The floorboards groaned beneath Andrew’s feet. It was as if it was crying out in pain and agony; a desperation to be cared for and loved. Everything he touched with his shaking, pale hands rained ash and dust, and stained his hands a sort of grey-ish colour. But the worst thing about it was the thick, suffocating smell of smoke which had embedded itself into the walls, the ceiling and the groaning floorboards, even after all these years.

That night was as vivid in his mind as the door in front of his face now. He woke up every night, since then, with this dreaded fear than he needed to leave, no matter whether he was sleeping in a hotel, at a friend’s house, or even at home with his wife and daughter. When he closed his eyes, he almost could feel the heat of the dancing flames. So majestic. So fatal. Occasionally he had to stop what he was doing to ensure the faint screaming he heard was nothing more than a memory - a consuming, destructive memory.

That night, a simple spark by his sister’s bedside plug had destroyed Andrew’s world. As the fire devoured all that he cared for, it devoured him too. He made it out with his mother. His father had gone back in to find his sister. He didn’t seen either of them again. A guilty feeling swept over him as he remembered how the twisting, writhing flames captured a sort of beauty within them. How could one be so enamoured by something that ruined his childhood?

Yet he stood here now, plunged into a choking darkness, facing all that stopped him from living his life in peace. Andrew twisted the grimy door handle, almost expecting it to scold his hand, but the metal jumped him with its cutting coldness.

The door creaked open, revealing a long-forgotten room…

His little sister, still seven years of age, sat on the bed in that room, her eyes wide with fear. She turned and looked at him. His face had creases now and his eyes were hardened with all he had seen. The straggly beard seemed to age him further and grey hairs were beginning to sprout at its roots. His sister missed the soft youthful face she had remembered.

“You’re a memory,” Andrew whispered to himself, a tear paving the way through the ash and dust that had settled on his cheeks.

“Yes,” she simply said back.

For a moment, the fire damage was gone and Andrew could see the pinky colour that painted her walls, and the teddies lining all areas of her room. He could see his younger-self and his little sister playing with the figures on the floor, giggling and bickering.

And then it was all gone and so was she. It was just a room. A long forgotten room. A room that pulled his heart into his stomach and made his breath quicken more than it had ever had before. A room that blurred his vision and made him want to run away so desperately but he couldn’t. A room that froze him to that very spot.

But then a small hand slipped into his. He looked down and it was her. At once he felt like he could move again but he didn’t wish to. He felt peaceful now. He wished he could stay with his little sister forever. The floorboards still groaned their song of ruin, but that was okay now.

Andrew stood there, in the doorway, his adult-self and his little sister - seven years of age - silhouetted as they held hands. No words needed to be passed. Everything suddenly felt okay.