Fire in the Night

By: T.M. Ashley

Under a pale blue sky stood a charming two-story house perched atop a gentle hill. Encircling the home was an ornate, iridescent gate that shimmered in the rays of the setting sun, casting glimmers of color across the lush grass. The backyard stretched wide and vibrant, with a long table extending from the back door into the green expanse. Lining the fence were verdant bushes, dotted with delicate bulbs that promised to bloom soon.

The tranquility of the evening shattered as the back door burst open. Five children tumbled outside, their laughter and cheers filling the air like music.

“Tonight’s the night!” declared a tall man as he followed them. His midnight blue skin glowed softly in the twilight, and golden horns arched gracefully from his forehead. Balanced expertly in one hand was a steaming, ornate dish.

The children’s excitement doubled as they saw him. They clapped and cheered, their voices rising in playful chaos.

“Papa Cranberry! Show us a trick!” Olive, a tiny girl with warm brown skin and radiant curly hair, squealed. Her translucent fairy wings fluttered with excitement as she hovered in midair.

Papa Cranberry grinned mischievously, swaying side to side as if the dish might tip over. The children gasped, their eyes wide with anticipation. Then, with a dramatic stumble, he pretended to lose his balance before launching into a flawless front flip. The dish remained perfectly upright, not a drop spilled.

“Papa!” Bodhi, a boy with lime-green scales and fiery red eyes, laughed so hard his tail thudded against the grass. “That was amazing!”

Papa Cranberry placed the dish gently on the table and turned to his lively audience. “Yoshi Doshi, everybody! Time to take a seat!”

The children scurried to their places, each a kaleidoscope of individuality. Olive fluttered down gracefully, her glowing curls bouncing as she settled into her chair. Bodhi dashed with a lizard-like agility, his heavy tail leaving faint trails in the grass.

Tallulah, the tallest among them, with lavender skin and four strong arms, guided the youngest. Sparrow, a round boy with freckles splashed across his cheeks and a tuft of purple hair, held her hand tightly as she helped him climb onto his seat.

Lastly came Ziggy, his bunny ears twitching in concentration as he tinkered with a small mechanical device in his hands. His fluffy tail wagged absentmindedly as he reluctantly tore his focus from his project and plopped into his chair.

Papa Cranberry surveyed his little family with a fond smile. “Good, good,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Now let’s make this a night to remember!”

The children cheered again, their joy echoing into the evening air, as the setting sun bathed the scene in warm gold.

“Got it!” Ziggy declared triumphantly as music began to drift through the backyard. A soft glow spread across the yard as a string of light bulbs blinked to life, casting a warm, festive light over the table.

“You did it, Ziggy!” Olive cheered, clapping her tiny hands in delight.

“Good job, bud,” Papa Cranberry added with a nod of approval, clapping along. Then, rubbing his hands together, he asked, “So, are we ready?”

“Wait!” Sparrow called out, still nestled in Tallulah’s arms. “What about Ouba and Itori?”

At the mention of those two names, Papa Cranberry sighed deeply and closed his eyes. The children erupted into giggles. Whenever Ouba and Itori came up, Papa Cranberry’s dramatic sigh’s were a guaranteed routine.

“Where was the last place you saw them?” he asked, opening one golden eye.

Ziggy shrugged, his focus drifting back to tinkering with a loose bulb. Bodhi was too busy leaning over the table, his fork in one hand and spoon in the other, sniffing eagerly at the dish. Olive and Tallulah exchanged guilty glances, clearly avoiding Papa’s gaze.

Sparrow, however, grinned proudly. “They went past the gate,” he announced with all the confidence of someone too young to realize he might be tattling.

Papa Cranberry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again.

“Only to get my ball, Papa!” Olive piped up, fluttering nervously. “Please don’t be mad at them!”

Papa Cranberry narrowed his eyes at the small fairy girl. “And who threw the ball?”

Olive shook her head quickly, her glowing curls bouncing. Tallulah’s cheeks flushed a deeper lavender as she raised two of her hands. “That was me, Papa... by mistake.”

