Fire

Written by Anakin McFly

12 November 1955, 9 something p.m.
Hill Valley, California

"Oh, and one more thing. If you two ever have kids, and one of them, when he's eight years old, accidentally sets fire to the living room rug, go easy on him."

#

21 years later...

1977
Hill Valley, California

Marty McFly was feeling very bored. And very hungry. And very bored. His parents, as usual, had gone to work. His brother, David, had fallen asleep on the couch with his mouth hanging open, and his sister was hidden somewhere under the mountain of homework her merciless teachers had doled out. So it was just him and no one else.

The eight-year-old sighed as he walked from one end of the house to the other, looking fro some form of entertainment. And then, he caught sight of the opened packet of marshmallows hanging from his brother’s right hand, which was draped over the sofa.

Trying to be quiet, Marty sneaked over and cautiously removed it from Dave’s grip. Then, marshmallows in hand, he returned to the safety of his bedroom where he popped one into his mouth. It tasted all right, but it would be much better... roasted. Still hanging on to the packet, he snuck out to the kitchen. The stove loomed over him menacingly, and he was far too short to reach the on switch.

“Okay, maybe not that...” Rummaging around in the kitchen cupboard, Marty finally found what he had been looking for. Standing on tiptoe, he pulled out the box of candles, bringing various other objects crashing to the floor along with it. He winced as his brother’s yell reached him.

“MARTIN! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!” So saying, Dave clamped a pillow over his ear. Linda started shouting something about the teachers murdering her if she did not hand in her work on time and with all that noise, how was she supposed to concentrate?

David tightened his grip on the pillow in response and resumed snoring. His book, which he had been reading, fell to the ground.

The coast was clear. Leaving the mess behind on the kitchen floor, the youngest McFly kid scooped up the box of candles, picked up the marshmallows and a matchbox and started a search for a suitable cooking spot. He finally settled on the coffee table in the living room.

Marty took out one match and one candle, and proceeded to light the latter and stick it to the table surface. Then, grinning in excitement, he dug in the packet for a marshmallow. Taking one out, he began to regret not getting something to hold it with... but hands were as good as anything. Gripping the first white wonder between his fingers and above the candle flame, Marty waited impatiently for it to show some signs of roasted-ness. This was taking forever. He moved it a bit closer to the flame, but did not get any more results.

All he could do now was wait. Bored, Marty’s eyes wandered around the room, his hand still in that tiring position over the candle. Not very far off, he saw David snoring away with saliva trickling down one side of his mouth. One of his hands was dangling down the side of the sofa, as was a leg. His other leg was hanging off the end of the couch, and his remaining hand holding the pillow over his ears. Marty giggled. Talk about a strange sleeping position...

A sudden pain in his fingers brought him out of his thoughts. Turning his attention back to the marshmallow, he dropped it with a yell and watched as the now well-and-truly-roasted marshmallow fell ablaze to the ground, landing smack on top of David’s book which lay open on the living room rug.

Eyes wide with horror, he looked on as the paperback book began to burn. Then, he ran over to his brother’s side to try wake him up. On his way there, he accidentally knocked over the candle, which fell and added to the blaze. Marty gave a yelp as he saw it.

Coughing through the smoke, he shook David hard.

“Dave... wake up....”

“Go away,” his brother muttered back.

“Dave, the rug is on fire!”

“WHAT?” David sat up suddenly; smelt smoke and then saw the fire burning away merrily on the living room rug. Jumping up, he ran to the kitchen to collect water to douse the flames as Marty tagged along.

“You are in such big trouble. Can’t I even sleep for a while without you burning the house down?”

“It’s only the rug!”

“Whatever!” David tried to splash water onto the fire, but more than half of its contents landed on his brother.

“Get out of my way! Go call Dad or something and tell him what you just did!”

“Ok.” Dripping wet, Marty headed over to the next room to use the phone. His sister was still so engrossed in her homework that she had not noticed the fire at all.

The telephone rang.

“Hello?”

“Dad? Marty here. Uh.... The living room rug’s on fire...”

“WHAT?!”

“It was an accident! I was roasting marshmallows when one caught fire and fell. Dave told me to...”

“You set the LIVING ROOM RUG on FI...” There was a pause, and Marty wondered what was going on.

