The Wooden Bear

“God Damn bridge,” Jerry Smith said as he pulled up to his house. His wife’s blue sedan was noticeably missing from the driveway. She was sure to be gone for hours, chatting with all her gossipy palls. Dinner would not be waiting for him today. 

Jerry sighed heavily and opened his car door. He heaved himself out of the car seat and lumbered to the front door, with its two long glass panes, passing by the small plants and flowers his wife kept outside, along with a carved wooden bear statue that sat directly next to the front door about 3 feet tall, including the stump base. The bear stood on its hind legs, its front paws aloft and mouth slightly ajar, the edges of its wooden lips tilted up, as if it were smiling. His wife often called it tacky, but Jerry felt that since the statue had been at the house when they purchased it so many years ago, it seemed wrong to remove it. Plus, it really matched the aesthetic of the surrounding woods, and the proud, large, log cabin that resided there. His wife should appreciate that, he thought. She was always going on about cohesive decor.  

Jerry entered the house, diligently scraping his work boots off on the welcome mat. His wife had nagged him about dirty footprints across her cream carpet enough times for him to remember to do so. 

He headed to the kitchen, and opened the fridge, thirsty for a cold beer. He ruffled through the fridge impatiently, tossing aside leftovers and vegetables. “Damn it,” he said aloud. He had forgotten to ask his wife to pick some up on her last grocery run, which meant there would be no beer until Thursday. Jerry slammed the refrigerator door shut angrily. 

He surveyed the kitchen gloomily. It was very tidy; his wife always kept things tidy. He opened a few cabinets only to reveal neatly stacked china and sparklingly clean glasses. He huffed. The liquor cabinet in the dining room was his best option.

He shuffled into the dining room. The large wooden table sat in the middle of the room, barely used. The liquor cabinet stood at the end of the room, tall and gleaming. Jerry quickened his pace. He reached the cabinet, and stared at the bottles of amber liquid. He grasped the handle, only to remember it was locked. A lot of good that did. There hadn’t been kids in the house for nearly twenty years. Where was the damn key? His wife had probably hidden it in some perfectly organized drawer on her latest cleaning spree. 

Jerry stomped back into the kitchen, searching for the key ring that contained a random assortment of old keys: one to the file cabinet that he hadn’t used in years, one to the gun case in his office that contained old hunting rifles, and most importantly, the key to the liquor cabinet. 

He began opening kitchen drawers randomly, but to no avail. Could the keys be in the office? He sighed again, and slowly made his way down the hall to the office. His head had begun to hurt. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He needed that drink. 

It seemed no matter how many drawers Jerry checked, the keys evaded him. Eventually, he gave up and returned to the dining room, staring longingly at the alcohol in the cabinet, just inches away, yet currently unattainable. 

Maybe he could jimmy the lock, he thought. It was a rather old cabinet, after all. He went to the kitchen and retrieved some small metal skewers they used for roasting marshmallows when the grand kids used to visit. 

He inserted the skewers, carefully twisting them as best he could. His hands shook a bit, making it harder, but the cabinet opened easier than expected. He wondered if his kids had ever done that to steal booze. Probably. 

He happily tossed the skewers aside and grabbed the nearest bottle happily. Whiskey time. 

Jerry retired to the living room, and flopped down on the couch. He took a swig of the whiskey and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. It would suffice for now, but if his wife caught him drinking whiskey again she’d probably kick him out. Jerry wondered if that would be so bad. 

Jerry was about halfway through the bottle when he thought it might be nice to relax on the front porch. He stumbled across the living room and through the front door, almost tripping on the welcome mat on his way. He caught himself on the door frame and chuckled. “What a lightweight,” he said to himself.

