behind the 1997 album Fire Garden…
- All About Eve
- Dyin’ Day
- There’s A Fire In The House
- The Mysterious Murder Of Christian Tiera’s Lover
The Fire Coma Stories: “All About Eve”
Give to me the angels to soothe my
cracked and weathered hands, with their hair of silk
and voices of immaculate ether. Give to me the clouds
to rest my broken body on,
with their sweet cool air and views of crystal blue awareness.
Give to me the heavens to engulf
my weary consciousness, complete
with their infinite worlds of incomprehensible beauty.
Give to me all that this creation, with it’s seen
and unseen things,
can offer, and I would still be an empty and dry vessel
if not by your side.
Approach me gently for your love is so pure that I fear my essence will evaporate in your embrace.
The Fire Coma Stories: “Dyin’ Day”
The room seemed ominously cold as he entered it. It was the bright blue ceiling and walls and the white linoleum floor that gave it the chill.
All the hospital rooms he could ever remember had a similar feeling, cold like this one, but it was the sight of his dad laying on the bed that seemed to give the chill an edge. It made him feel uneasy. For the first time in his life he saw his dad helpless. It was frightening. His dad was always a beacon of strength, light and love. There was always a warm feeling of comfort that he felt when he saw his dad, but now, even at this early age he sensed what was happening. He knew his father was dying and he felt pain in his heart.
The young boy slowly walked to the side of the bed and stared into his father’s face. His father’s lips were dry and cracked, his skin was pale but his face had a strange serenity to it. It was the calm and peacefulness in his father’s face that took the edge off the boy’s fear.
Then the big eyelids rose and the father stared into the face of his son.
“Come here, boy.” The gravelly voice fell out of his mouth.
The boy moved toward the father and they clasped hands.
“Are you afraid?”, asked the father. The boy shook his head no. “Well, that’s good.”
Then the boy stuttered, “Well, maybe a little.”
“Well, let me tell you something, my son”, the father weakly went on. “I’m gonna tell you about the three happiest days of my life. The first one was the day I married your Mom. We were very young then and your Mom was so so beautiful. I can remember how nervous she was and how happy I was. I actually felt like I was walking on air. When you feel joy like that, you have no care in the world. I only hope you will know this joy someday.
“And the next happiest day in my life was the first time I set eyes on you. I froze solid in my tracks and was overcome with a great feeling of such love and happiness that I could barely contain myself. You were divinely precious beyond my ability to grasp, and when I look at you now, I still feel that same way. To me, you are the most beautiful creature of all God’s creations. I only hope that someday you will know the same joy I feel when I look at you.”
Tears filled the boy’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks while he sniffled. His mouth tensed and trembled.
“And, the next happiest day of my life is today.”
A puzzled look came over the boy’s face.
“You see son, this world is a place where we come to sort of take care of some business before we go back home for a while where we really belong. You know how it is when you come home from school and you’re almost home, and waiting for you at home are your Mom and dad with open and loving arms? They’re waiting for you with love and happiness because they missed you when you were gone. It’s something like that.”
“But, I want to go with you,” the boy declared.
“When you’re done taking care of business here and it’s your time, then you will move on also. But, for now, your Mom needs you, and there are so many exciting happiest days in your life to come. I’m gonna be fine where I’m going and you’re gonna be fine here. You’re the man of the house now and I don’t know anybody else that I would want to entrust that responsibility to because you are so brave and strong.”
The boy squeezed his father’s hand. “But, why now, dad? Why do you have to go now?”
“Because it’s my time and I have no choice. You see son, just because we don’t know why things are the way they are, that doesn’t mean that God doesn’t. We just can’t see it now, but you will someday. You’re so smart and beautiful and remember, along with God, I am with you inside always. You can talk to us whenever you want.”
“But how do I do that when you’re not here?” the boy puzzled.
“Well, at first you close your eyes and focus your attention right here.” The father gently touched the boy’s forehead between the eyes. “Clear your mind and start talking and then listen to your heart for an answers. That’s where we are.”
“But it will be just dark,” the boy said.
“At first, but in time it will get easier. Come now, I have something for you.”
He reached over the bed and grabbed a shoe box from a shelf that ran along the window sill. He opened the top and inside, neatly stacked upright was a row of envelopes filled with letters.