“Dad, you still there?”

“Marty, how old are you this year?”

“Eight. I’ll be nine next week. But what’s this got to...”

“Uh, never mind. Just... try to put out the fire, ok? I’ll be back soon.”

There was a click on the other end of the line. Still hanging onto the phone, Marty wondered what his age had to do with the fire. Shrugging it off, he put down the telephone and walked back outside where Dave had already managed to put out the flames. The rug was still fairly intact, with the exception of a really black hole in the center.

Marty approached his brother, who was sitting on the couch with an expression that said he had no idea as to what was going on.

“Well?”

“Dad said he’s coming.”

“Yeah, and when he does you’re gonna get it. Why on earth were you roasting MARSHMALLOWS in the HOUSE?”

“I was bored.”

“Even then. You could’ve always called up that girlfriend of yours – what’s her name – Jennifer – and asked her to come over and play or something...”

“Jennifer’s not my girlfriend!”

“Yeah, right. You two are always hanging around together. Anyway, don’t get into any more trouble. Just stay put and await your doom. Goodnight.” Dave lay back down on the sofa, and in a few minutes was snoring away again, leaving his sibling staring helplessly at him.

Barely five minutes later, Marty heard the sound of the door being unlocked. His parents were home. Frantically, he tried to think of some kind of excuse for the fire... but none came to mind. He was in for it now. Behind him, David woke up just as George and Lorraine McFly entered the house.

“Hi Mum. Hi Dad.” David suddenly changed his tone and volume. “Do you know what Marty here just did? He set the LIVING ROOM RUG on FIRE. And I was the one who had to put it out. Just because he was feeling so BORED that he decided to roast MARSHMALLOWS in the...

“Dave, I know.” George was strangely quiet as he silenced his son, who was still fuming away. Marty was staring at them with his mouth half open. Then his mother spoke.

“Martin, I thought I told you NEVER to play with matches. I mean, just LOOK at what you did to the r...”

George motioned her to go the bedroom.

“That’s ALL?” You’re letting him go just like...”

“David, uh... go back to sleep.” George closed the door, leaving Dave staring at it in disbelief. Shaking his head, he returned to his beloved sofa as Marty knelt down beside the door and eavesdropped on his parents.

“Lorraine, don’t you remember? That time in 1955, after the Enchantment Under the Sea dance? That guy... what was his name... he said something like, “If you ever have kids and one of them when he’s eight sets fire to the living room rug, go easy on him.” What WAS that guy’s name, anyway?”

“You mean Calvin Klein?”

“Calvin Klein? You expect me to believe that?” George stifled a laugh. “Hello that was like, 1955, CK didn’t even exist... oh wait, now I remember. Marty. That’s who we named our son after. But... eight years old, living room rug, fire... I mean, what are the CHANCES that it’s just a coincidence?”

“I don’t even remember what he said and I doubt you do too. You probably remembered it wrongly or something. You know, I think you’ve been working too hard these few days. Go take a break, okay? I’ll go cook lunch now.”

Marty scooted out of the way as his mother left the room.

“Okay, that was weird,” he thought, going to his bedroom to look for something to do.

“My parents named me after their friend. Cool.” He dragged out a box of Lego and dumped the contents on the floor to the great annoyance of his sleeping brother.

Meanwhile, George was sitting on his bed feeling totally perplexed. He knew his memory wasn’t failing, and he wasn’t too stressed or anything. He heard what he heard. 24 years ago, someone had clearly predicted that their eight-year-old kid would set fire to their living room rug. And it had just happened. Come to think of it, he had never seen that guy again.

And George knew that that wasn’t all of it. There was also the Star Wars incident that had happened a few weeks ago. And the more he thought about it, the surer he was that it had not been a dream. For a moment he considered telling his wife about it, but decided against it. She might think him mad. Darth Vader. Indeed. He remembered him pointing something that looked like... a hairdryer? Yeah, right. Maybe he WAS going mad. But still...

George shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

There was definitely something going on here. In this house. In this family. But why to him, of all people?

“MARTY! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE KITCHEN?”

Lorraine’s yell woke up David, who started swearing away. Marty gave a yell of shock, remembering the mess he had left in the kitchen.

“At least that wasn’t predicted,” George thought, getting up to go see what was going on this time.

#