He continued outside, passing the bear statue once again. He stopped briefly and smiled at the statue. He patted its head, as if it were a dog. “Hello,” he said, laughing. He kept on giggling as he walked by and sat on one of the old sun bleached lawn chairs. He surveyed the small lawn, the short grass extending to the edges of the thick woods that surrounded the house. It was summer time, so it was still light outside despite it being later in the evening. Jerry could hear crickets chirping nearby. The fresh smell of pine wafted through the summer air, and a dog barked forlornly in the distance. 

Jerry took a few more swigs of the whiskey before he painstakingly stood up out of the low chair. He wanted to watch the news as he always did when he returned from work. He left the nearly empty whiskey bottle by the lawn chair. 

He stumbled a bit once again when he reached the front door. He swayed on the spot, his vision blurring. He took a moment to stabilize himself, then took another step forward towards the doorway. As he stepped forward, his foot caught on something, perhaps the edge of one of the potted plants, and before he could react, he tumbled head first towards the ground. 

Before he could hit the ground, however, he felt his head connect with the top of the bear carving. He felt almost as if something on his forehead had burst. Jerry cried out in pain as he crumpled to the ground at its feet. He felt warm liquid spilling over his eyebrows. Shit. He got to his feet, still unsteady. He touched his head gingerly, and when he withdrew his fingers, he saw they were covered in blood. 

He stumbled inside, using his shirt to keep the blood from getting all over the carpet. He rushed to the bathroom, searching hastily for any sort of gauze or bandages. His wife was going to kill him. 

He finally found some gauze, and after rinsing his wound, he wrapped it carefully around his head. The wound wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed, just a small gash over his right eyebrow. Head wounds did bleed a lot, he reminded himself. 

Jerry knew that if he didn’t clean up the bloody mess outside, his wife was sure to have a heart attack when she came home. 

He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen, and lurched back outside, taking care to lift his feet properly with each step. 

He mopped up the blood on the porch to the best of his ability, but when he went to clean off the carving, he saw it was completely clean. That was impossible, he thought. There was no way he hadn’t gotten at least a little bit of blood on it. He leaned over the statue, confused. He reached out and touched it, to see if it was as dry as it seemed. A small drop of blood he had neglected to rinse off fell off his thumb and onto the statue’s head. It sat there for a moment, and then seemingly absorbed right into the wood. 

Well, that can’t be right, Jerry thought. The carving is surely sealed. Nothing should be able to sink into it. He frowned. He hoped the head wound wasn’t contributing to some sort of hallucination, but if it was, he thought, it was a very boring hallucination. 

Jerry decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. At least the carving was clean. He went back inside and plopped back down on the couch. He turned the TV on to Channel 3, and proceeded to watch the news. He had missed the opening segments, but it didn’t matter. Nothing much was going on in this small town anyway. 

Jerry was beginning to nod off when he heard a knock at the door. He immediately snapped into consciousness. Who would be knocking? His wife? Perhaps she had forgotten her keys... He checked his watch. It was far too early for his wife to be home. He leaned back on the couch and eyed the door. It was nearly dark out, but still light enough to see outside. The porch light had just turned on. He squinted, staring through the glass. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Maybe he had imagined it. He relaxed a bit, and turned his attention back to the television, which was playing a commercial for bear-proof trash cans. 

Jerry, now feeling rather sober and dehydrated, stood up and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He paused as he passed the front door. He thought he heard some sort of scraping sound. It reminded him of when his old dog Barley used to scratch the door to ask them if he could come inside. But there didn’t seem to be anything beyond the glass. 

Jerry continued to the kitchen, but did not take his eyes off the front door. He downed his glass of water quickly, then hurried back to the couch as if something was after him. He scoffed at the notion, but something deep down urged him to believe that it wasn’t so outrageous. 

Jerry kept watching TV, but he glanced at the door every now and then. 

After about twenty minutes, Jerry decided he’d had enough. He stood up from the couch and approached the front door. He didn’t like feeling paranoid, but his gut insisted something wasn’t right. 