“Nuh-uh!” Sparrow chimed in, grinning mischievously. “Ziggy told her she wasn’t strong enough to throw it through your barrier.”

“I’m plenty strong!” Tallulah huffed, crossing all four arms over her chest. “So I tossed it!”

“And Ziggy knew I dropped the barrier in preparation for tonight,” Papa Cranberry said, raising an eyebrow at the bunny-eared boy.

Ziggy snickered. “Told ya she wasn’t strong enough to throw it.”

Olive gasped, her wings fluttering furiously. “Wait, so you’re not the strongest ogress ever?”

“Yes, I am!” Tallulah shot back, standing tall and puffing out her chest.

“Oh, good,” Olive said, exhaling dramatically. “I was worried for a second.”

Sparrow rolled his eyes. “That’s when Bodhi jumped over the gate to get the ball,” he added nonchalantly.

Bodhi froze mid-sniff, then sank low in his seat, his lime-green scales blending with the grass. Only his fiery red eyes peered above the table’s edge, glaring daggers at Sparrow.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” he hissed.

The table erupted into laughter as Papa Cranberry threw his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling. “Let’s go find Ouba and Itori before they cause more trouble.”

“I said I’d tell if you didn’t come back,” Sparrow said matter-of-factly, swinging his legs from Tallulah’s lap.

“But I did come back,” Bodhi argued, his tail thumping against the ground.

“Oh.” Sparrow blinked. “Sorry.”

Papa Cranberry shook his head, his golden horns glinting faintly in the setting sun. “Where’d they go?”

“Into the forest,” all five children chorused in unison.

Papa Cranberry sighed again, though his lips curled into a small smile. “Fine. I’ll go get them. And no peeking under the dish!” He pointed a stern finger at them, his golden eyes narrowing. “I’ll know if you do.”

The children feigned innocence, their faces lighting up with suppressed giggles as Papa Cranberry disappeared into the house.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of fiery orange and dusky purple, the kids huddled closer around the table. Whispers filled the air, each guessing what could be under the dish.

Meanwhile, Papa Cranberry stood in his hallway, eyeing the jumble of weapons sticking out of his umbrella stand. He slipped into a long leather coat, tugged on his platform boots, and ran his fingers over the assortment. After a moment, he plucked out a gladius, spinning it in his hand with practiced ease before sliding it into his belt.

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Poking his head back out the door, he called, “I’ll be right back. Love you guys!”

“Love you, Papa!” came the unified reply, the warmth of their voices carrying into the house as he closed the door behind him.

The house was quiet now, save for the creak of his boots on the floorboards. As he made his way to the front porch, he paused briefly to take in the serene view. He made a mental note to remind Bodhi to clean up the shed skin scattered across the entryway.

The air outside was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of evening dew. Papa Cranberry walked down the hill, his eyes on the distant forest. When he reached the gate, a faint blue barrier shimmered in the twilight.

He waved his hand, runes sparking to life at his fingertips, and the barrier surged into place. The magical hum was comforting, a quiet promise of safety for the children behind him.

He stepped across the gate, immediately feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifted, and he found himself standing before the forest’s edge.

A wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, its large painted letters reading:

“Cranberry Juice’s Battle Cook Orphanage: All Children Welcome!”

Beneath it, a smaller sign hung askew, etched with one word:

“Warning!”

Papa Cranberry adjusted the smaller sign, patting it as if it were an old friend. Then, straightening his coat, he ventured into the dense woods, whistling softly.

“Ouba! Itori!” he called, his deep voice carrying through the trees.

A bark echoed in response, distant but distinct. He grinned, activating his blinking ability to close the distance in an instant.

“Ouba! Itori!” he called again, his voice louder this time. A second bark answered, much closer now.

With a final blink, Papa Cranberry appeared in the middle of a small clearing. His eyes immediately fell on the scene before him:

A massive, three-headed pitbull with a sleek brindle coat stood protectively, its heads swiveling in unison toward him. Beside it, a fluffy white nine-tailed fox sat with its tails fanned out like a grand display, the tips twitching excitedly. Between them lay a well-loved yellow ball.

