The Bear Attack

This place had grown out of the ground. It lived and moved and if I listened closely or felt my hands over the cracks in the wood, I could feel it breathing. Everyday, it would cry. It’s tears would run down the walls and hit the bottom where it would crawl and climb back up as these dark green plants that too seemed to look around as I passed. They cried as well. Much more silently. Much more subtle. If I were to lay on the floor beneath them, I would be carried ever so slightly by shudders in the wood. I made routine to pet and talk to the plants. They would look at me and raise their leaves and for a week or two, the shudders would go away. Sometimes, the plants would slowly creep back into the house and I would wonder if they lived fully; if I helped them live peacefully. I wondered too if they ever really died and I would go outside to find them somewhere in all the green.

Everything, we hung and placed high. The tears made all the work difficult. Then, the house would move and clothes would soak in the ground, equipment was lost, documents found two weeks later buried deep within the walls. We were afraid to lose one of us, but the house only seemed to move when no one was present. Still, we had to meet in the center of the house--wherever that may be--every morning to be safe. At night, I swore I could hear a deep groan from within the house. A blast of cold wind would fall across me in the dark and the shifting, twisting, breaking, and creaking of wood would sound. The plants would rise up and sink slowly again.

It was maybe 8 months in when we lost the armory. My mother had turned her back on the room for only a second and it was gone. Digging into the walls revealed nothing. It was then we started contemplating returning. What kept us there was the river out back. The forest that was previously at the bottom of that hill had sunk into the ground and a bright, wide river took its place. It came up from the ground on one side of the house, rounded the back, then dived back into the ground on the other side. The grass and plants on either side of the river was plastic and rubber. We kept what guns we still had close while keeping track of the river and the ground. New plastic plants would grow every night. The rubber grass grew and cut itself. We found the river to be purified to levels of bottled water. No bugs. No life.

I remember hearing the groans again. The shifting wood. I stood and followed the noises. A wind circled through the halls of the house. The walls and ceilings all flowed like waves. The details in the floor swayed back and forth like the movement of a snake. The plants grew and shrank and a few reached up towards the ceiling and dropped back down across the hall. I kept following until I made it out back. Then, it was the ground moving. The plastic grass. It flowed down the hill and over the river and ended its journey on a mere bump in the ground on the other side of the river. As I walked, I could feel the grass growing around my feet. Some seemed to be tugging at me. I came to the edge of the river and stepped in. Before, it would go up to my waist. Now, it barely covered my ankles. On the other side of the river, I could make out a brown smudge like fingerprints in the air. My eyes were always over there, but I had still missed it. The smudge came together into a palpable shape. The shape rose and grew and breathed and watched and raised it paws to come toward me. I stepped back and turned and it was there behind me. I turned once more and let it grab my back and throw me to the river. I cried out and hoped someone would hear. Everything got light for a moment before the weight of the air threw itself across my body and my back was torn open. I shoved my face into the water and inhaled as much as I could. If I drowned, then I wouldn’t have to endure the pain much longer. It dragged me to the other side of the river and bit at my neck and shoulders. The claws came down again and turned me onto my torn back. Teeth came back down and began on my neck. I tried to breathe. It rose up from me, bit at the sky, and fell to the side. I laid and watched the stars as they slowly faded into the night sky.

When I woke up, I was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. My legs were numb. My neck was sore. I lifted myself up and made work to wiggle my toes. From there, it was moving whole legs. I rolled my pant leg up and blood dripped out into the grass. I moved my legs more until I was confident enough to stand. I shuffled my way back into the house to find the cut on my leg as my only injury.

I made my way to the center of the house. They all turned and looked at me as I came in. My mother asked where I was. I told them about the attack. The reporter took his gun and I followed him out back. No river. No hill. No plastic grass. No bear. The forest had come back up from the ground and taken over the land again. We determined our findings complete and the following week, we left. On the last night, the house groaned again, but this time did not move. The plants all crept back into the walls and floors. Rooms unoccupied sank into the ground. An hour after departure, the ground shook and the plants and trees around us grew a bit. A wind picked up. Rain fell.

Author's Note

yeah