Where Fire Blazes - Part 1

Well, here is my first part to our most recent challenge. For you readers that don't know, the four L.A.R.K. writers decided to do a challenge where we all wrote a brief description for a story. They were all sent to Faith who redistributed each one to a different person. Now we have to write stories based on another person's idea. Here is the idea I received:

When Hidi walks into her brother’s (whose name is Viho, her only living relative) room and finds him gone she is thrown into panic.  What’s worse is that the sentence Ring of Fire is carved into the wood above his bed.  Not long afterward, Hidi is sure that someone is following her wherever she goes.  What is going on? (note:  this is a fantasy story, so you can make up the name of the country, world, town, etc.)  

Now here is the first part of the story I wrote for it:

I peeked down at my brother's snoring form. His blanket was hugged up past his chin, and only an unruly mop of brown hair was visible. Pulling myself back onto my bunk, I stifled a giggle. The iciest rain wouldn't damper my plans for the first day of spring. I swiped my ragged dress from the bunk's railing and slipped it over my own head of tousled brown curls before leaping to the dusty floor. My feet thumped against the squeaky wood planks. I heard a grunt from my brother's bed and swung around. Viho stirred beneath his thread-bare blanket before laying still again. I breathed out a sigh. That was a close one.

I tip-toed forward and cracked the door open a bit. The house was silent, except for the continuous pitter-patter of the rain on the shingles. I could now execute my plans. Easing the door shut behind me, I groped through the dark for a candle and match box. Upon finding their cold forms on the table, I lit the candle, casting a glow of light across the room. I wanted to make a special breakfast for Viho and I's new family. Perhaps if they saw how useful I was, they would decide to keep us permanently, despite their lack of wealth. It also happened to be Viho's sixteenth birthday, so I wanted to make it extra special.

Fried eggs were on the menu along with a little toast and milk and perhaps a little cheese too, if I thought we could spare some. Maybe I would even pull the apricot jam from the cellar. I cringed at the thought of descending down the rickety ladder into the dark depths of the bug-infested place. The first night Viho and I had come to stay with the Kiplings, Mrs. Kipling had asked me to retrieve a jar of jam from the cellar. A spider had dropped onto my nose as I was retrieving the jar, and the precious preserves crashed to the ground in my attempt to swipe it from my face. The poor lady cried over the spilled jam, exclaiming how foolish I was and how we couldn't afford to have anything go to waste. Of course, Mr. Kipling supported his wife, and that began my bad relations with my new parents. Viho, however, fared much better, but only due to the help he provided in the fields.

I glared at the door before me, listened to the raindrops pelting the roof, and attempted to shrug off my fear. Whether I liked it or not, I'd be climbing down into that cellar, for much of the other food was also stored in the cool interior. A crash of thunder sent me flying out the cottage door. My feet sloshed through the mud, and I shivered as the icy water splashed up my legs. I yanked open the cellar door and quickly descended before I had time to change my mind.

Moments later I arose from the cellar, my breakfast ingredients bundled closely to my chest. Sloshing back through the mud, I darted back to the house, just as another mighty crash of thunder split the air. A bright flash blinded my vision, and I stumbled across the threshold. My bundle flew from my arms. Glass shattered, and jam splattered the floor. A sob escaped my chest as I looked in horror at the mess. Surely now everyone would wake and discover my horrible mistake. Viho and I would be thrown back out on our own.

The howling wind mocked my plight, slamming the door shut behind me. It swooshed through my curls and snuffed out the candle on the table, submerging the world into total darkness. Hot tears tumbled down my icy cheeks. I stood waiting my moment of doom, when the Kiplings would emerge from their bedroom to tan my hide; but it never came.

Silence reigned with the darkness as the raindrops ceased to fall. I exhaled slowly, not daring to break the silence. Why hadn't they awoken? They couldn't have been sleeping that hard. I crept over to my bedroom door, hesitated, and then peeked in. Letting out a strangled gasp, I gaped at the scene before me. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as I stumbled forward. I collapsed to my knees and gathered up the charred remains of my brother's blanket. What had done this? Lightening? No, it couldn't be. It was just the bed, nothing else. My gaze flitted to the top bunk. There, gashed into the underside of my bed, were three words: Ring of Fire. I fingered the rough lettering in the wood, trying to make sense of it. What could it mean? Who had done this? And where was my brother?

My concern shifted to my adoptive parents. I let the charred blanket crumble to the floor as I leaped to my feet. I jerked open the Kipling's bedroom door and stumbled towards their bed. At the sight of their still, sleeping forms, relief washed over my body; and then I froze as it dawned on me. They were too still. Deathly still. Their blankets seeped red in blood, and smeared on the wall above their heads were written those same frightful words: Ring of Fire.

My body trembled with shock, and then anger. I stumbled back to my room and threw myself onto my brother's bed. My hot tears soaked his pillow. Viho had laid there less than thirty minutes ago, and now he was gone, leaving me completely and utterly alone.