A young man, battered, beaten down by life, was walking down the street. His face was unshaved and unclean, withdrawal had started to settle in his eyes. He scratched the scabs on his neck when the glint of something metallic caught his eye in the storm drain.

A silver lighter. Zippo style. He picked it up. Engraved on one side was a spiral, and on the other the words "Iterum et Iterum." The young man read the words out loud, rubbing his thumb over the engraving.

The last sound he heard was the horn when the bus splattered him across the damp asphalt.

Sometimes, items with supernatural powers make their way into our universe. Strange things, cursed things, things that carrying rules of their own.

This is the story of one of those cursed items.

THE LIGHTER

-Simply holding or carrying the lighter does nothing. You are safe so long as you never read the engraving. You may use it as a regular lighter without penalty.

The lights strobed red and blue against the wet asphalt. Rain came down steady, washing streaks of blood into the storm drain, thinning it to pink water that disappeared beneath the street. Barry shoved the back doors of the ambulance closed, the latch clanging shut harder than he meant it to. He rubbed his hands on his pants and stood still for a moment, breath fogging the air. “God damn this job is rough…”

“At least this wasn’t another overdose,” he thought to himself, “just another mess.” The poor guy hadn’t even made it ten yards from the shelter before the bus clipped him. Barry had seen bad scenes before, but this one would stick with him for a while. The body folded wrong in the streets when he arrived. Like one of those weird contortionists at the freak shows.

He looked down, trying not to think about it, and something silver winked up at him from the gutter by his boot.

The lighter.

He crouched, plucked it out of the water, and turned it in his palm. A brushed Zippo, heavier than it looked. One side was etched with a spiral, deep grooves smooth against his thumb. The other side had words stamped in Latin he didn’t bother trying to sound out. He wasn’t in the mood for puzzles.

The rain hissed on the lighter’s shell, but when he flicked it open out of habit, the inside was dry. He thumbed it shut again, slipped it into his pocket, and straightened up.

The driver, Owen, leaned on the horn. “Come on, Barr! We got drinkin’ to do!”

Barry snapped back from his thoughts, climbed into the cab, the door slamming behind him. “Should could use one after that mess,” Barry said as he buckled himself.

“Yeah, that guy was fuckin’ everywhere. Anyway… Omar invited us to come check out his new digs. You in?” Owen flicked off the lights and pulled into traffic.

“As long as there’s beer, I’m in.”

~~~

The apartment was a two-bedroom on the edge of downtown, fifth floor with a balcony that looked out over the wet streets. Omar had only been there a week, but the place already smelled and looked lived-in. Boxes from fried food sat piled up in the corner by the trash can. The air smelled of incense and a little weed under it all bachelor smell.

Barry slouched into the couch, still damp from the rain outside. A beer was shoved into his hand before he could ask, and he cracked it open, foam spilling onto his fingers.

“Man, you look like you’ve had a day,” Omar said, sliding him an ashtray and a bong that looked like it had been rinsed once in its life. “Rough shift?”

Barry barked out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Guy stepped right into traffic. I swear, I thought I’d seen it all, but this one…” He took a long drink, staring into the middle distance. “He folded up like a lawn chair. Blood everywhere. I’m still seeing him all twisted up like that.”

“Damn.” Omar winced, trying to lighten the air. “Well, good thing you came here. Weed, beer, and a new stereo setup. Gotta balance the scales somehow.”

Barry reached for the bong, half-smile tugging his mouth. He sparked it with the lighter from his pocket, thumb flicking it open without a thought. The flame leapt steady and bright. He took a long hit, coughed, and shoved it toward Omar.

Omar thumbed it once, the spiral flashing in the lamplight, and used it without thinking. “Now this,” he exhaled a cloud of smoke, “this is some primo shit, my guy.” Barry was too busy chasing his cough with beer to notice Omar pocketing the spiral lighter out of habit.

The conversation drifted back to nothing. Music, work gossip, old stories. Barry never seemed to notice, Omar had the lighter now.

~~~

The balcony lights glowed warm against the damp night. The rain had stopped, but the boards were still slick, the smell of wet city air clinging to everything. Steam drifted lazily from the hot tub, where Omar sat shoulder to shoulder with a girl whose name he’d already half-forgotten.

She fished a cigarette from her purse, tapping it against her knee. “You got a light?”

Omar grinned, fishing into his pocket. “Yeah, actually. I do!” He pulled out the silver Zippo, flipping it open with more confidence than he should have felt. The spiral gleamed in the light, and the hinge clicked sharp as he thumbed the flame to life.

She leaned in, letting the cigarette catch, then snapped it shut in her hand to look closer. “Ooooh, fancy. What’s it say?”

Omar blinked. “What’s what say?”

“This!” She turned the lighter in her fingers, squinting at the tiny letters. Her lips shaping the words, “Iterum et Iterum.”

She smirked, took a drag. “That’s silly… what’s it mean?”

Omar shrugged. “No idea. Probably Latin or some shit.” He reached for the lighter, taking it back. The metal was still warm when he slipped it into his pocket.

The girl stood, stretching with her cigarette dangling from her lips, then stumbled a little, bumping into the low stand that held Omar’s new stereo.

“Careful-” he started, but it was too late.

The stereo tipped, wobbled, then crashed into the hot tub with a hollow splash. Blue sparks erupted under the water, and the girl shrieked as she fell in after it.

Water snapped with electricity, the girl convulsing in a violent strobe. Steam hissed up in thick white plumes. Omar lunged forward, hand outstretched, but stopped short, panic freezing him in place.

“Fuck! Fuck, no… Oh shit…” He staggered back, phone fumbling in his wet hands. He dialed 911 with shaking fingers, eyes locked on the boiling water.

The spiral lighter pressed cold and heavy against his thigh.

Sirens began to wail in the distance.

Omar couldn’t look away from the hot tub. The water was still bubbling faintly, the stereo smoking on the bottom like a drowned heart. The girl didn’t surface, her body still.

He clutched his phone tighter, knuckles white. “P-please, send someone,” he begged into the line.

Within seconds, sirens wailed faintly in the distance, growing closer. Omar’s eyes never left the water, the girl’s body drifting just beneath the bubbling surface.

In his pocket, the lighter shifted against the fabric. The spiral on its side pulsed once, a strange flicker. Another life fed to the monster inside.