Andi woke up sometime before midnight.
He had no idea what had woken him.
His eyes opened slowly. The bedroom ceiling was faintly visible in the moonlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. For a while, Andi simply lay there, trying to remember whether he had just been dreaming.
The house was utterly silent.
There was no sound of rain. No crickets. Even the wind seemed to have stopped. The forest behind the house, usually filled with the sounds of the night, suddenly seemed to have lost all life.
Andi sat on the edge of the bed.
He strained to listen.
Nothing.
Then he heard a sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Andi turned quickly.
The bedroom window was right beside his bed.
Tap.
This time, it was softer.
Andi swallowed. The sound was like someone tapping on the glass with a fingertip. He waited several seconds, but it did not come again.
Maybe a branch, he thought.
But there was no wind.
Andi got up. The soles of his feet touched the cold wooden floor. He walked slowly toward the window. Each step made a small creak that seemed far too loud in the silence.
His hand reached for the curtain.
He opened it a little.
There was no one there.
Only the wet, dark backyard. The trees stood like enormous shadows. The ground beneath them still held traces of the rain from earlier that evening.
Andi watched the yard for a little longer.
Then something caught his attention.
Between the trees, far behind the house, there was a light.
Small.
Orange.
Andi thought it was a flashlight.
But the light was too bright to be a flashlight and too small to be a house lamp. He rubbed his eyes, making sure his vision was not playing tricks on him.
The light moved.
Up.
Down.
Then it slowly drifted to the side.
Andi leaned closer to the glass.
His heart began beating faster.
The light did not move like a person walking. It moved too smoothly, as if it had no weight. There was no figure carrying it. No shadow of a hand or body behind it.
Andi opened the window.
The night air flowed into the room.
Cold.
The smell of wet earth and rotting leaves immediately filled his nose.
The light was clearer now.
Fire.
A small fire was floating in the air.
There was no wood.
No torch.
No hand carrying it.
The fire was simply there, about chest-high for an adult, moving slowly among the trees. Its orange flame did not flicker like ordinary fire. It slowly twisted, forming a sort of ball of light that occasionally stretched out like a tongue.
Andi furrowed his brow.
"Impossible..."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
The fire was still there.
It even looked closer now.
The hair on the back of Andi's neck stood up.
He should have closed the window and gone back to sleep. But curiosity overcame his fear.
He left the bedroom.
The hallway was dark. Andi walked slowly toward the back room. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet. He stopped several times, afraid the sound would wake his uncle.
He slowly opened the back door.
Cold air brushed his face.
The fire was still there.
Now it was moving farther into the forest.
As if it were waiting.
Andi stepped down from the porch.
One step.
Two steps.
The damp earth felt cold beneath his feet.
He kept his eyes on the fire.
Three steps.
Four steps.
The fire stopped.
Andi stopped too.
For a moment, the two of them seemed to stare at each other.
Then the fire moved again.
Deeper into the forest.
Andi was about to follow when a loud voice came from behind him.
"ANDI!"
Andi jumped.
He turned around.
Uncle Wirya stood in the doorway.
The old man's face was pale. He was breathing hard. Both his eyes were fixed on the fire between the trees, not on Andi.
"Uncle, that—"
"Get inside!"
"But, Uncle, I just want to see—"
"GET INSIDE!"
The tone of his voice left Andi speechless.
He had never heard his uncle shout like that.
Andi went back inside the house.
Uncle Wirya immediately shut and locked the door. Then he closed every window, even making sure the curtains were tightly drawn.
"You saw it?"
There was no answer.
"What is that fire?"
Uncle Wirya stood with his back to Andi.
His hands were trembling.
Only then did Andi realize that his uncle's face showed more than simple fear.
It was as if he were looking at something he knew very well.
Something from the past.
"Never go near it," Uncle Wirya finally said.
"Why?"
Uncle Wirya remained silent.
"Has that fire appeared before?"
The old man let out a long sigh.
"Yes."
"Since when?"
Uncle Wirya turned around.
His eyes looked tired.
"Since before you were born."
Andi fell silent.
"Then why have I never seen it?"
"Because not everyone is given the chance to see it."
The answer only confused Andi more.
"The chance?"
Uncle Wirya did not answer.
Andi stepped closer.
"You know something."
"Stop asking questions."
"Have people in the village seen it too?"
Uncle Wirya gave him a sharp look.
"I told you, don't ask."
"But why are you afraid, Uncle?"
The question left Uncle Wirya silent for a long time.
Then he spoke in a much quieter voice.
"Because it isn't looking for a way through."
A chill ran down Andi's neck.
Uncle Wirya stared at the tightly closed back door.
"It's looking for someone."
"Who?"
Uncle Wirya turned to Andi.
That look made Andi's chest feel tight.
"People who should never have come back."
Suddenly, a sound came from outside.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Andi and Uncle Wirya both froze.
The knocking came from the back-room window.
Even though the window was several feet off the ground.
Andi slowly looked at his uncle.
Uncle Wirya raised a finger to his lips.
Don't make a sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Then the knocking stopped.
Uncle Wirya slowly walked toward the window. He did not open it. He simply stood there for a moment, listening to something on the other side of the glass.
Then his face changed.
"What?" Andi whispered.
Uncle Wirya did not answer.
Instead, he took a step backward.
Behind the curtain, an orange light began to glow.
The fire had moved.
From the middle of the forest...
to their backyard.
Andi did not sleep that night.
He sat on his bed, staring at the locked bedroom door. Every so often, he heard Uncle Wirya's footsteps in the front room. His uncle was not sleeping either.
Andi kept thinking about that light.
About the way the fire moved.
About how his uncle recognized it.
And most of all, about the last words he had spoken.
*People who should never have come back.*
For the first time, Andi began to wonder:
If that fire had been around for so long, who exactly had come back before?
And why tonight...
had the fire come straight to their house?