Lyte Me

Once upon a time a woodcutter wandered far from his home to where he had been told a cluster of old oak trees stood, one of them an ancient giant now standing dead. Such wood will burn hot for a very long time, and the woodcutter knew it would bring needed gold to him and his wife and baby. He followed a narrow creek into the hills, dragging a cart behind him.

Indeed, the old oak stood where he had been told, and he took his ax and began to cut it into pieces, which he stacked in his cart. As he stacked the wood and wiped the sweat from his brow, he felt a change in the weather, and it grew bitter cold. Late in the day as the sun crept below the ridge, he turned his cart and began to roll his load toward home.

He had not gone far when snow began to fall, the wheels of his cart beginning to lurch and stick in the fresh layer. Suddenly, he noticed a path which seemed to lead a parallel course to his through a thick woods. He took this path, finding the going much easier, but where it emerged from the woods, he saw nothing he recognized. Before him lay a large meadow like a white blanket, with the remnants of burnt stumps and trunk of trees poking out. The path continued this way and so he went on, aiming to turn downstream along the river to where his home must be.

The path ended in a mist-shrouded clearing which held the remnant of a cabin or, to be specific, a stone floor and standing chimney. Below this lay not the river, but a smooth white area where the fresh snow seemed to hide a small lake. The woodcutter trundled his load forward, bringing it to rest by the ruined cabin. He took from his wagon a large canvas tarpaulin and rigged a rude shelter over the stone floor with one end tied to the chimney, and he brushed the snow from the floor. Over the chimney opening had been placed a large piece of flagstone. It required all of his strength to move it.
At last, when he had rolled the stone away, he was amazed to see a dry pile of kindling and logs neatly placed on the fire grate. Just in front of the grate was a single match which lay on a sheet of yellowed paper. On this paper was written two words..."lyte me".
The woodcutter needed no more prompting, as his fingers were quite numb by now with cold. He struck and shielded the match, and soon he had a warm fire blazing in the fireplace. By now the snow had stopped and the moon swung low in the night sky. As he lay with his back against the cart wheel, the woodcutter fell asleep.

It was the heat which awoke him. Flames were shooting out the fireplace, and the top of the chimney was sending spires of fire into the sky. The woodcutter tried to dampen the fire with armloads of snow, but to no avail. Suddenly, the canvas roof of his makeshift shelter was all afire. He quickly untied it from his cart and rolled it away across the floor, when he looked back to see s terrible sight. Something with the shape of a human being but made of smoke and flame was slowly extricating itself from the fireplace. As he stood frozen in fear, the thing rose to its feet. It was perhaps four feet tall, witha constantly changing physical form, but with its most prominent features a pair of smoldering charcoal eyes, and a mouth which gaped open, a long tongue of flame flickering from it. Instinctively, the woodcutter took his axe, raising it to strike a blow, when the thing seemed to scream and a torrent of flame shot through the air, igniting the man's clothing, hair, and beard.
The woodman stumbled blindly into the meadow, flames all around him, at last falling into the snow in which he was at last able to extinguish himself. Rising on hands and knees, he watched as the creature seemed to embrace his cart and its load of timber, everything now roaring in flames. From this conflagration, something soon took shape. The creature, now towering 7 feet tall or more, stalked across the floor toward him. The woodman turned into the darkness, and began to run for his life.

When he turned he saw the thing pursuing him, leaving a furrow of scorched earth though the snow field. He ran into the vast level field, the snow tripping and slowing him, when he suddenly heard a creak and groan. It was the ice on the lake beneath, moving under his weight. He turned to see the creature was nearly on him, nearly blinding against the black of the night. Cowering, he raised his arms against the blistering heat when , with a groan, the ice opened beneath the creature's feet, and it fell though the surface. For several seconds the entire surface was aglow like a huge pool of lava. Then, accompanied by a sound like a gust of wind through pines, everything was again cold and dark.

How the woodman found his home that night he couldn't say, but just before dawn he stumbled through the door, his worried wife shrieking at the sight of this blackened stranger. No one believed his story, although he bore some evidence of its truth: Neither on his face nor the top of his head would hair ever again grow. And on the coldest nights he would be seen to bundle himself in all manner of heavy clothing but never, never, would he be found enjoying the simple comfort of the hearth fire.


No, I don't think the campfire needs more wood just yet. It's plenty hot for my taste.