W-What?" Racetrack stammered. "How? By who? I don't understand-" He was tripping over all the words trying to escape his mouth at once, both from shock and symptoms from the supposed poisoning. He felt dizzy, his heart speeding up from fear. He put his head in his hands, felling his eyes well up again, trying to keep at least some part of himself under control.
"I'm not sure." Spot told him, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "This shouldn't have happened." Race lifted his head to look at his friend. Spot took off his cap, smoothing his blond hair back, before replacing it again. None of this should be happening. He closed his eyes, visions of the night before bouncing around in his mind. He had stopped all of this, or so he had thought.
The night seemed darker here, as if the entire world had gone into a black hole. The lack of streetlights should have made him nervous but it didn't; he could hide better in the darkness. Laughter trickled out onto the street from the dimly lit building as the door opened and two men walked out. They clapped another man on the back as they left, allowing Spot to see that someone was clearly staying in the house (more of a hut really). The two men drunkenly lumbered off into the night, their loud voices carrying for quite awhile. Spot waited until he couldn't hear them anymore and crept up to one of the windows, peering inside. He smiled to himself as he watched the lone inhabitant settle himself into a chair, a bottle of liquor hanging idly from his fingers.
Spot waited for what seemed like hours, his legs becoming stiff from standing still for so long. He sat himself below the window, trying to blend in as much as he could, listening for any sounds that would help or hurt him. He was just about to nod off, when a clanking sound startled him from his near slumber. He shot to his feet, checking his surroundings before peeking in the window once again. The man inside had fallen asleep, the bottle in his hand having dropped to the ground, spilling fizzy liquid over the cold hardwood floor. Spot looked around the small house, at its sparse furnishings, wondering if anything in there could be useful. Walking to the front door, he tested the handle; unlocked. Spot opened the door as quietly as he could, slowly creeping into the room. He left the door cracked in case he needed to make a quick exit. He quickly surveyed the area more thoroughly, looking at anything that might be of use. There was a table, a couple chairs, and a kitchen area, with another room off to the left that Spot assumed must be a bedroom and bathroom. To his right was the slumbering jackass in an overstuffed chair, a large rug, and a wood burning stove. A wood burning stove, Spot thought, I could work with.
He kept his footsteps light and slow, moving stealthily around the man, his snores almost echoing throughout the house. Spot maneuvered around the back of the stove, and crouching, opened the flue with one hand, blindly, keeping his eyes on the man in the chair. He heard the flames jump in the stove, the crackling and popping becoming more of a roar, the heat already making him uncomfortable. He wiped sweat from his brow, checking the man wasn't waking up; he figured he wouldn't if he were passed out from a night of drinking, surely celebrating.
Satisfied, he opened the small door in the front of the black cauldron-like oven, filling the room with more heat, flames licking the edges of the open door, embers bouncing off the floor. Spot smiled slightly as he got to his feet, making his way back to the front door and out into the night. The cool air almost bit at his skin, the sweat from being so close to the fire having soaked through most of his clothing. He shut the door gently, wiping his brow and brushing a hand through his hair as he looked around the outside of the house. He had only seen it from the right side, aside from going through the door, and his mind raced as he searched the front yard. A large pile of wood stood to his left, most likely used in the stove, and he quickly went to it, knowing he probably didn't have much time. He carried as much as he could and placed it carefully in front of the one door to the modest lodgings, making four trips until he was satisfied with the outcome.
The door safely barricaded, Spot make his way to one of the trees in the front of the house and hid behind its thick trunk, sure he couldn't be spotted in the darkness of the night. He knew it wouldn't be long; with the open flue and the door to the wood stove letting in oxygen, plus the entire place seemingly made of wood of some kind, the entire thing would be aflame before he knew it. And the best part? That son of a bitch would be trapped inside, too drunk to find a way out. And sure enough, Spot didn't have to wait long; the flames had caught something (maybe the floor) and in only a few moments, he could see the house aglow with fire, hear the screams coming from inside. It would burn quickly, he thought, perhaps too quickly. "Burn in Hell." He said through gritted teeth. Spot then turned and ran, back the way he came, taking pride in knowing Race's father wouldn't be able to ever hurt Race again.