"Mum," Beth said, pulling back the living room window curtain. "What's that man doing?" The five year old knelt on the sofa and leaned forward to look.

"What's that sweetie?" Beth's mother tossed the damp tea towel she was holding over her left shoulder. "Beth, how many times have I told you; it's rude to stare at people." She tugged at her daughters' shoulder indicating that she should move away.

"But what's he doing?"

Janet glanced out the window and, though she didn't mind that a man was watching her window, a tingle of electric apprehension travelled the length of her spine. Behind her a bubbling noise came from the kitchen.

"Darn, the potatoes," she hurried back into the kitchen. "Come away from the window Beth," she called, shifting the pan of boiling potatoes from the hot stove.

"Okay mummy" she replied. Looking back at the man she offered him a wide mischievous grin. The man lifted the top of his black fedora and smiled back. His eyes carried the colour of the ocean to the little girl.

"Beth!" Janet exclaimed "Now." Beth recognised the tone of voice -- no messing or else.

Shuffling backwards, she pushed off the sofa with her knees, grabbed Mr Pickles, her trusted teddy bear and dragged him by his threadbare arm to the kitchen. "Where's daddy?" Beth asked sitting on a dining chair.

"On his way, he'll be home in a minute or two."

Beth looked back towards the window. "Uh-oh," she sang. "It's raining."

"What?" Janet glanced out the window. "Oh Lord, the washing," She tossed the tea towel on the counter and grabbed her washing basket "Wait here," she said as she rushed out, the back door slammed itself shut.

"Rain, rain, go away. Come back another day," Beth sang and danced Mr Pickles on the table.

The discarded tea towel peeled itself from the counter and dropped into the flames of the gas stove. Fire spread quickly from the tea towel to the oven gloves hanging over the handle of the oven. The foam in them began to melt. Fire fell like rain on the kitchen carpet and began to spread. Beth screamed.

From the garden, Janet saw smoke coming from the air vent. "Beth?" She dropped the basket and ran to the back door "Beth!" Janet pulled at the door handle. The flames began eating away at its concrete confines and devoured the kitchen curtains. The monster had been unleashed.

The crackling as the wooden kitchen cupboards succumbed to the heat was deafening. Black smoke filled the kitchen. Janet tugged hard on the door handle. Her hand began blistering from the heat. Janet tried enveloping it in the fabric of her skirt as Beth began to cough in between her terrified sobs.

"Get down on the floor Beth. Get down and crawl to the living room. Beth, can you hear me?" Janet listened for any reply. Coughing, dry choking coughs followed by sobs stolen in the breathless moments before more choking.

Mr Pickles' fell to the ground as Beth's grip on him loosened and her consciousness failed; his eyes began to melt into his already running nose before he landed.

Janet pounded on the door -- blood from her hand covered the white paint. Backtracking into the garden, she fetched a garden rake and reaching up high smashed the kitchen window. Tossing it aside, she tried to pull herself up into the gap. Tiny rogue splinters of glass pierced her skin. The pain went unnoticed. She felt her grip slip as the blood lubricating her hands made it impossible to hold onto the window frame. While holding on with one hand, she wiped each hand in turn smearing crimson and peeling pieces of broiled skin on her cream flowery summer dress.

Leaning into the kitchen she saw the outline of a tall figure standing in the living room doorway. Janet's eyes watered as the smoke found her. For a moment, she was blind. Water began to pour from the kitchen ceiling onto the flames. The man rushed forwards grabbing Beth in his oversized arms, he carried her to safety. Janet regained her sight in time to see the pair disappear through the doorway.

Janet jumped from the dust bin and ran around to the front of her house pushing past the gathering crowd. Somebody had called the fire brigade. The stranger lay the child on the soft front yard grass.

"Beth" Janet reached her daughters' side and fell to her knees. Beth's' face was covered with filth, her hair, usually as yellow as the sun, now a dull grey colour.

She stirred. "Mummy." Janet swept Beth up into her arms and cradled her, tears stinging her burning cheeks.

"Where's Mr Pickles?" the girl asked.

"We'll find him sweet heart" Janet soothed, stroking her daughters' hair.

Beth looked up at the man, who still stood over her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Janet!" A man's voice called from through the crowd.

"David" Janet held her hand out towards her husband.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. The kitchen, I was cooking. This man," She gestured to the place where the stranger stood, "saved Beth's life".

David turned, ready to shake his daughter's rescuer's hand. The man had gone, the crowd had filled the gap he had left and though David pushed his way through, he was too late. The stranger had vanished leaving nothing except a muddy puddle as testament to his existence.

Beth and Janet were taken away to hospital. The ambulance crew was baffled as to how Beth had survived. They found no burns, no blistering skin, no red angry blemishes promising pain for the next week or two.

"You're one lucky little girl" The paramedic smiled. "How did you know to wrap yourself up in a wet towel?"

Beth looked quizzically at the uniformed man. "I didn't. It was the nice man," she grinned at Janet. "He brought the rain inside our kitchen".

The paramedic exaggerated a nod. "Of course, sweetie."