In the peaking darkness of the night, out in the suburbs of Auckland, a bright hot light burns in the abyss of the blackness. A figure stands, observing with almost the loving gaze of a parent, watching the growing flames. A scream ripples through the night, almost inaudible against the crackling of the fire. The figure laughs in a tone that almost seemed benevolent, as if they had been graced by god, and now could laugh in the face of anything. But this person’s benevolent laugh is a crooked illusion. This person was the arsonist who had the entire country awake in their beds at this very moment, wondering if it would be their home tonight, their children, still innocently asleep, who would be cooked alive in their beds. 12 houses had already been burned to the point where the only thing that was left was a blackened foundation, a foreboding shadow of what the houses once were…


The room is dark. A woman’s cry breaks through the girl’s unconscious mind. “Mom?” she calls out into the darkness, “What’s wrong?” The woman cries out again. The girl runs to the door. “MOMMY!” She yells as loudly as she can. When she puts her hand on the doorknob, she cries out in pain. The handle is scalding hot! As she takes her hand quickly away, there is a large burn on her hand. She realizes that she can now see the rest of her room in a kind of eerie flickering light sliding in from under the door. A thick black fog files through the cracks around the door. The air is starting to get thick with heat. She yells as loud as she can, for as long as she can, but soon the room went dark again.


She wakes in a cold sweat, shaking. The room is dark as pitch. The recurring nightmares that Demetria keeps having are starting to frighten her. The poor girl is only eight, and already plagued by disturbing images of her family past. She is the last of a long line of arsonists, and her dream of the girl screaming, would be her first victim.