The torch hissed.

The torches that lit it from either side flickered and hissed in the drifting mist.

The torches spit and hissed, lighting the inside of the nearly empty spirit house with harsh, flickering light.

In a ring of rusted brackets around the room, torches spit and hissed, adding the smell of pitch to the stink of sweat.

Shadows spun and danced under his feet as he moved, and the torch hissed, fanned to temporary brilliance by the passage of air.

The torch hissed and suddenly went out.

The torches hissed and spit while they burned, the sound intertwining with that of the spell.

The torch in her hand hissed and crackled.

The torches hissed in the wind of dawn.

The torches flickered and hissed as Carl thought.