Fireplace

I pray that writing this will not land me in the asylum. It truly was a night to make even the strongest man quiver in fear. It was borderline hurricane. I was doing my best to read one of my favorite novels in front of my fireplace, my slightly overweight car purring incessantly on my lap. I was on the same page for thirty minutes. It's the fire, I didn't know why, but I was staring into the fire. A refuge of lost souls, dancing on burning floors. There was something about it; it grew cold into the room suddenly.
"Oh god," It's all I could say, for though the fire blazed only a few feet in front of me, my breathe was visible. The cat, which was once asleep, raised his head, ears back. He bolted out of the room as fast as he could. The fire seemed to be calling my name.
"Sarah, Sarah," No, I must be insane. Someone, something was calling my name. I glanced around the dimly lit room. Walls lined with shelves, lined with books. I rose, checked every stained glass window. I had inherited the house from my aunt, you see, who had recently become deceased. Each window frosted over, frozen. My heart sunk for I knew it was in the jist of July. I walked to the fire and the armchair in front of it. The voices, calling my name, beckoning for me to draw near. I hadn't noticed, but the book had fallen from my hand landing on the floor with a gentle thud. The fire, the fire, I knelt by it my face could not feel the heat. I realized, there was no heat. I held my hand out closer, there was no heat, no warmth.
"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, closer," Slowly, I put my hand inside the fire, a cool breath of air surrounded my hand and I felt a form of strange gravity.
"Can I fit inside there?" It was such a strange thought. Then I realized this while night was strange. I pulled my hand back, expecting the skin to be charred and black. As I inspected the flesh on my hand, a soft humming came from the fire. I put my flawless hand against my cheek, it was warm. To this day, I could not tell you how, but I piled myself into that fireplace. I knew that if I hadn't crawled into the fireplace something terrible would've happened. As I sat engulfed in the cool flames, an icy breeze blew across me.
"Safe Sarah, stay here Sarah, Sarah is safe in the fire." Voices again, somehow I trusted them. A figure walked in, so horribly disfigured and contorted it made me want to look away, but I couldn't. The figure was blue, everything abut her was blue. Skin the color of a summer's day sky, but she didn't make me feel warm. She was death, I could sense it, and everything about her was frozen. It was as if icicles were her hair, the gown an icy breeze, and skin frozen water. Her eyes were the worst, as she turned towards me with terrible circular eyes, as round as golf balls, solid black, the only difference to her body. She had no eyes; these were endless pits of which one could be lost forever. She looked at me, and smiled, showing no teeth only a dark a smirk that sent a chill up my spine. A chill, that even to this day I can still feel whenever I close my eyes and see her terrible face. I shut my eyes, closed them so tight I felt my eyelashes on my cheeks.
It felt like hours, I sat here eyes closed into the slight warmth of the fire. Suddenly it got warmer, I opened my eyes and I was sitting in front of the fire again, book in hand, cat on my lap. I listened and could hear only the gentle purring of the cat who for the time being was content. The room grew cold again, the cat up and leaves. I did not question the voices that beckoned me. I just crawled into the fireplace. I closed my eyes, not wishing to see the demonic blue-shrouded figure. It feels like years I've been doing this cycle. I do not eat and do not sleep; the fire somehow sustains my life, or may be it is the blue figure. Is she Death? She's waiting for me to slip up, to not enter the fire and take my life, I'm sure of it. I know not what I look like, nor what day it is. I have found no means of escape, but I have not looked hard. Somehow, this cycle is comforting, something I know will always happen. Like the sun rising and setting. I depend on the room growing cold and all is happening again.
I mention the sun, but I have forgotten what it was, the sun neither shines nor casts the reflection of the stained glass window on the floor. The window, why had I not thought of that before? I grabbed my book and threw it as hard as I could towards the window. There is naught a sound as sweet as the shattering of that glass. Shards of multi-colored glass sprinkled the ground. I walked to the window in the attempt of jumping out. As I started to swing my leg out the window, I felt someone pull me back.
"No! No!" I turned to see the blue-shrouded figure staring at me with empty eyes. I stared back and a icy feeling crawled over me. I fell into those eyes.