“Ah, there you are,” Papa Cranberry said warmly, stepping forward.

The cerberus—Itori—wagged its three tails, each head vying for attention as he scratched them one by one. The kitsune—Ouba—leaped onto Itori’s back, nuzzling into Papa Cranberry’s hand as her tails swayed side to side in delight.

“Well, well,” he chuckled, picking up the ball. “Causing trouble again, huh?”

Ouba yipped happily, and Itori rumbled a low, satisfied growl.

Papa Cranberry gave each of them another affectionate pat before scanning the clearing, his senses sharp. The forest seemed calm, but he always made it a point to check.

Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he smiled.

“Alright, you two troublemakers,” he said, tucking the ball under his arm. “Let’s head back before the others eat without us.”

The cerberus and the kitsune fell in step beside him, their playful energy bubbling over as they began the trek home.

From the shadows of the trees a horde of over 200 grotesque humanoid creatures with pale yellow skin and bulbous noses snarled and snapped their black, fetid teeth at Papa Cranberry. They wielded crude, makeshift weapons, each dripping with a foul, viscous substance that hissed when it touched the forest floor.

Papa Cranberry forced a smile, his gladius resting at his side as he held up the ball. “This? What do you want with this?”

A particularly vile creature with a hooked, beak-like nose stepped forward, its slimy lips curling into a sneer. “Children... play with.”

Papa Cranberry tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. “Oh? You have children?”

The gremlin’s grin faltered. It looked nervously over its shoulder at its comrades, all of whom returned the same dumbfounded expression. “No.”

“Then why do you want the ball?” Papa Cranberry asked, his smirk deepening.

The creature paused, its small mind clearly struggling. Finally, it hissed, “No want ball. Want... children.”

Papa Cranberry’s smile disappeared. “And what would you do with them?”

The gremlin hesitated again, glancing at its peers for support. It finally muttered, “Eat.”

“Oh,” Papa Cranberry said flatly. “Well, you can eat the ball, but I don’t think it’ll be enough to feed all of you.”

Without waiting for a response, he tossed the ball at the gremlin. It smacked the creature square in the face before bouncing to the ground.

“Eat ball?” the gremlin asked, baffled.

Papa Cranberry shrugged. “If you want to.”

The gremlin bent down, picking up the ball. It sank its sharp teeth into it, only for the ball to burst with a loud pop, deflating in its hands.

Papa Cranberry chuckled, shaking his head. “Told you it wouldn’t be filling.”

The gremlin hissed, flinging the deflated ball to the ground. “No eat ball. Eat... children!”

“That’s not going to happen,” Papa Cranberry said, his tone now ice-cold.

“Then we eat you!” the creature screeched, raising its weapon and charging.

The rest of the horde followed, surging forward in a chaotic wave. Papa Cranberry didn’t flinch. He turned his back to the oncoming mass, kneeling to wrap his arms protectively around Ouba and Itori.

As the first gremlin lunged, something on the back of Papa Cranberry’s coat stirred. An eye snapped open between his shoulder blades, its bloodshot iris glaring at the attacker. Below it, a toothy maw materialized, splitting open with a guttural growl.

A striped tongue lashed out like a whip, wrapping around the gremlin and yanking it into the mouth. A sickening crunch followed.

The coat came alive. Dozens—no, hundreds—of smaller mouths opened across its surface, each baring jagged teeth. Black tendrils shot out, writhing and slashing through the horde. The tendrils sharpened into blade-like edges, cleaving through flesh and bone. Tongues darted out, dragging the diced remains into the coat’s ravenous maws.

The forest echoed with the sounds of chaos: weapons clattering, flesh being torn apart, bones crunching, and the grotesque slurping of blood. Gremlins screeched and wailed, their numbers dwindling rapidly.

When the cacophony finally ceased, silence settled over the clearing. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint aroma of gremlin... something.

Papa Cranberry straightened, brushing flecks of ash off his coat. “Good job, Cujo,” he said, patting the back of the coat.