“Each one of these envelopes has a number on it. On the day you reach the age of the number on the letter, I want you to open it and read it. The first one is to be opened and read on your 12th birthday, then on your 15th, then 17th birthday. The next on your 19th, and so on, until you are 45 years old. There are things that you will understand then and if you miss me, you can read the letters.” He handed the box to the boy and stared deeply into his eyes as a peaceful smile came over his face. “Now, you remember, son, I love you more than my own life.”
The boy smiled and wept, “I love you too dad.”
The father squeezed the little boy’s tiny hand and signaled the boy with a nod of his head.
The boy turned and went to the door, opened it with one hand while clutching the box with the other.
The father smiled peacefully as the boy turned and their eyes met one last time. The father could see the outline of the boys little body stepping from the room, and as the door closed, the father could feel his own last breath race from his lungs.
The Fire Coma Stories: “There’s A Fire In The House”
It was getting close, tighter and tighter. His perception was getting sharper. There was no awareness of anything else, just the closeness all around and the sweet sound in the distance pulling at him. Just calmness and peace as he drifted toward the ground. But the second he touched the ground, it was as if a lightning bolt, complete with deafening thunder, exploded in his head.
The crash was so brutal that he found himself springing completely off his bed as he awoke. He was totally at a loss as to were he was. Covered in sweat, he whipped his head around to try and identify his surroundings. It started to come to him, his own bedroom in his own house on his own block in his own town. A feeling of comfort came over him when he clearly saw the posters his teenage brother had put on the wall. It flashed through his mind that when he’d turn 8 years old next year, he will be allowed to put some of his favorite posters on the wall. This thought helped him relax even more and the cosmic trauma that he had just seconds ago experienced seemed like a distant memory. As he went to lay his body back down on the bed to fall back to sleep, he realized there was a curiously strange smell in the air. It was not an unknown odor. Then he heard the muted rumble of what sounded like a herd of buffalo in the distance.
His ears were soon filled with the very real sound of a siren. Panic raced through his body as he realized, “there’s a fire in the house.”
He frantically jumped from the bed at the very moment that the flames burst through the window with a scowling howl. If it wasn’t for the rush of adrenaline that swept through his veins, he may have frozen in his spot and been engulfed in the raging fire. He found himself in the corner of the room feeling the panic grow.
“Get out! Get out!” was all he could think. His body fumbled chaotically to the door as the flames moved toward him. He could see them like red demons dancing joyously as they consumed the air. He started to cough and choke.
He burst into the hallway. The roaring herd of buffalo was now a full-on stampede eating its way up the stairs from the lower levels.
He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he gasped for air. All exits were ablaze. He ran down the hall to the door that led upstairs to the 3rd and 4th floors. “No, I can’t go up, but I can’t go down.”
He reached for the door to go up. The panic grew as he desperately squeezed at the handle, only to find the door locked. He stared down the hallway at the rapidly approaching ball of orange and red dancing death.
As his concentration focused directly into the flames, a feeling of slow motion seemed to come over his perceptions. A wicked face twisted with perverse delight, swirled out of the front of the rambling approaching flames. A harsh seductive voice growled from the churning onslaught.
“I am your mind and I will roast your soul every day of your life. Fear child, for you stare into the face of your fate. I am consuming to all beings for I am the flames of their desires and ignorance and I hold captured your soul like a tortured nightingale in a cage made of flesh and bone, my tender beloved.”
An intense wave of fear and awe swept over him as he burst the door open and frantically ran up the stairs to the next level of the house.
From the top of the stairs he looked back. As the flames hastily made their way up the stairwell, bouncing from wall to wall, they engulfed and consumed all they came in contact with.
“You amuse me, the way you flee,” came the black voice from the oncoming heat.
A bolt of fear shot through his body as he let out a shriek and slamed the door. He nervously walked backwards, aware of any movement in the room. The flames had not yet reached the floor he was on but the walls seemed to breathe with a curious anticipation. The door that he so desperately slammed slowly creeked open. A ghostly orange glow ominously lit the stairwell. It grew brighter as it started to pierce the darkness and cast a feverish haze of scarlet throughout the room.
The walls started to radiate from the flames on the other side. He spied the other set of stairs leading up to the next floor, but he felt frozen in his place, unable to move.
A thin line of flames led its way out of the glowing stairwell, across the room and up to his feet. It stopped a few feet in front of him and formed a twister-like funnel about one foot wide and 4 feet high. Out of the spinning depth came the hideous flamed face again.
