The Kitchen Door

The kitchen door was open.

Not just unlocked. Open. Ajar.

A sliver of light from the hallway cut across the dark linoleum floor, illuminating a single, terrifying detail.

The gas valve on the stove.

It was turned. Just slightly. Not enough to hear the hiss yet, but enough to start the accumulation.

I stopped. My breath caught in my throat, a physical block.

He was already doing it.

He wasn't waiting for dessert. He wasn't waiting for the timer.

"Elara?"

Julian’s voice came from behind me. From the dining room. He was following me.

"Are you okay?"

I forced my feet to move. I stepped into the kitchen.

"I'm fine," I called back. My voice sounded thin, reedy. "Just getting the... the napkins."

"I have the napkins," he said. He was closer now. Just outside the doorway.

I looked at the stove.

The pilot light was out.

He had extinguished it.

If I turned the knob back... it would click. He would hear it.

If I left it... the gas would fill the room. And the next time the refrigerator cycled on...

A spark.

*Boom.*

"Elara, come back to the table."

He was in the doorway.

He was holding the crème brûlée torch.

It was a heavy, industrial thing. Brushed steel. A weapon disguised as a kitchen tool.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

"I made dessert," he said.

He clicked the igniter.

A blue flame shot out. Three inches long. Hissing like a snake.

"It needs to be caramelized," he said. "Right now."

He looked at me. Then at the stove.

His eyes lingered on the knob.

He knew.

He knew I saw it.

"Why is the door open?" he asked softly.

He pointed the torch at the gap between the door and the frame.

"Drafts are bad for the flame."

He took a step into the kitchen.

"Close it, Elara."

I didn't move.

"Close the door."

He raised the torch. The blue flame danced.

"Or I'll close it for you."

I backed up. My hip hit the counter.

"Why is the gas on?" I whispered.

He stopped.

He looked at the stove. Then at me.

He didn't deny it. He didn't make an excuse.

He just smiled.

"Because it's time to cook," he said.

He walked toward the stove.

"Wait!" I shouted.

He paused.

"If you light that torch... the whole room goes up."

"I know," he said.

He looked at the torch. Then at the gas valve.

"That's the point."

He wasn't just going to gas me.

He was going to incinerate me.

"Why?" I asked. Tears spilled down my cheeks. "Why, Julian?"

"Because you're flawed," he said. "Structural integrity compromised. You can't be fixed."

He took another step.

"But fire... fire purifies."

He reached for the knob to turn it up. To release more gas.

"Don't," I begged.

"It's too late for that," he said.

He turned the knob.

*Hiss.*

The sound was loud. Angry.

The smell of rotten eggs filled the air instantly.

He raised the torch.

"Goodbye, Elara."

I didn't think. I reacted.

I grabbed the only thing within reach.

The bottle of olive oil on the counter.

I threw it at him.

It hit his shoulder. It didn't hurt him, but it startled him. He flinched. The torch wavered.

I ran.

Not to the door. He was blocking it.

To the sink.

"You can't run!" he screamed.

He lunged.

I ducked. I scrambled under the island.

He swung the torch. The flame licked the cabinets. The varnish bubbled.

"Come out!"

I crawled. My knees scraped on the tile.

I reached the sink cabinet.

I threw the doors open.

Bleach. Ammonia.

The bottles I had seen earlier.

I grabbed them.

"Elara!"

He was coming around the island.

I unscrewed the caps.

My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped them.

I poured the bleach onto the floor. A puddle of clear, acrid liquid.

Then the ammonia.

*Hiss.*

A cloud of white smoke rose instantly.

Chloramine gas.

It hit me first. My eyes burned. My throat seized.

I coughed, hacking.

Julian stopped.

"What did you do?" he choked.

The cloud expanded. Rolling across the floor. Filling the space between us.

He coughed. A deep, racking sound.

"You stupid bitch!"

He swung the torch blindly.

The flame hit the gas cloud.

But chloramine isn't flammable.

It just... expanded.

He stumbled back, pawing at his eyes.

"I can't see!"

He dropped the torch.

It hit the floor. The flame was still on.

It rolled toward the puddle of bleach.

It didn't ignite the liquid. But it heated it.

The gas production accelerated.

The room was filling with white fog.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see.

I crawled.

I knew the kitchen. I knew the layout.

Three feet to the left. The pantry.

I found the door handle.

I pulled myself up. I threw myself inside.

I slammed the door shut.

I collapsed on the floor, gasping for air.

Outside, Julian was screaming.

"Open the door! Elara! Open the door!"

He was pounding on the wood. *Thud. Thud. Thud.*

"My eyes! It burns!"

He was blind. He was choking.

And the gas... the natural gas from the stove... was still pouring out.

The torch was on the floor.

It was only a matter of time.

I huddled in the corner, covering my ears.

Waiting for the boom.

But it didn't come.

Instead... silence.

The pounding stopped.

The screaming stopped.

Did he pass out? Did he die?

Or did he leave?

I waited. One minute. Two.

Silence.

I reached for the door handle.

It was hot.

Warm to the touch.

Fire.

The torch had ignited something. The cabinets? The floor?

The kitchen was burning.

If I stayed here, I would roast.

I had to go out.

I took a deep breath of the stale pantry air. I pulled my dress up over my nose and mouth.

I opened the door.

Smoke billowed in. Black. Oily.

The island was on fire. The curtains were on fire.

And Julian...

He was gone.

The back door was open. Rain was blowing in, mixing with the smoke.

He had escaped.

I ran.

I ran through the fire. I felt the heat singe my hair.

I ran out the back door.

I collapsed on the wet grass of the patio.

I rolled over, letting the rain wash the soot from my face.

I gulped down air. It tasted like ash and ozone.

I looked at the house.

Flames were licking out of the kitchen window. The fire was spreading fast.

"Elara!"

Someone was shaking me.

"Elara! Are you okay?"

It was Elias.

He was wearing a raincoat over his pajamas. He looked terrified.

"He... he tried to burn me," I rasped.

"I saw the fire," Elias said. "I called 911."

He helped me sit up.

"Where is he?" Elias asked. "Where is Julian?"

I looked around the yard.

The garden was empty. The garage was dark.

"I don't know," I whispered. "He ran."

Elias looked at the woods.

"He can't have gone far. He was hurt."

Was he?

I remembered his scream. The coughing.

But he had managed to get out. He had managed to open the door.

He was strong. Stronger than me.

"We have to go," Elias said. "The gas main... if the fire hits it..."

He pulled me up.

We stumbled toward his house.

"Wait," I said.

I stopped.

I looked back at the burning kitchen.

Through the broken window... I saw something.

On the counter.

Where the wine bottle used to be.

A phone.

My phone.

He had left it.

Why?

And then the screen lit up.

A message notification.

Bright against the smoke.

I couldn't read it from here.

But I knew who it was from.

And I knew what it said.

*You missed.*

I turned to Elias.

"Do you have a gun?" I asked.

He stared at me.

"What?"

"A gun," I said. "Do you have one?"

"I... I have a flare gun," he said. "For the boat."

"Get it," I said.

"Elara, the police are coming..."

"Get it!" I screamed.

He flinched. He ran toward his house.

I stood alone in the rain.

Watching the fire.

Waiting for the monster to come out of the dark.