The fabric vibrated in response, tightening briefly around him like a grateful hug.

He glanced down at Itori, who whined, looking at the deflated ball now covered in gremlin gore.

“Aw, don’t worry, bud.” Papa Cranberry reached behind his back and pulled out a pristine new ball, tossing it into the air. The cerberus’s tails wagged furiously as Itori snapped it up, his three heads each vying for control.

Ouba, curled on Itori’s back, let out a soft yip of approval, her nine tails tucking snugly around her.

Papa Cranberry smiled warmly. “Alright, you two troublemakers. Let’s head home.”

In a blink, the three of them reappeared at the gate of the orphanage. Papa Cranberry stepped through, hanging up his now-clean coat on the rack and kicking off his boots. He slipped into his fuzzy slippers and made his way to the backyard, the sounds of laughter already filling the air.

Opening the door, he spread his arms with a dramatic flourish. “Who’s ready for dinner?”

Olive caught her ball midair with a delighted giggle as Papa Cranberry tossed it to her.

Bodhi, however, was already staring at the table, his eyes wide. Before anyone could stop him, he snatched the lid off the dish.

The children gasped in awe. A banquet of colorful dishes spread across the table, each one seemingly tailored to their tastes. The kids cheered, diving into their favorites.

Ouba and Itori padded over to their own plates, piled high with steaming meat and savory treats prepared just for them.

Papa Cranberry leaned back against the doorframe, watching the scene with a contented smile. “Another day,” he murmured to himself, “another dinner well-earned.”

Papa Cranberry raised his arms and exclaimed, “Happy Fire Night!”

The words hung in the air, but the children were too busy stuffing their faces to respond. He chuckled softly, leaning against the doorway to take in the scene. His little family laughed and chattered between bites, their faces lit by the warm glow of the crackling fire in the hearth. It was a picture of safety, comfort, and love—a world away from the dangers they’d faced.

As the plates emptied and satisfied sighs filled the room, Papa Cranberry cleared the table with practiced ease, humming a cheerful tune. The kids watched him with eager anticipation as he returned with dessert.

A massive, wobbly cake rested on a shimmering silver dish, its glossy surface catching the moonlight streaming through the window. It quivered enticingly with every step Papa Cranberry took toward the table.

The children banged their forks on the table in unison, their excitement bubbling over.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Papa Cranberry teased, setting the cake in the center of the table. “Here it comes—get ready, guys.”

He turned his gaze skyward, his eyes catching the movement of a blazing red star streaking across the night. The fiery streak lit up the heavens, setting the dark sky ablaze in vibrant hues of orange and crimson.

As if responding to the celestial display, the cake began to shimmer and glow. Its wobbly surface solidified into smooth perfection, and the rich scent of French vanilla filled the air. Wisps of steam curled upward like tiny ghosts, promising warmth and sweetness in every bite.

“Happy Fire Night, babies,” Papa Cranberry said, his smile brighter than the starry sky. With a snap of his fingers, the cake divided itself into perfect slices, each piece sliding gently onto a plate in front of a child.

“Enjoy the cake,” he said warmly.

The children didn’t need to be told twice. Their forks dived into the dessert, and delighted gasps filled the room as the first bites melted in their mouths. Faces lit up with bliss, and even the quietest of them couldn’t help but hum in happiness.

Papa Cranberry sat back, his heart full as he watched them savor every moment. For a time, the world beyond their little home didn’t exist—just the warmth of the hearth, the laughter of children, and the sweetness of Fire Night.

When the blazing streak across the sky finally faded into darkness, the children had succumbed to sleep, their small forms nestled against him. Some clung to his arms, others curled up on his lap or leaned against his chest, their soft breaths rising and falling in harmony.

One by one, he carried them to their beds, tucking them in with care. He pressed a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads, whispering, “Sweet dreams, my loves.”

As he closed the door to their room, Papa Cranberry paused, his hand lingering on the doorknob. He looked back at the peaceful scene and whispered softly to himself:

“I love the ones I love.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his heart content and his home filled with the quiet, perfect peace of Fire Night.