“Ah, you will never know the depth of my grasp on you. I am truly the beast, the demons and devils, the perversion of your purity” the voice hissed. “And I am within you, keeping you blind and numb to the truth. The light of sanctuary is dead to all men through me. I am the soul-eater and I am not outside. I am within, closer to you than your own hands and feet. The more I have, the more I devour.”
With that, the boy let out a scream and the walls burst into flames. The demon flame let out a deafening roar that drowned out the boy’s scream. He made a chaotic dash for the next stairway leading up. It burst into a raging ball of heat and blaze that chased him up the stairs to the next floor. This time he ran toward another set of smaller stairs that led to the attic and the roof.
As he crossed the room, he could hear the fiendish laugh of the flames, and with his peripheral view he could see the roof falling in and the floor falling out leaving empty smoke filled air in it’s place.
He fled up the stairs with the fiendish laughing flames hot on his feet.
All he felt was fear. The fear itself was prevading through his body like a wild fire until he was completely overcome with anxiety. He felt like fear personified. Frantically he made his way to the attic on his hands and knees. Collapsing on the floor at the top of the stairs, he started to scream and cry, “No, help me, mother, father.” He covered his eyes with his arms as he lay on the floor sobbing.
The heat grew stronger and he knew that the floor would soon be in flames. He picked his head up only to notice the room starting to glow. The colors turned from a warm magenta glow to blood red, orange, then yellow.
Out of the corners of the attic came little flame like people creeping out from the woodwork, dancing and laughing in a macabre fiasco.
The heat at his feet was growing unbearable. The little dancing flames at the stair top broke away as the master demon flame made its way through the doorway.
He rolled over onto his back and looked down through his feet. The fiendish flame came streaking toward him in a thin blue line. When it reached his feet, it split into two lines, shooting up each of his legs under his pajamas.
When the flame touched his flesh, he could feel the terrible sting. It then made its way quickly up his legs and infested his torso. The blueness burst into an orange glow as it ignited his pajamas in a flash of fire.
In a breath he could feel the flames singe every part of his lower body, boiling and peeling the skin in an instant. Then came his blood-curdling screams and violent spasms.
He found himself frantically rolling on the floor trying to put out his legs and crotch, his piercing screams being dwarfed by the shrewd and sickening laughter of the flames.
He jumped onto a cot in the corner and managed to smother the flames with a blanket.
He lay motionless on the cot. As he drifted into shock, the pain seemed to be drowned by an endorphin rush that left his lower body numb. He slowly turned his head to see the whole attic burst into flames and start to collapse.
He could feel the heat on his naked upper body as he fell off the cot and crawled out to the balcony, which was about the only area not yet engulfed in flames.
He could barely move his legs as he desperately grasped a metal pole and pulled himself up. In a daze, he looked down to the cool grassy earth that lay 4 floors beneath him.
The pain came back to him in waves. He looked down to his blackened and red burnt lower body. He started to cry as 90% of the house tumbled to the ground, leaving only the chimney and balcony that he was standing on.
A streak of flames approached him and rose up into a familiar funnel in front of him.
The fiendish vivid face once again appeared in an ethereal glowing orange-yellow-red blur. Out from its head sprung what looked like dancing dreadlocks of blue, black, purple and green Medusa flames.
The voice spoke to him as the flames slowly engulfed the balcony, “You are truly helpless and I adore your weakness. Your consciousness will be plagued by my desires. I will roast you for an eternity and live within you and rot your purity, infesting your every thought and action, for you need me, my precious. You need the pain I bring you more than you need your own blood. Through me you shall learn. You shall learn the ways of men and this world. You will know lust and greed, anger and jealousy.”
The flames started to crawl up his legs onto his stomach and back. Unalbe to move, he could feel the unbearable pain as his flesh melted away. The blaze crawled up his chest, but he still could not move. He just stared into the dancing rage and the deafening roar. The voice now breathed a sultry whisper into his ear.
“While my blood is running through the veins of mankind, he will suffer miserably. I am the bringer of torment. To fulfill my desires, man will lie and steel, murder and rape.” The flames crept up his neck and the hissing whisper filled his head. “In the core of your being is a precious, flawless, beautiful garden and I am the fire that burns within it. That garden is your soul and I am your mind, and I am the mind of all men and the ruler of this creation.”
The sting and burn of the flames had reached a harrowing peak. He stood there with his arms spread out like a flaming cross. Every cell in his body now exploding in absolute pain. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was his own eyelashes burning.
There was no escape from the pain or smell of burning flesh, his own flesh. He felt the cool sensation of adrenaline burst from his chest and numb his limbs. He let himself fall back into the waiting arms of the cool air.
