With All Senses

I was eight when I first tasted fear. Not the kind you get from watching scary movies or hearing ghost stories.. but real fear. The type that makes your tongue go dry and your stomach feel like it's full of rocks.

It started with the smell of burning toast.

"Mom?" I called out from my bedroom, sniffing the air. No answer. Just that weird burning smell getting stronger.

I remember everything about that morning - the way my Pokemon bedsheets felt scratchy against my legs, how the summer heat was already creeping in through my window even though it was barely 7 AM. And that smell... getting worse by the second.

"Mom, you're burning the toast again!"

Still nothing. Which was weird because mom always answered, even when she was mad at me. Like that time I broke her favorite coffee mug and tried hiding the pieces under my bed. She still answered - just really angry-like.

I dragged myself out of bed, my feet hitting the cold wooden floor. The house felt different somehow. Too quiet. Usually there'd be the morning news playing from the kitchen radio, or mom humming while she made breakfast, or my little sister Jenny whining about... well, everything.

The hallway seemed longer than usual as I walked towards the kitchen. The burning smell was so strong now it made my eyes water. That's when I heard it - this weird crackling sound, like when dad throws those special logs in the fireplace during Christmas.

But it wasn't Christmas. It was the middle of July.

My hand touched the kitchen doorknob and I jumped back. It was hot. Really hot.

"Mom?" My voice came out all squeaky and small. "Jenny?"

The crackling got louder. And now I could see this orange light coming from under the door, moving and dancing like... like...

My brain knew what it was before I did. My legs started moving backwards, slowly at first, then faster. The smoke alarm hadn't gone off because it was broken - dad kept saying he'd fix it next weekend, but you know how dads are with that stuff.

I ran to Jenny's room first, my heart beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. She wasn't there. Her bed was empty, covers thrown back like she'd gotten up in a hurry.

"JENNY! MOM!" I screamed now, not caring if I woke up the whole neighborhood. The crackling was getting louder, and I could smell more than just burning toast now. It smelled like that time mom left her plastic spatula too close to the stove.

I ran to their rooms, checking everywhere, the smoke getting thicker. No one. The house was empty.

Then I heard it - mom's voice, coming from outside. "JASON! JASON!"

I rushed to my window and there they were - mom in her blue bathrobe, holding Jenny who was still in her pajamas. A bunch of neighbors were out there too, someone talking on their phone, probably calling 911.

"Jump, baby! We'll catch you!" Mom was crying, her face all red and scared.

I looked behind me. Orange flames were starting to peek under my door now, and the smoke was getting so thick it hurt to breathe. The window was my only way out.

You know what's funny? I wasn't even scared of heights before that day. But standing there, looking down from my second-floor window, I've never been more terrified in my life.

"We've got you, son!" That was Mr. Peterson from next door. Him and some other guys were holding this big blanket they'd grabbed from somewhere.

The smoke was making me cough real bad now. The heat behind me was getting worse.

I closed my eyes, said a quick prayer like grandma taught me, and jumped.

For a second, I felt like I was flying. Then everything went black.

I woke up in the hospital with a broken arm and some burns on my back. Could've been way worse, the doctors said. Turns out mom had taken Jenny out to grab some milk from the corner store early morning, and the ancient toaster we had finally decided to give up on life. Started a fire that took out half our kitchen and most of the second floor.

That was fifteen years ago. These days, I'm a firefighter. Funny how life works out sometimes. And yeah, I still can't stand the smell of burning toast.