Spontaneous Human Combustion

“Hun.”  If I thought this whispered endearment and a gentle nudge from my elbow would wake my husband, I was wrong.

“Hun.”  I tried again to nudge my husband awake.

Granted, I felt guilty for waking him in the middle of the night, but I was feeling weird, and I needed his emotional support.

“Rabbit,” I said, this time in a louder whisper.

Finally, this penetrated his brain.  He lifted his head off the pillow. “Wha?”

“Hun, I think I’m going to combust.”

His head remained motionless for a time, then he slowly turned to peer through the darkness at me.  “Did I just hear you correctly?”

“I don’t know, didja?”

“Hun, what the hell did you just say?”

“I think I’m going to burst into flame.”

My husband is a good man.  He didn’t laugh.  But even in the darkness I could see the frown of consternation knitting his gorgeous brow.

“For once, would you make some sense,” he calmly demanded.

“I feel hot, I mean…from the inside.  I’ve been laying here getting hotter and hotter and hotter, and it won’t go away.”

“Take the covers off,” he said, as he allowed his head to plop back down onto the pillow.  He was already sounding groggy again.

I put my hands on his shoulder and shook him.  “Don’t fall asleep.  I’m serious.  Something is wrong with me.”

“Your hot.  It’s Florida. Take the covers off, and see if you cool down.”

“I’ve been laying without covers for awhile now.  And I’m still getting hotter.  It’s a weird kind of hot, too.  Like it’s coming from the inside. I think I’m going to burst into flame.”

He lifted his head again.  “Hun, people don’t just burst into flame.”

“Yes, uh-huh, they do,” I said.  “Spontaneous human combustion.”

He sighed wearily.  “I’m not gonna let you watch TV anymore.  Now I know why your mother didn’t have a television in her house while you were growing up.”

I frowned. “Rabbit, I’m serious.  I am weird hot.”

“Turn the air conditioner down.”

“It’s on 76 degrees.  I should be comfortable.”

Rabbit sighed and sat up.  “Okay, let’s get this straight.  What exactly are you feeling?”

“Hot.”

“I know, but what about that is different than just being hot like from being outside in the hot weather?”

“I don’t know.  I feel like an internal furnace kicked on, and it just…feels weird.”

Rabbit reached out and took my hand.  “Whoa, you are hot.”

“Told you. See, I’m gonna combust, aren’t I?”

“No, Hun, you’re not going to combust.”

“I’ve been laying here thinking I’m gonna burst into flame and burn the house down.”

Rabbit snickered, then quickly squelched it.  I could see him trying hard not to laugh.

“This is serious.  People spontaneously burst into flame.  I wonder if this is how they feel right before it happens.”

“Hun, those people are smokers.  They fall asleep with a lit cigarette, the cigarette drops onto their clothes, and it catches them on fire.  That’s all.  You don’t have to worry.  You don’t smoke.  You don’t drink.  You’re not going to catch on fire.”

“I’m not?”

“No, Hun.”

“So, there’s nothing for me to worry about?”

“No, Hun.”

I sighed, somewhat relieved.  “Do you think you could put me out if I did suddenly combust?”

“I think I could put you out if you suddenly combusted, but you’re not suddenly going to combust.”

“Maybe we should put a fire extinguisher in the bedroom, just in case.”

Rabbit sighed.  “We don’t need a fire extinguisher, you aren’t going to burst into flame.”

I glared at him for not taking me seriously.  He quickly changed tactics.  “But…if it would make you feel better, I’ll put a fire extinguisher in the bedroom.”

“Thanks, Hun.”

“Can we go back to sleep now?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” 

Just as he was about to settle back down, I stopped him.  “Why am I so hot, though? Why does it feel so weird? I’ve noticed it before. It’s weird and scary and it doesn’t feel normal.”

My husband sat up and turned to face me, sitting cross-legged as he reached out and took my hands in his.  He looked at me earnestly for a long time, and with the expression of a man about to tell an awful truth, he began speaking, slowly, cautiously, gently.

“Hun, you’re forty-three years old.”

“So?”

“So…did it ever occur to you that you’re having a hot flash?”

I stared at him for a long time, my mouth open.  “No.”

He looked at me in silence.  “You know, for a damn good writer, you can be really silly sometimes.”

I giggled.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you are intelligent…more intelligent than most people I know, you can do literally anything you set your mind to, you can write better than most writers.  You have a doctorate degree….”

“Sh! Don’t tell anyone.”

“And,” he went on, ignoring me.  “You absorb information like a sponge, but…sometimes…you’re just silly.”

I giggled again.

“Would you have me any other way?”

“No. But you worry about silly things.”

“Like?”

He groaned.  “Like suddenly bursting into flame.  Who else do you know that worries about suddenly bursting into flame?”

“No one.”

“Exactly.”

“So, I need to go live in a cave somewhere and never watch television programs like that, or read science magazines.”

He nodded.  “Yep, that’s about the size of it.”

I giggled again.

“Now get some sleep.”  He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, then settled back down into bed.

“Love you, Rabbit,” I happily chimed as I rolled over and pressed my back against his.

“Love you too, Hun.”

After a few minutes of silence, just when Rabbit thought he was going to fall asleep, I said, “But that one guy they talked about had smoke rolling out of his arms and he didn’t have a lit cigarette, the smoke just started pour—  

“Hun,” Rabbit said in a warning tone.

“Okay, going to sleep now.  Going to sleep.  I promise.”

I tucked the blanket up under my chin.

“It’s just a normal old hot flash from normal menopause.”

“Fine,” I agreed.  “Fine.  Going to sleep now.”

“Good.”

“Good,” I agreed.

“Wake me if you need me,” Rabbit said, his voice already slurred with sleep.

“ ‘K,” I agreed.  I pressed closer to him.  “Thanks for talking to me, Rabbit.  See you in the morning.”

Rabbit grunted something unintelligible.  I checked my arms to make sure they weren’t smoldering. 

“Menopause?” I muttered to myself.

“Go to sleep,” Rabbit groaned.

“ ‘K. Going to sleep now.”

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift.  One more check to make sure no smoke was pouring out of my arms, and then I too fell asleep.

C. D. Blizzard is the author of the novels Blackwater, Broken, and Profile

www.cdblizzard.com