The Adventures of Dorea Tress, Page 3

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  The first thing he noticed when we arrived at the cabin was the three chairs and three beds. I put him down, and he hopped and slid on his one good leg to the kitchen cupboards, opened them and handled the three bowls stacked there. Then he noticed the folder I’d left on the kitchen table. With some effort and squirming on his part he managed to seat himself at the kitchen table where he picked up the blue file folder. The newspaper and magazine clippings spilled out. He began to read one, then another, quickly skimming through them, looking at the photos.

  “These articles about bears, why are they here?” I could taste something in the air then. Slightly sweet like tree syrup and sour too, the kind of musky reek that dampens the air when an animal is frightened. Christopher picked out one article and read it in the small spill of moonlight. “Those articles are mine,” I said. Christopher looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Dr. Bruno says I have to read them until I can accept what has happened.”

  “These people were all killed by crazed bears, rabid beasts.” He read the headlines aloud: Bear Chews Hot Tubber, Hiker Eaten, Children Attacked, Dogs, Cats, Pets bitten and ripped apart by a ‘crazy’ bear.”

  Just then something began scratching incessantly at the door. A critter wanted in.

  “What’s that?” Christopher asked, nervously. I went to the door. “No!” Christopher screamed. “Don’t open the door!”

  But I did open the door.

  “What the f—“Chris climbed up onto the table. The dead rabbit I’d smelled on the trail was at the door. The brown bloated hare burst into the room like a rocket headed for Christopher, straight for his fresh flesh. But I caught the little Thumper before he tore a strip from Chris. I ripped the rabbit’s head from its body. That was the only way to stop it.

  “Sorry,” I said. I threw the head into the stone fireplace, but not before I checked it for brains, alas, there were none, I’d sucked them out long ago. I lit a wooden match I kept in the drawer. I built a fire using some wood that had already been gathered. Then I took the rabbit carcass and bit into its hide. My teeth and hands ripped skin from muscle and sinew, and I tossed the fur and skin into a corner of the cabin. I threw the bug ridden carcass in a water filled cauldron on the wood burning stove. I stoked the fire. “It’s not too bad when it’s cooked,” I said.

  “That rabbit was rotten. Dead and maggoty,” Christopher complained.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “What? What could be worse?” His eyes looked large and frightened. I saw the moon reflected in his stare.

  “Night is upon us – the creatures are coming. They’ll be hungry. The rabbit’s only the beginning,” I said.

  I thought I could protect Christopher from every animal monster that came to the cabin. I’d created them. I’d bitten them all. Ricky Joe had known exactly who I was. He’d recognized my work, not as a child actress, but as the spirit that ran through these woods. When time first dawned in this forest, Little-Daughter ran here, misbehaving. As a child I had an insatiable appetite, but these days Dr. Bruno reminded me, I was all grown up. Still, I wasn’t sure if I could save Christopher. “What’s – what’s happened to you? Are you rabid?” He asked. He threw a magazine article at me. The article Christopher tossed floated toward the roaring fire pit and caught the flames, then became ash. Outside the soft rustle and shuffle of forest creatures beneath the windows grew louder.

  Christopher sputtered; his spittle flew across the space between us and landed on my lip. I licked it away. I shouldn’t have. That put me over the edge. “They’re coming, Chris,” I said.

  “Christopher!” He insisted that I call him by that great long name.

  Christopher crept slowly closer to the fire, perhaps he felt cold, or safer there, or perhaps he sensed the truth about his predicament. His terror was evident in his trembling hands which moved like cautious spiders across the stonework, seeking a crevice to crawl into. He took hold of baby bear’s chair and dragged it over to support his injured leg, but the chair really was too small because the foot and ankle had swollen to an enormous size. The chair broke when he placed his weight on it. It was an old movie chair, designed to break under pressure. Christopher sat hunched over in Papa bear’s chair and this made him look small, and fragile, and very, very vulnerable.

  He looked at me, his eyes glassy with pain and fear. “I guess rabid is a close description of my behaviour, but you don’t die from what I have. You never die, but you don’t live happily-ever- after,” I tried to explain.

  “What then?” he asked meekly.

  “It makes me want to bite.” I said gnashing my teeth. I didn’t want to gnash my teeth. I didn’t want to frighten poor young Christopher. But his spittle on my lips, the smell of his blood, the moon shining through the window, all of these worked against my control, my own personal choice as Dr. Bruno put it. I couldn’t help myself, yet, the good Dr. insisted that I could help myself, and I suppose I have helped myself though not in the manner he’d suggested.

  I felt the golden hair on my head, arms and legs bristle. I clenched my teeth and began grinding them; this kind of behaviour was against Dr. Bruno’s orders. I tried to talk with my captor. Yet, I burned inside, that part of me that would never die wanted out, wanted desperately to take control, and I yearned to taste Christopher’s flesh and brains, even though he was a skinny and bony meal. When I noticed how thin he was, I understood why the witch of the woods held Hansel and tried to fatten him up. I wanted to do the same, but then the three bears arrived in the yard, and I forgot my struggle. I became what I was, Little-Daughter.

