A Short Story That Could Be True

A Short Story That Could Be True

A Short Story That Could Be True
As Lyle pulled into the driveway, he could smell that something was burning in the house. He quickly hopped off his scooter and ran towards the house in a frenzy, forgetting to remove his helmet. He tried to open the front door but something had fallen off of a shelf on the wall behind it and the door wasn't budging.
Removing his helmet and peering in through the front window that adorned the cinderblock house, Lyle saw the fire and began to pound on the window frantically. The confederate flag curtain was barely ruffled by his knocking.
"Mindy!" "Mindy!" He yelled over and over again. No answer.
He could see that the fire was growing, and ran back over to the front door. He wasn't able to open it all the way, but he managed to force his way in through the small opening that he obtained by mustering all of his strength. It was a tight squeeze but he was now closer to being in the house, tearing off the eagle patch adorning his postal carrier uniform on the right sleeve in the process.
One more door stood between Lyle and the house proper. He touched the door, it was not hot. He opened it and rushed into the living room, immediately becoming consumed with a fog of smoke. The fog was as thick as maple syrup in the winter and thus his eyes could catch no vision of what horror may lay beneath this cloud canopy that he once knew as his living room.
He could feel the heat emanating from the left-hand corner of the room...this must be the source of the fire.
"Mindy!" "Mindy!" He called out to his wife, with no answer.
He carefully felt his way toward the kitchen and, fumbling around, was able to grab what appeared to be his fire extinguisher. He pulled the pin, unlatched the hose and rushed back into the living room and sprayed...
To his abject horror, the extinguisher was either empty or malfunctioning, he knew not which and had no time to think about it. Throwing the faulty extinguisher down, "Hold on Mindy!" he managed to make a return to the kitchen. Having no time to drain water from the tap and put it into a container, he felt around in the well-stocked cupboard and grabbed a gallon of water.
Lyle rushed back into the living room, removed the cap from the gallon of water that he had scrounged for in the thick haze of smoke and chugged it at, what he believed was his wife on fire.
To his surprise, and amidst the sound of great sizzling as could only be experienced to be understood, the flames now fanned and burned all the higher. (Lyle did not realize it at the time, but he had grabbed, mistakenly no doubt, a gallon of cooking oil that only further exacerbated the fire.)
The fire now raged as though sparked by the devil's own hounds from hell and the crackling and the heat were becoming too much to bare...but Lyle could smell no flesh burning. Perhaps...just perhaps, his wife was not at root of the flames after all. Hope was alive!
"Mindy!" "Mindy!" Still no answer. Stumbling and fumbling through the house, no sign was seen of his wife. Could she be out somewhere?
But the fire still raged and Lyle had no choice but to put it out...but could he on his own do this? He, albeit with hesitation, called the fire department. They were on site within minutes and rushed in with their portable tanks and quenched the fire that threatened to destroy Lyle's home (in as much as cinder block can burn).
As the smoke and sooty dust settled, Lyle reentered and all were amazed at the site which was found...
Lyle's dear wife Mindy had, according to the fire chief, apparently spilled a glass of wine while smoking (what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette) and then fell asleep, dropping the cigarette onto her lap setting herself on fire.
Lyle was ashen and fell to the floor as he gazed upon his once lovely wife now decrepit from the disaster that befell her while she burned silently in her wine-soaked flannel robe. Tears began to roll down his cheek and the firemen stepped outside to give him a moment alone with his departed wife before the coroner came to put her ashes in a bag.
At least she had died happy Lyle supposed as she loved to fall asleep in the recliner after taking her pills, smoking her joint, drinking her wine, while watching her "pitcher shows."
Lyle sobbed and sobbed...reaching out to place his hand on his wife's shoulder, he whispered softly to her, "Oh Mindy, my darling Mindy...you've done gone and left me...what will I ever do without you?"
At that moment Lyle's left shirt pocket began to vibrate. It was his cellphone, though the shock prevented him from realizing this for a moment. Lyle took the phone and answered the call. Perhaps it was someone to console him...for him to talk with about this horror.
It was a friend on the other end, "David, Mindy is dead. She burned up in a horrible accident...I came home and...a fire...she's dead David! Dead!"
"Lyle, I am so sorry to hear that. Can I do anything for you? Anything at all buddy?"
"Yes, David. Yes you can..."
"Name it buddy."
"Bring over a bag of marshmallows so I can roast them over the witch's body."
At that moment, Lyle looked into the eyes of his corpse bride drawn there by a movement. He saw, what appeared at least, to be ashes falling from her face. There it was again!
"Lyle! I heard that mister and yuse gonna be in trouble when I get a feelin back in my body! Now go in the kitchen and gits me one a my Lortabs and Oxycontins and a glass a water. Ize deehydrateded and thank I gots a fever now."
Several weeks later, Lyle and Mindy were back to normal (if ever this was the case to begin with). Apparently, the fire did little long-term damage to Mindy's body because she has drank so much wine and smoked so many cigarettes over time that her skin is saturated with toxins that it protected her innards. Doc said it was like a protective layer of armor...like she was embalmed alive as it were. She was able to sleep through the fire because of the pain pills, muscle relaxants, and anti-anxiety drugs that she had been taking for her "condition." The wine and the weed didn't hurt it was stated.
Lyle bought Mindy a new recliner.
Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.
M. Shane Huey writes on a variety of topics (as witnessed above) from his home in South Florida.