It was at this point that he realized that his entire consciousness was being drawn into his own head. It started at the bottom of his feet and tips of his fingers. In an instant his whole being was focused at his eye center and the whole idea of his body was alien. It was only the closeness of his consciousness he could identify with.
He realized then that he was his consciousness and nothing else. He was not his body, but his body was a prison for his being. At that moment there was no pain, and there were no thoughts. The harsh roar of the flames melted into a much closer sound. What seemed to be a clean drone of a pure and constant bell. It wasn’t ringing, it was “toning.” He was in an extreme state of consciousness, an Ultrazone.
It was getting closer, tighter and tighter, and his perception was getting clearer. There was no awareness of anything else, just the closeness of all around and the sweet sound in the distance pulling at him.
Calmness and peace prevaded as he drifted toward Earth but the second he touched the ground, it was as if a lightning bolt complete with thunder exploded in his head.
The crash was so brutal that he found himself springing completely out of his bed when he awoke.
Covered in sweat, he whipped his head around to see where he was. It started to come to him. His own bedroom in his own house on his own block in his own town. The feeling of comfort came over him and the lights in his room came up as his mother dashed to his bedside.
“My dear one, are you okay?” She embraced him as he was still trembling. He looked up to see his father approaching. They both held him close with love and tenderness.
“Did you have a bad dream my boy?”, his father asked with compassion.
He started to feel calmer. He sniffled a bit and put his right hand on his heart. The only words that came from his mouth as he looked up into their eyes was “Fire Garden.”
The Fire Coma Stories: “The Mysterious Murder Of Christian Tiera’s Lover”
They should have called it “Horror Church” after all the slayings took place. What a terrible travesty. I always thought that these Catholic boarding schools were creepy and now all this just confirms my suspicions. I am glad we’re getting out of here today. Thank God this is the last time I have to get on this crazy bus.
Good Lord, six dead before the police even found this rat trap in the woods. Such brutal dismemberments, too. The maniac who did these heinous crimes has to be one of the most twisted in history. It’s so macabre how he made art projects out of his slayings. Like that first poor boy that was found crucified over the altar. His hands were basically stapled to the walls with flowers in his palms, as he stood erect from the huge candelabra that was forced into his anus, impaled. His nipples were cut out and his eyeballs were carefully put in their place, and in his eye sockets, the maniac put the boys testicles.
And it must have taken a terribly long time to devise the mutilation of the one young girl. He made a plastic see-through cast of her body then put her body piece by piece through a blender and poured it into the plastic mold. The result was a clear plastic statue of the girl filled with a reddish-gray goop.
And the others, so artistically prepared without a drop of blood smeared or found from any of his victims. What a freak! It’s incredible to me that this type of thing actually exists in the world. Makes you wonder if there really even is a God.
Now everyone is frantically running for the bus to get the hell out of this hell-hole-fuckin’ horror church. Well, I don’t blame them. I can’t wait to get out of here too.
Finally there was an announcement. “Okay, everybody, listen up. Please take a seat and try to remain calm. We have everyone here and we will be leaving very shortly. The police will be taking care of the rest.”
I turned and sat quietly waiting for the bus driver to finish his conversation with the police. In the seats in back of me remained the rest of the 16 students, half in shock and the other half weeping. Then it dawned on me that I left my wallet with all my money and ID in the priest’s small chapel. A twinge of shock ran down my spine. Forget it, I’m gonna leave it right there and let it rot. Wait a minute… am I gonna let some cop claim my $200? I can run in and get it. The chapel is right there, 25 feet away. I know just where I left my wallet.
Hmmm, maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. I mean, who knows, maybe that lunatic is in there. But he can’t be. It’s a small, dark room and if anyone was in there the police would have known by now. They already searched the entire grounds. Hell, I’m not gonna lose 200 bucks.
“Hey, son, where are going?” said a police officer.
“I just left something in this small chapel over here. It will just take a minute.”
“Say, Harry,” he yelled to another police officer, “did you check that one over there?” he said as he pointed to the chapel I was heading to.
Harry gave an A-okay signal and the officer asked my name. “My name is Christian Tiera.” He nodded and waved me on.
As I approached the building, my intention was to not even think about any maniac and just go right in the room, get my things and get the hell out.
I swung the door open in the main chapel and started for the little room in the back where my wallet was. It figured that the lights wouldn’t work, but the room was well lit with the colorful light of the sun as it passed through the stained glass windows lining the walls of the chapel.
