Zack was captured by his father and taken to their old house. The silence of the house was ominous. The creaking of the old walls, even in the freezing darkness of the night, whispered of something else—something bad.

Zack Foster, or Isaac as he was called in the registry, lay in the basement. A metal cuff held his wrists to the wall. The air was heavy—not just from the dust, but from the weight of old memories. The nightmares of his childhood—his father's beer-smelling breath, the sparks from the match, the searing pain—played over and over again.

The skin beneath his bandages was forever distorted. His father had taken his childhood once. Now it seemed he wanted to take his life once and for all.

The flames appeared suddenly. At first, they were just a choking smoke seeping down the stairs. Red-red light danced through the basement window. Zack's eyes widened—the terror, his only fear, the fire, was reaching for him again.

Somtime minutes have passed.

Zack was already coughing and trying to breathe, gasping as smoke filled his lungs. The flames were sizzling down. Up the tree, up the wall, then up the cellar door.

-ZACK! -you shouted when you saw the burning house, You are Zack's girlfriend