It was a dark cold night in winter, the children sat down by the fire, sat and chattered about the winter the as the coldness became more dyer. They threw another log upon the naked flame, they watched it burn, they heard it crackle, over and over again. There were no lights to keep them safe, every shadow shone a scary wraith, but still they sit in sire to the warmth to the fire. As the cold grew more intense the children start to whimper, but no aid comes to their call, only the fire, which stayed alight, never dimming.
The children build more fires, one to the left, one to the right, enough to keep them going, to last them through the night, but these fires stand on naked floor in an old style Tudor house, so, so much for the livelihood of the once annoying bark-louse. One by one the children rest, rest down by their fires, the fire spreads around them as each one retires. The smoke begins to rise, the fire, it spreads, but all the children feel is the warmth without their beds. The windows start to break as the room begins to seethe; the fire starts to spread as the fire starts to breath and the children do not stare, not a single flicker, the fire starts to flare, the smoke starts to get thicker, the room begins to burn but the parents don't return.
The neighbours call the fire brigade, to give the residence, some help and aid, but who could arrive quick enough? With a night so cold, icy and rough. Minutes pass and not a moment to late, help arrives to the housing estate. The house is in peril and the neighbours gather, the house now lit with a dark orange aura. The children still sleep, amongst the blaze, the fire men enter, there masks full of haze, blind by the smoke, dazzled by flame, threatened by falling beams and so their lives they reclaim. They retreat from the building and the fire is put out, not a single survivor, and no one has doubts.
Early next day an inspection occurs, the truth of how it started was still a blur. The fire place in the living room, it seems a likely source, where a fire could start and spread with such force. But something was there, something wasn't right, a single patch of un-burnt floor somehow survived the night. The inspector stood, knelt down to touch the wood, he felt a shiver down his spine, he began to grow weary, something was scary, this wasn't from this time. The children still sleep, the flames will still creep, the smoke will still seep and the alarm never bleeps, resurrect the past, the haunting resides; let them rest from the day that they died.