I think I started to hum a song or something to keep my mind occupied. Yes, I was starting to feel something creepy. Maybe It was just my imagination. God knows my imagination had good reason to go off the deep end.
I burst into the little room. It was dark with only the light streaming in from one lonely ceiling window on the far side of the room. I felt for the light switch on the wall and gave it a flick, but nothing. No problem, I thought, I’ll just go over here and pick up my… shit, it’s not here.
It was at this moment that the fear finally caught up to me. God, what have I done?
I stared into the darkness in front of me when I heard the creaking of the door shutting slowly behind me. Oh, Fuqua, something is behind that door. It feels like an overbearing presence of horror. I wanted to run, but where? My feet felt glued to the floor and my body froze.
Wave after wave of anxiety passed through my body and when I finally heard the door shut, I felt as though I was going to be sick.
This left the room virtually pitch black with the exception of a stream of blinding sunlight that shone from the little window off the ceiling. Then I heard it.
It started as a low hiss and then a guttural cackle. The waves of anxiety that raced
through me grew stronger and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. I heard a squeak escape from my mouth, I couldn’t even control it. It seemed to amuse the phantom in the dark because he stopped his hissing, imitated my squeak, then let out a grotesque laugh that merged into a series of low frequency heavy breaths that seemed to shake the room.
The sickening breathing was only occasionally interrupted by a pathetic moan.
The sound seemed to fill the air and get closer. I was totally overcome with fear. I could feel my heart banging against my chest, and every breath I took seemed to be electric with fear. I wanted to run, but the weight of the sound in the air pinned me into the corner. The heavy breathing got louder and more tortured. It seemed to attack me from all sides. Little cries kept slipping from my mouth and the maniac fed off them. He would mimic my cries between his gross breaths and tortured moans of desire. God, this was a really sick one. Then came the voice. The words seemed to quake with a sick delight.
“I’m sorry to have to eat your cock and balls right off your body, but it’s good.”
I went into a silent panic that left me sick and weak. I could feel myself urinate and defecate without control.
The phantom drew closer and two large red and white eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.
“No, please, I don’t want to die.” I begged as I fell to my knees.
The madman just echoed my words in a tweezed mimic, and grew more crazed the more panicked I got.
I saw something move in the darkness around him when all of a sudden the light from the window caught the head of a huge chopping axe. I was blinded by the reflection. This was all I could take. My hands hit the floor and I begged and screamed in sheer panic. The maniac screamed along with me as his face moved into the light. It was hideous. Huge, round bloodshot eyes, four flaps of skin rolled on the forehead, large puffy cheeks framed the open mouth with cracked teeth hanging from the top. The expression on the face was that of macabre delight. It shifted from pain to pleasure in a blink. Then it screamed at me, “You look at my face! It the last face cause I eat you!” It screamed with pure anger. Then in a flash the face smiled and said in a fiendish squeal, “You like me to eat you, yes, yes? I kill you good!” Then it grew fiercely angry and started ranting with explosive fury.
“What’s the matter with you? I love to eat you and drink your blood dry. You need my axe. What’s wrong with you, you need it. Hard strokes.”
Then in an unparalleled display of perverse masochism, the fiend started to hit himself in the face with the ax out of sheer euphoric anger.
“You need it like this, you see?” Whack! Whack!
After every stroke, he would cackle out with laughter then scream in anger. I could feel his blood spray across my face. It flew from the axe head to the window on the ceiling and covered it. With each streak of blood on the window, the light in the room took on different shades of red, maroon, magenta…
I was going into shock when the maniac threw down the axe and grabbed me off the floor.
“Now we must dance, you fool,” said the freak as he embraced my limp body and carried me around the room singing a haunting sick melody.
He would whip his face toward me spraying me with blood. This amused him because between the humming of the tune, he would laugh that freakish excited little girl laugh he had.
His powerful arms threw me onto the table and he started to passionately kiss me. The taste of his blood and the sheer fear I was feeling mad me vomit. This seemed to put him into a frenzy as he desperately tried to gulp up my vomit. He then took a huge bite and took off my entire top lip.
At this, my fear turned into violent energy as I tried to get away. I succeeded in pushing him off, but he chased me, grabbed my naked leg and started feeding again.
Pinning me to the floor with one arm, he reached into his back pocket with his other and once again the light caught something shiny. It was a nine-inch butcher knife. We both let out a harsh shrill, then he shouted, “Quiet. You need to finally enjoy something good.”
