David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels, Belgium and Hong Kong over the years and now reside in Peoria, Illinois with their dog Annabelle, who likes to walk them in the woods.
Vindle
After watching the wriggling snake rise into the sky, Vindle went inside and noticed smoke wisping from Kangle’s fingertips. She thought she was imagining things, but when she saw tiny flames dancing behind her husband’s ears, she knew what she had long feared had begun.
“I have been feeling a might south,” Kangle said when Vindle felt his forehead. “Maybe some fresh air would repair.”
“Probably wouldn’t harm,” Vindle said, hurrying to the kitchen to pump a stream of cold water over her hand. They decided to take a ride to Clavdon Creek.
Vindle hitched up Old Treb, and she and Kangle climbed into the carriage. By the time they got to the creek, Vindle’s clothes were drenched with sweat from the heat radiating from her husband.
Vindle pulled off her shoes and stockings, hiked her skirt and waded into the water. She started to hold out her hand for her husband to join her then thought better of it.
Kangle removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his trousers. As he eased into the water, Vindle heard a soft hiss and saw steam rising where the water lapped her husband’s knees. “We better go see the Doc,” she said.
***
Kangle sat naked from the waist up, soft blue fire rippling along his arms and shoulders.
Doc Ral shook his head. “You should’ve come sooner. I’m afraid it’s too late.” The Doc took Vindle’s hand. “Try to make your husband’s remaining time as comfortable as you can.”
On the way home from the Doc’s, a breeze flared Kangle and spooked Old Treb. The horse bolted and nearly rolled the carriage at Strack’s Fork before Vindle reined him in.
At their place, Vindle pumped a tub of cold water. Kangle stripped and stepped in. As he lay back and closed his eyes, the water began thrashing around him. “Refreshing,” he mumbled, exhaling a long crackling flame.
Vindle pumped water the rest of the day and most of the night to keep the tub full. Finally she could no longer move her arms. She watched helplessly as the water boiled away and Kangle became engulfed, his face twisting into a scream she would never forget.
Vindle used Kangle’s ashes to fertilize her flower garden. The following summer, the roses were the reddest she’d ever seen.
One warm evening, she caught a chill. By morning, she was coughing up sleet, and frost coated her hair. She didn’t go to Doc Ral, preferring to reunite with her Kangle. She left a note asking to be buried near the flower garden. She thought she and Kangle surely would produce the most beautiful roses in the world.
Neighbors found Vindle a week later encased in ice. They dug up the floribunda when they buried her. Though her roses never blossomed again, when Vindle thawed, she watered and fed the weeds. They grew thick and tall, sheltering chipmunks, voles and, occasionally, snakes, which fattened themselves and made a feast for the hawks.