Bear
By Elijah Sullins
The room swam in the glow of the moon that spilled through the gap in the curtains as they drifted sleepily in the night breeze. The lake was carried into the room on the wind, the distant calls of loons, the soft rustling of waves, and the rank scent of marsh grass. It was a tranquil night, and the man slept deeply.
The room was cold, but nestled under the heap of blankets, the man snored gently dan dreamed of warmth. His chest rose and fell gently, his breath dissipating into the darkness as it tried in vain to warm the room. He was dead to the world, no longer hearing the crickets outside the window that had sung him to sleep, no longer feeling the gentle night breeze that slipped silently over the windowsill.
The room and the night became one, the chill nocturnal air mingling with the fleeting warmth of the man and nighttime sounds outside. An owl hooted, and the man stirred uneasily but slept on. There was nothing to wake for, and he was tired. He wouldn’t rise until late in the morning.
Outside the window, the dirt on the ground crunched softly. The room fell into shadow, the stars momentarily disappearing from the window as the curtains parted, then closed again. Moonlight again filled the room, and still the man slept, unaware.
The wooden floors groaned softly in the darkness, and claws clicked quietly on the walls.
Something breathed.
The room felt warmer, the chilled void suddenly filled with an alien bulk. In the darkness, something found the bed.
The man stirred again, reaching out his hand, not feeling the coarse hair that his numb fingers sank into.
Something brushed across the man’s face, wet. Cold air struck his bare legs as the blankets were shredded off of him. His dreams were twisted with pain, and he awoke. Above him, two points of empty light glittered at him, and teeth, unimaginably large, yawned at him. His ears rang with a deafening roar, and the panic that gripped him knew no bounds. Darkness, deeper than the room, deeper than the night, closed around him. The growl cut off suddenly, and his pain faded into nothingness. The presence in the room moved, back toward the window, into the night that had delivered it. And the bed was empty.
Author’s Note
A quick read this week — I put off writing it until the last day — but you can’t really go wrong with stories about bears.
Thanks for reading, and have a happy thanksgiving.
— Elijah
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