There was a silence as he took the knife and slowly sunk it into his own stomach. He let out a guttural moan and spilled his blood all over my face like an evil orgasm in a porno movie made in the worst part of hell.
He looked me in the face and whispered, “It’s in me now.”
He withdrew the blade and placed it to my stomach. I begged him to let me go, don’t do it, I would do anything.
He just mimicked me and said, “Now, you just enjoy this like I do.”
With that, he slowly forced all nine inches of the blade into my gut. I could feel the cold steel ripping through my flesh. I was pinned down, unable to move. The blade brought a burning sting like nothing I’d ever felt. Immediately, my body rushed with endorphins and adrenaline.
I mewed and cried as he withdrew the blade.
He started to cry as the knife made another entry.
The adrenaline took over and I found myself going into convulsions. I freed my hands and started hitting and tearing wildly at any body part of his I could grab. This seemed to excite him more and his strokes grew faster as he cried with delight.
My fear turned to sheer anger. It was a total violation and I was the victim. He already stabbed me enough to kill me and I knew there was no way I was going to live through this, but I was so pumped with adrenaline, it felt as though I had a lot of energy.
I wailed at him and tore at his face. My fingers slipped into the axe cracks in his cheeks and I tore his face apart. My anger was growing. I knew it wasn’t long before I lost my energy and started to fade. I had to take this maniac with me. He’s already wounded. He’s gotta be feelin’ it but he just keeps pumpin’ the knife into my gut and yelping with delight.
My arms flailed on the ground as I screamed. I came across something that felt like a big stick of wood. I grabbed it with my right hand. The end of it caught the blood red light. It was the axe.
I started to whack at the maniac. First at his legs. I could hear his sick wails now turn into cries of pain. But, it was odd. It seemed as though he reveled in the pain.
I actually hacked off his right leg from the knee down as we rolled over. Now I was on top and my anger and rage was at an all-time high. I whacked and screamed at the maniac’s head. The more I tore his body up, the more freakish his laughs. I cursed him for killing me as I cried.
“Now you’re gonna be dead, you freak! How you like it, ha, feels good to you?” I yelled.
Then the oddest sensation came over me. I started to feel a great delight in watching this monster suffer. I started to feel a fulfillment in every stroke. A rush of a thrill shot through my body with every thrash and I could hear myself giggling. I whacked his body until my arms ached. The cries coming from his pulp-like face turned into feeble vomits of blood. Then he just lay there as I hacked away in great delight while violently kicking the limp body.
As I broke into a full on frenzied laugh, I noticed a transformation in what was left of his face. I saw my own face. With this I slowed down my strokes. I could feel the loss of blood in my own body taking its toll. My vision was blurring. The fiend lay there in a bloody mess. I looked deep into the face. It was my own. I rolled off the bloody corpse.
The door swung open and two police officers busted in.
“Mother of God.” I heard one say with deflated breath.
When I looked down, a bolt of confusion shot through my entire body.
It was me. It was me all along. I was the only one in the room. I was the maniac all along. I had killed all those kids so artfully. I had hacked up my own body in a feverish frenzy. My face was a mess and half of my leg lay in front of me. The axe embedded in my own thigh and a nine inch butcher knife sunken into my stomach. A feeling of great relief washed over me.
The maniac was finally dead.
The Fire Coma Stories: “Whookam”
ynitsed namuh gnillifluf ybereht,
mih ni gnigrem fo osla
tub mih gniraeh dna gniees fo ylno
ton elbapac emoceb eh seod,
nihtiw ydolem enivid eht ot snetsil
dna tpeda laer a morf snoitcurtsni seviecer rekees
eht nehw ylno. eciov sih raeh srae lacisyhp eseht nac ron,
tonnac seye lacisyhp eseht tub, su ot esolc si eh.
edistuo erehwyna dezilaer eb ton nac dna su nihtiw si dog.
naeco eht ni segrem dna emoh lanigiro sti ot snruter ti nehw ylno dne lliw seiresim dna seow sti lla. nigiro enivid sti nettogrof yllatot evah ot sa ago gnol os detarapes ti ecnehw,
Drol eht fo naeco eht morf pord
a, ecnesse ni si lous ruo
ssilb fo naeco eht si eh. rotcetorp dna reniatsus,
rotaerc a tuohtiw ton si esrevinu eht;
Dog a si ereht.