I opened the overpriced novels as soon as we got home and was immediately uncomfortable with the material: My eyes widened as I read about poltergeists throwing knives across the room, aliens abducting teenagers driving across the country and ghosts appearing at the foot of your bed. But nothing…and I mean NOTHING…scared me more than the stories about spontaneous human combustion.

I read biographies on Robert Francis Bailey, John Irving Bentley, Mary Reeser, Henry Thomas and George Mott-All people who died by suddenly bursting into flames.

One sadistic author was gracious enough to provide a photo of the cremated remains of John Bentley-a physician who managed to explode into ashes while in the bathroom. Staring up at me was photographic proof that there was nothing left of this man but part of a scorched leg lying on the blackened tile floor. I had nightmares about that leg.

Turns out that these lonely legs are a common theme when it came to spontaneous combustion: Mary Reeser (a.k.a “the cinder lady” ) fell asleep in her chair after taking some sleeping pills. And why not wash those pills down with a nice cigarette? A lit cigarette may have fallen out of Mary’s hand, which then started a blazing fire that just used her body as a fuel source.  In the end, nothing was left of Mary except for a leg burned off at the knee, with the intact foot still nestled away in her slipper. That slipper would be worth a fortune on ebay!!

There are a few theories as to how people can turn into a flaming torch-they mixed too much meth with alcohol, their clothes sucked up some fat and are now super flammable ( body fat will burn like a wick), static electricity ignited it all-but it doesn’t make it any less scary.

I wandered around terror stricken for months after reading those horrible stories. My dad was a smoker, and I had no way of stopping myself from turning into a pile of ash if he managed to accidentally fling the cigarette in my direction. Later on, I started to think that these people had intentionally set themselves on fire. A superpower that only works once.  Peoples’ homes typically remain intact, there is no burdensome body to carry down the stairs, and hard earned money doesn’t need to be spent at the crematorium.  

Doesn’t sound that horrible. Just so long as you don’t ignite yourself on a subway or children’s hospital…

It’s a good thing I read those books, though. Nothing works better than the thought of spontaneous combustion to keep you from lighting a cigarette in bed.