Dreadful little secret

I'll tell you a secret if you have a moment. This is not just any
old secret. Don't regard this secret as a non-secret I save for special
occasions. This is the real thing. Not a soul in the world has heard
this yet, and I might have to kill you after divulging it.

I was young when the secret happened. Quite young, but not young enough
not to know better. I was alone in the kitchen of my family home. It
was the afternoon but lights were on over the wood-fired stove that
kept the old house slightly warmer than freezing. This wood-fired stove
had a hot plate on top. We used to cook food on it sometimes, though it
was never as good as a gas ring. There were times when a careless
person, such as myself, would leave the tub of margarine on the lid
that covered the hotplate. It would melt oh so quickly. Margarine
suffered two fates in our kitchen. That one and the one where the dog
climbs on the table and licks the carton clean as a whistle.

The lid was up and I could feel the heat from the metal plate in my
face. I could hear the crack of wood burning below. I say I was alone
but then that would already be cheating on my little secret. I was
completely alone, save for little hammy the hamster. Little hammy the
hamster couldn't have been a particularly happy pet, or a particularly
sad one. Just a normal pet, who shat and got bored and became
terrified.
Unfortunately for him, I was also bored that day, and old hammy the
hamster was not enough of a distraction. I thought he might be as I
fumbled the urine-stained cotton wool of his cage to get a purchase on
his furry posterior. Holding him up to my face, his little beady, black
eyes bulging stupidly, I could see nothing new or interesting. In what
I think was a very sudden movement, I put him on the burning metal hot
plate. There was little, or perhaps no thought involved. One minute he
was in my hand, the next he was leaping strangely in the heat. I took
him off the hot plate and pondered what to do next. One of his feet had
what looked like a black speck of coal on it. It was where the soft,
pink flesh of his sole had been toasted. He seemed fine, I told myself.
My heart was beating fairly fast, but not as fast as his, as I
carefully placed him back in his home. As it was quite some time ago
and I only remember the incident because it is such a secret thing, I
couldn't tell you what I did next. I didn't try it again, though.

So, now I have told you my little, dreadful secret and perhaps you will
tell me yours some time.