  I heard the bears charging around outside, bumping the walls of the cabin like testy sharks. How on earth could I protect Christopher? He needed more time. The bite I’d given him on the leg was small and for that reason he would take longer to become what he must. I’d promised Dr. Bruno no more eating, and ripping, and swallowing whole, only small bites, and so I had been gentle with Christopher. He seemed like such a gentle young man. These were the small steps I had taken, but good ones, yes, I was doing well, the Dr. even said so the last time we spoke. Yet the forest seemed to descend on us, Christopher and me, in this rickety cabin. All the creatures I’d bitten, and, hence, the ones they’d bitten were finding their way through the night to the cabin, where they smelled blood and bones and boy.

  “Christopher, listen to me.”

  He didn’t look at me, but I continued anyway. “The forest is alive with death. I come out here to run and – well, bite, and gnaw, and chew. I confess. I bit you out there in the woods.”

  “You bit me?” he asked, “When we fell and tumbled?”

  Another crash outside frightened us both, and we leaped atop the table. I stood ready to do battle, while he balanced like a stork. “If any of the critters outside that door get in here you will be eaten. You’re pulsing with life. They’ll tear you apart and there will be nothing left of you my woodland friend.”

  “I’d rather it go that way,” he said.

  “No! No you don’t know what you’re saying. I’m sorry I bit you but, there was nothing left alive in the forest for me to bite. I couldn’t stop myself from stalking you. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Dr. Bruno says I can stop myself. Yet, consistently, my choice has been to turn every creature in these woods, and the very worst are the deer. They’re horrid. They’re savage.”

  “Whatever,” he said. All hope gone from his voice. Then the two zombears crashed through the door. Baby zombear clambered in over the window frame.

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  It was over pretty quickly. Papa bear hadn’t left any traces of the young man. Christopher would never be back, except as a steaming pile somewhere in the woods. Papa wouldn’t even let baby bear have a bone. Mama bear tried to clean up, but it was too messy; she only made it worse. It wouldn’t take much time for everyone to get hungry again in these hundreds of acres of woods and didn’t Christopher say he’d lost hi
s pet. I licked my lips. I’d have to go find it. I was pretty sure I saw a new movie cast and crew out there shooting in the woods, a story about little Red Riding Hood, just thinking about her skipping alone along the trail made me drool. She needed a friend out there.

  Once upon a time the three bears lived in Little-Daughter’s woods and then worked for the movie industry that is until baby bear bit me. Okay, that’s not entirely true. If the three bears hadn’t frightened me by waking me from my deep, deep slumber, not with a kiss, but a growl, I probably would not have chomped down on baby bear first.

  END

  If you enjoyed this story then here’s an excerpt for the next terrorizing tale.

  The

  The plastic bags rustled in the back of the car. I checked the rear view mirror. Baby slept soundly in her car seat. The van’s rear windows were closed, so the rustling wasn’t the wind. The groceries looked fine. I continued driving, but when the soft quiet rustle of grocery bags started up again, I pulled over to the side of the road to check them more carefully.

  I dumped every bag and checked for rodents, but found nothing.

  Baby continued to sleep.

  When I reloaded the car, the frozen food had melted. I left the ice-cream, orange juice and a few other soggy foods at the side of the road.

  I drove the rest of the way home, relieved to finally get there.

  ****

  My shadow on the garage wall showed a thin silhouette with my hair stuck out like devil’s horns. I hadn’t showered or done my hair in weeks. I couldn’t leave Baby unattended. It was always a challenge to shower or shop, or eat, but now she slept so quietly in her car seat I didn’t dare try to take her out. I checked under the car to make sure she was safe, and then I unloaded the groceries. When I brought the groceries to the kitchen, I checked the inside of the dishwasher to make sure there was nothing that could harm her.

  I reminded myself to check the microwave.

  Then, I remembered I’d given the microwave away. I hadn’t wanted those unseen waves hurting my delicate Baby.

  I checked inside the oven and found Lolly, our pet cat, curled asleep inside.

  Who had put her there?

  I shooed her outside.

  I wouldn’t give her the opportunity to steal Baby’s breath.

  I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d shopped, made a long stop at the side of the road, found nothing untoward inside the house, put away groceries, and avoided an encounter with the Wall, and Baby slept through it all. I carried Baby upstairs to her crib, wondering if I should wake her. I wanted to give her a bath, but hadn’t given her one since the day I brought her home. If she slipped under the water I’d never forgive myself. Baby wouldn’t sleep tonight after this long nap. When I got to the nursery I saw that my luck had run out.

  The Wall was there.

  Waiting.

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