Every summer, I visit my aunt and uncle in Massachusetts while my parents go on a Caribbean cruise. One particular summer, when I was 7, I caught a cold. It was just your basic common cold. You know, sneezing, watering eyes, and coughing. Well, my uncle went to work one day. My aunt stayed at home with me. By then, my cold had escalated to a very bad fever. We ran out of cough syrup, and my aunt had to go get some more. I knew that she was hesitant to leave me all alone, but my cough had become so bad, that she'd had no choice. So, she left.
Their little, sort of cabin style house was isolated from the rest of the town (there was also a little lake just beyond the backyard; I loved to swim in it), so it was kind far from the local drugstore. She'd be at least half an hour.
My cough had calmed down, and I was able to sleep for awhile. As soon as I drifted off, I had a dream. It was about a little boy. The boy had stringy, brown hair and sad, blue eyes. They looked as if he'd seen many loses. (Sorry. Compulsive writer. I had to type that little detail.) Anyway, the boy was sitting in a wooden chair. He was crying. He looked down and said, "I'm sorry. Please. Please forgive me." Then, he looked up, again. I could see that his blue eyes had turned a blood red. He screamed, "GET OUT OF HERE!" I woke up, then. I was sweating and breathing hard and fast. Out of nowhere, I heard the fire alarm going off, downstairs. I ran as fast as I could out of that house. And, when I turned, I saw it go up in flames. Bright red, orange, and yellow touched the skies. I was amazed and frightened all at once. The flames amazed me. The little boy from my dream, staring at me from the window of the room I'd just left frightened me. He was only there for like ten seconds, and then he just disappeared.
As it turns out, there was some chicken noodle soup left on the back burner. The burner was left on, and it had spilled over. I guess something was wrong with the electrical wiring in the stove, and it just blew up after the pot had bubbled over in the circuits.
The funny thing is, my aunt had said she'd turned that pot off right before she'd left. She also said that the top had been on, so it couldn't have spilled over. I TRIED to tell my aunt and uncle that it was the boy from my dream. Of course, they wouldn't believe me. They're the type of people who think that there's a logical explanation for EVERYTHING. I eventually gave up trying to tell them. But, I knew that little boy turned on the gas. He wanted to destroy that house for some reason or purpose. Whatever it was, I don't care. He saved me, and I am grateful to him. If only I knew how to contact him to thank him...