There really did seem to be no one there. Jerry breathed a sigh of relief. It was probably just a bird or squirrel. Nothing worth worrying about. But, Jerry thought, just to be safe, I should look around. 

He opened the door and stepped outside cautiously. Everything seemed normal. The potted plants were where they belonged, and the lawn chair was where he’d left it, along with the nearly empty whiskey bottle. 

Jerry was about ready to laugh at himself, and go back inside, when he noticed something strange. The bear statue...had moved. Now, Jerry hadn’t actually seen it move, but he had walked by this carving every day for the past forty years. He knew what it looked like. 

Jerry stepped back, surveying the statue. Yes, he was sure of it. The bear no longer bore a faint, inviting smile. It now looked… angry. Its eyes were narrowed, and the wooden mouth curved downwards in a snarl. One paw appeared to be raised higher than it had been before. Its claws seemed… longer. 

Jerry felt his stomach turn. The sound of wood creaking filled his ears as the bear broke the form it had held for so long. It slowly turned to face Jerry, its eyes now gleaming and black, and very much alive. 

Before Jerry even knew what his body was doing, he found himself inside already locking the door. He wondered if a deadbolt would even do him any good at this point. And what point is that? He wondered. That he was losing his mind? He had just had a physical 2 months before, and besides the usual aging and liver problems, he was fine. He now felt sick.

Just when he felt like his stomach couldn’t sink any lower, he decided to peek through the door window. Stomach at his feet, he saw the stump. No bear, just the podium that the bear no longer had a use for.

Could it really be so bad? The bear was relatively small, after all, Jerry thought, it probably just ran off. To do what, he didn’t know, but he decided it really wasn’t any of his business what this small wooden bear wanted to do. Hopefully, it was just tiny bear stuff, far from Jerry.

Jerry backed away from the front door. What now? Surely he couldn’t go back to Channel 3 now. Should he warn his wife? She would think he went mad (which certainly wasn’t out of the question) and who even knew if the tiny bear was dangerous. Even if it wasn’t, it could leave a massive dent in her bumper. 

No, maybe it was best not to mention it to his wife. Though seemingly angry, the small bear was gone. His wife would probably be happy about that. She’d always hated the statue anyway. Jerry decided it wasn’t his problem anymore. Maybe he could even frame it as a present to her that he got rid of the thing. He retreated to the kitchen, and poked around halfheartedly for some snacks. After all the adrenaline, he was a bit hungry. He had barely started to search, however, when he heard the sound of small but heavy skittering sounds. Were they…coming from the wall? Jerry’s breath caught in his throat. He approached the wall, and carefully leaned closer. It sounded as though something heavy was walking—no, running—along the side of the wall, on the outside of the house. Jerry recoiled, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be… That wouldn’t be possible, even for a magic wooden bear. Would it? 

Magic wooden bear...The rule book was out the window at this point. Walking on walls shouldn’t shock him anymore. It didn’t matter, though, because the bear was outside and he was in. Magic bear or not, he doubted it could use door handles. 

A crash came from the other room. Doors be damned, they were both inside now.

Jerry didn’t know what to do. He began to glance around the kitchen in a panic, searching for some kind of weapon. An ax would probably be preferable, but all he had were steak knives. He frantically began opening drawers, until he found a large carving knife. How appropriate. He was about to shove the drawer closed when he noticed a jingling sound. The keys! He plunged his hand into the drawer and withdrew the keys, triumphant. A gun would definitely be the best weapon now, they worked well on real bears. He just needed to go get one. 

The gun case was located in his office, upstairs. He would need to go through the living room to get upstairs to get to the guns. Was the bear still in there? 

There was no time to waste. 

Jerry started to run. He turned the corner into the living room. Not wasting time to look around, he kept his focus on the stairs. As his foot touched the bottom step, he allowed himself a quick peek. 

