But Streng did have an idea. And the idea scared him so badly his knees began to knock.
• • •
Duncan Stauffer stood in the hallway and watched the man in black play with a lighter. It was the biggest lighter Duncan had ever seen—about the size of a Coke can—and the flame shot out of the top like a torch.
At first, Duncan recoiled in terror and even cried a little. He knew about Stranger Danger and the awful things some men did to little boys. He couldn’t stop thinking that Mom was right, that he was too young to stay home alone, and it was his fault a bad man got in the house.
After a few minutes of crying, the man began to flick his lighter. That was scary, but it calmed Duncan down somehow, gave him something to focus on. The man hadn’t hurt him, hadn’t touched him, hadn’t said a single word. He just stood there, switching the flame on and off.
“Who are you?” Duncan finally asked.
“I’m—hehehe—Bernie.”
Bernie’s giggle sounded like a little girl’s.
“Where’s my dog?”
In the flickering orange, Duncan watched Bernie smile. He touched the flame to the dog collar he still held in his other hand. The nylon collar began to melt.
“Acrylic. This black black dark black smoke contains chlorine, chlorine, dioxins, and furans. Very very very bad to inhale. But I can’t help taking a little sniff, a little tiny sniff, because I really—hehehe—
Bernie stuffed his nose in a plume of oily smoke and made sniffing sounds.
“Did you … burn Woof?” Duncan asked, voice cracking.
“Smell it? Do you smell your dog, Duncan?” Duncan had no idea how the man knew his name. “When fur burns, it smells like hair. Have you—hehehe—smelled burning hair?”
Duncan shook his head. Bernie dropped the collar onto the hardwood floor, where it quickly went out, and reached for Duncan. The boy tried to duck away, but Bernie clamped a large hand around his neck.
“Smell this. Smell it.”
He giggled and touched the jumping flame to the side of Duncan’s head, above his right ear. Duncan heard a sizzling, snapping sound, like bacon frying, and then smelled the awful odor of his hair melting.
Just as he began to feel the heat, Bernie turned off the lighter. He slapped Duncan’s head, smothering the flame but almost knocking him over.
“Smell it. Smell. Bad smell. Did you smell your dog? Answer me! Answer—hehehe—answer me.”
“No, I didn’t smell that.” Duncan touched the side of his head. His hair there felt sticky and hard, like he had gum caught in it.
“After the fur burns, smells pretty good. Like hamburgers. Dogburgers. Hehehe. People smell like barbecue ribs when they burn. Hehe—and they taste like ribs. Smoky. Smoky and good. Have you ever been burned?”
Duncan was very close to wetting his underwear. He couldn’t answer but managed to shake his head.
“Pain. Lots of pain. See?”
Bernie lifted up his black shirt and showed his chest. His whole body was covered with shiny pink scars, and it looked a lot like the spiced ham Mom bought at the deli for his school lunch.
“Bad burn. Dead nerves. See?”
Bernie touched the fire to the scar tissue and held it there.
“Can’t feel it. But smell—hehehe—smells good. Good smell.”
A sickly sweet odor invaded Duncan’s head, pushing away the stench of burning hair. The fact that it smelled tasty made it even more disgusting.
Bernie pulled his shirt back down. “Hungry, hungry, makes me hungry. Hehehe. Give me your hand.”
Duncan put both of his hands behind him and backed away.
“You won’t die. I want to show you. First-degree burns, first degree, only affects the epidermis—the outer layer of skin. Causes redness, swelling. Hurts. Like a sunburn.”
Bernie walked after Duncan, trapping him in the corner of the bedroom. Duncan didn’t know if he could stand up anymore. His legs wanted to quit. He sobbed, and the sobs turned into hiccups. Where was Mom? How could this be happening?
“Second degree,” Bernie continued, “causes blisters. Very painful. They fill with fluid. Can be a few skin layers, layers deep. Papillary and reticular dermis affected— hehehe. These are the burns I use when I’m asking someone questions. Going too deep makes them third degree. Tissue damage. Skin and nerves burned away, so the pain isn’t as bad.”
Bernie reached around and grabbed Duncan’s arm. Duncan tried to pull away, but Bernie was too strong.
“Fourth fourth, fourth-degree burns are when the skin is completely gone, can’t ever heal. Fifth degree, the muscle is gone. Sixth degree, bone is charred. That takes a lot of heat. Fourteen hundred degrees. I can’t get that hot with my lighter. I need this.”
Bernie tucked his lighter into his belt and took out a tiny silver cylinder. He pressed a button and a blue flame shot out.
“A butane torch. Isn’t that pretty? See how thin the flame can get? I can use this to write. See?”
Bernie released Duncan and began to roll up his sleeve. Duncan tried to scoot around Bernie, but the man nudged his hip and pinned the boy against the wall.
“Isn’t this cool?” Bernie said, showing Duncan his forearm. The raised scar tissue formed the word
Bernie stretched Duncan’s arm over his head, and Duncan bawled. Then there was a buzzing sound. Bernie tugged something out of his pocket, something small with a screen that lit up. He peered at it, reading something. Then he pressed a button and spoke.
“Understood. Tell me when I can get rid of the kid.”
Bernie put the device away and smiled.
“My friend Taylor has your mother. We may not, may not need you—hehehe.”
At the mention of his mother, Duncan found his voice.
“Why … why do you have Mom?”
“We need to ask her some things, some questions. Taylor is good at asking. He doesn’t use fire. He bites. Taylor likes to bite. He’s killed over seventy people. Good at it. So when your mom tells Taylor what she knows, I won’t need you anymore.”
“You’ll let us go?”
“Hehehe—of course not. I’m going to build a really big fire, then cook you and eat you.”
The thought that this man wanted to eat him brought Duncan back from hysteria. He recalled from Stranger Danger class what to do if someone grabbed him. Bernie’s shoes were thick, so grinding his heel on the top of his foot probably wouldn’t work. And since Bernie dressed like a soldier, he probably wore one of those sports cups on his privates. But Bernie’s eyes—they were unprotected.
Duncan stuck out his pointer finger and jammed it, hard as he could, into Bernie’s eye.
Bernie flinched, crying out, and briefly backed away from Duncan. The boy slipped out of the man’s grasp and ran for the stairs fast as he could. He jumped down the last several, landing hard on his bare feet and almost tripping over something furry.
Duncan knelt down, felt the rising and falling of his dog’s chest. He shook him, trying to get Woof to wake up.
“You little bastard!” Bernie, at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to burn your eyes out!”
Duncan knew he should run, but he couldn’t leave Woof. He shook the beagle even harder and felt a lump on the dog’s head. Bernie must have hit him or kicked him.
“Woof! Come on, boy! You have to get up!”
