15th September 1994

I’ve just heard. Kirsten’s dead. Car crash. It burst into flames afterwards.

I’m the last one left. We’re all going, one by one, even those of us who didn't go to the house that night. Andrew was the first; killed with his family in a gas explosion back in July. They think an old sofa started the blaze which consumed Shona’s flat in the middle of the night. Kirsten and I were left until last. Now she’s gone. It can reach us anywhere.

More and more I’m convinced we should have stayed away from the Kaplin house. Or once we got there we should have gone the whole way. It might sound insane, but I’m beyond caring, to be honest. I’m positive the house took our presence as a challenge. A gauntlet. And we bottled out.

We’ll never have a chance to address past sins, unless we do it in another world. I wonder how I’ll go. I’ve been thinking about death a lot recently. I suppose there’ll be fire. Will peace come, from the ashes?

I’m not the sort for vengeance, or death-bed curses. But if there is another life, in which we can face that house with hard hearts, and fight it on our own terms, damned if I won’t give it another try.

But first, the burning.

An End.