Over by the broken window, on all fours stood the tiny wooden bear, among the shattered glass. Possibly stunned from barreling through the window, the bear was still. It sat there squatly, resembling a fat Manx cat. Maybe there was no reason to be scared. Jerry slowed halfway up the stairs to admire it. Maybe this was a misunderstanding. Maybe he needed a friend. Jerry stopped and looked at it. They locked eyes and glared into each other’s souls. I can’t believe I was worried, thought Jerry.

The bear snarled and leapt across the living room after Jerry. Jerry had been wrong a lot in his life, but he really wished he was right this time. He scrambled up the remaining stairs, knife and keys still gripped in his hand. He reached the top of the stairs and fled down the hall to his office, slamming the door behind him. He ran to the gun case that was mounted on the far wall, and began fumbling with the lock. He heard several loud thumps. The bear was making its way up the stairs. 

He gasped and dropped the keys. Damn! His office, the only place his wife didn’t clean, was a mess. The keys had become lost among the books and papers that littered the floor. Without thinking, Jerry gripped the carving knife and slammed the butt of it into the glass front of the gun case. It cracked. Jerry could hear the bear’s footsteps approaching down the hall. He gave the glass another hit, using all his energy. The glass shattered, cutting his hand. He didn’t have time to worry about that. He heard rapid footfalls, and then what sounded like the bear headbutting the door. Thud. He quickly grabbed the first rifle he could get his hands on — thud— and fumbled for the box of bullets to load it. Thud. He dropped a few in his rush, but managed to load some in. Thud. He quickly brought the bolt action up, blood pooling down his arm, his hands shaking. There was a brief silence… Followed by a rapid pitter patter that ended in his office door bursting open.

Bang. 

Jerry felt the rifle push back into his shoulder. He stumbled slightly. He was a lot older than he had been when he used to go hunting. 

The bullet cracked through the bear’s wooden forehead. It stopped and froze, as did Jerry. Looking into each other’s eyes once again, they had a similar, albeit somewhat different, moment as before. A crack had appeared along the bear’s forehead and nose. Near the top of its head, a piece of the wood seemed to have broken off. Jerry frowned. Instead of more wood, as one might have assumed, there was a shiny, fleshy pink surface speckled with veins. 

Jerry nearly gagged. The thing took a step towards him. Jerry quickly slid the bolt action back. He took aim. The bear looked at him, almost with an expression of contempt. The wood split off the flesh like a pistachio shell. The fleshy mass began to decompress, and straightened up, a good foot taller than the original bear statue had been, and much wider. 

Jerry fired again, but the bullet didn’t as much hit the fleshy mass as much as it sunk into it. The mass spun and twisted and revealed a mouth with an uncountable amount of teeth and above that, the same black beady eyes Jerry now knew well.

Jerry cried out in fear, and grappled with the rifle. He tried to slide the bolt action back, but it seemed to have jammed. “Not now,” Jerry pleaded. The monster moved forward, leaving behind bloody markings that quickly sunk into the cream carpet.  Finally, the mechanism clicked. 

Jerry looked up and raised his weapon, but the monster was already upon him. With a fluid tearing motion, Jerry was thrown across the room. He hit a bookshelf and fell to the floor, books falling on top of him. He looked down at himself, and only then did he realize his right arm was still across the room, at the creature’s feet. If you could call them that.

As the monster lunged at him, the last thing that crossed Jerry’s mind was how angry his wife was going to be when she saw the carpets. 

***

Jerry’s wife pulled into the driveway. She checked the clock on her dashboard. She sighed. It was pretty late. Jerry was probably going to be passed out on the couch. 

She got out of her car and shut the door, locking it, and swinging her purse over her shoulder. 

Jerry’s wife hummed tunelessly to herself as she approached the front door. She passed by all her flowers and plants, gently touching the leaves. She brushed past the wooden bear statue, practically ignoring it, and opened the front door. She set her purse down by the door and sighed. She headed straight to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea, unaware of what horrors awaited her upstairs.