The Bear
Fireworks. Shattering glass. Screaming.
I was being pulled from bed. For a moment, the dream blurred with reality.
A large hand gripped my forearm and dragged me from my sheets before I had time to understand that I was awake. I blinked hard, eyes dry with sleep. My brother was whispering something at me, already pulling me onto unsteady legs.
“Wren, get up.”
What?
I knew he was speaking. It just took a moment for my brain to catch up.
Wren, get up.
He pulled me behind him as he hurried across the room toward our sister’s bed. I stumbled after him, still trying to make sense of what was happening. I managed a grumble,
“Aiden, what’s going—”
“Shhh!”
He kept hold of my arm as he yanked our sister from her bed the same way he had me. She yelped, and before she could fully open her eyes, he bolted for the door. Her feet dragged across the floor as we stumbled after him. I reached toward her with my free hand, clumsily trying to help her steady herself.
Aiden shushed her when she started to speak and pulled us toward the bedroom door.
Seconds later, a loud BANG echoed through the house.
We all flinched,
Was that a gunshot?
Aiden stopped so suddenly that Lillian nearly ran into him. He caught her, steadied her, then let go.
Another blood-curdling scream.
Was I still dreaming?
We froze.
Mom’s wail came from somewhere downstairs. Dad was yelling, his voice loud and angry, but I couldn’t make out the words. Something heavy crashed and shattered. A deep rumble followed.
It sounded like...
Growling.
Was it a bear!? Goosebumps rose up my arms.
Gunfire.
Mom’s scream cut off seconds later. Something was seriously wrong.
Dad was yelling again. Furious. More gunfire. Then a crash somewhere deeper in the house, followed by a sound that seemed to move farther away.
Aiden whipped around and crouched in front of us.
How did a bear get inside?
I could feel panic taking over as my chest tightened. I reached out to Lillian; her small fingers darted out and gripped my hand. She was clammy and shaking, or maybe I was the one who was shaking.
Where was Mom?
Fireworks boomed outside, and I jumped. Bright colors flashed through the window, washing across Aiden’s face.
Yellow. Blue. Red.
His voice came out strained and low.
“Listen.” He glanced between us. “You need to be silent and follow me. We get outside. We get to the garage.”
His eyes settled on me.
“No matter what happens. Be quiet. Be smart. Do not stop.”
I fought the tears that were welling in my eyes and nodded, gripping Lillian’s hand tighter. We were silent as we followed him into the dim hallway. Moonlight filtered through the slanted blinds, barely lighting our path toward the stairs. I flinched at every sound. I wanted to call for Mom and Dad. I wanted to run back into my room and hide beneath the blankets until everything went away.
Instead, on trembling legs, I followed Aiden into the darkness.
We moved quickly down the stairs, so low to the ground we were nearly crawling. Lillian kept slipping on her too-long pajama pants. I was tugging her along as quickly as I could. Aiden was moving too fast. We were barely keeping up with him.
When we reached the short hallway leading to the living room, deep growls came from somewhere ahead. I strained to hear where they were coming from. It sounded like they were everywhere.
More gunfire.
The shots echoed against the walls and made my ears ring. Dad screamed again, this time a shrill, broken sound that barely sounded human.
I nearly sobbed.
Lillian clamped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent tears. I pressed against the cool wall and took a few shallow breaths. Aiden grabbed me and pulled me forward into the room, Lillian close behind me.
Another round of fireworks exploded outside.
Dark puddles reflected the light.
Yellow. Blue. Red.
The air was damp and smelled... wrong. Metallic, like the inside of my piggy bank. The front windows had been broken inward. Glass and splintered wood covered the couch and coffee table. Hot summer air poured into the house from the moonlit yard. Fresh goosebumps crawled up my arms.
It had to be a bear. Or a mountain lion.
But why would it do this?
Aiden stopped.
We were all breathing shallowly. I was shaking so hard it felt like a swarm of angry bees had filled my arms and legs.
One second, he was standing in front of me.
Then I heard him hit the ground.
I saw the shape throw him before I understood what I was looking at. Time seemed to slow as he slid across the floor, something dark on top of him.
Bear.
I barely registered his order to run before I was bolting through the front door, Lillian sprinting behind me.
We made it halfway down the driveway before she tripped.
A second later, something slammed into me.
White-hot pain tore through my side. Then my skull cracked against the gravel.
Darkness.
Who was screaming?
I was on my back, shaking so hard my teeth clacked together. Fireworks danced across the distant sky, but I couldn’t hear them anymore.
All I could hear were the cicadas, their endless droning filling the night. The silver moon smiled down at me, swollen and bright.
Where was Mom?
Where was Mom... She loves the moon...
My eyes found the shape of my little sister as something dragged her across the yard and toward the tree line.
Mountain lion.
I stared ahead, unable to move. Unable to think. I felt my eyes go heavy; my pain disappeared with my thoughts.
They found me two days later.
Walking down Highway 82.
I don’t know how I got there. I don’t remember leaving the house. One moment I was in the driveway, and then I was here. My sunflower pajamas were crusted with blood and dirt. My blond hair was nearly black with mud. An old man in a bright yellow truck stopped for me.
The next few weeks blurred together.
Police. Hospitals. DCFS.
I couldn’t answer their questions the way they wanted.
No one believed the things I did remember. To them, I was a scared, twelve-year-old girl who didn’t understand what had happened.
DCFS placed me in a home within a week. An orphan with no relatives.
I was kicked out the same month after I woke to find my room trashed and my foster father standing in the doorway, furious.
They called it a mental breakdown.
It took another month to piece together what had happened.
It took nearly a year to understand what it meant for the rest of my life.
And on the cusp of my seventh year, everything I thought I understood blew up like a firework.
