The Bear Room Short Story

Hello again, dear blog reader. Here’s the first of my short stories for your entertainment. It’s a little creepy, as is the way for this time of year. Mwu-ha-ha-ha-haa!

This was originally an entry in a short story competition that I enjoyed writing, but I didn’t place in the top three. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!

The Bear Room: A Creepy Tale

The room spins as I open my eyes. I sit up and hold my head in my hands for a few moments, wondering what I’m doing here. A bead of sweat trickles down my face and drops to the floor, leaving a perfect circle on the dusty concrete. My jaw involuntarily clenches, and I feel my teeth press hard against each other, almost as if they’re trying to prevent the gag rising in my throat. I take a deep breath, hoping to calm the nausea creeping in, but it does little to help.

I retch a few times and spit bile before my stomach realises there’s nothing to expel. My breathing slows, and the spinning wanes. I cast an eye over my featureless, dismal surroundings, trying to assess where I am.

A faint, dim light spreads about the room as if poured from the grimy, web-strewn skylight above, throwing strange shadows against the walls and floor. I stare at each one, daring them to move, even slightly. When I’m finally satisfied that the shadows hold no danger, I stand.

It takes me a while to get to my feet. I stumble as I rise, almost toppling back to the cold floor before I catch myself. The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are a few features beyond a tatty camp bed and a steel sink.

The skylight is too high to reach, even when standing atop the bed. I can’t tell whether the light seeping through is natural or artificial; a thin yellow glaze covers each small rectangular pane. There’s one door into the room. It’s set into the wall, above floor level: three small concrete steps and a metal railing lead up to it.

I gingerly climb the steps and automatically reach out to take the handle. I grip nothing but air as my hand passes through the space where I expect to feel cold metal. There’s no handle on my side of the door. I look at the stark metal plate covering where it should be. Five screws hold it in place, and a sixth screwless hole is a visible testament to someone’s idleness.

The head of each screw has been scratched and deformed. Their original crosses are brutally worked into cones. I turn and look back into the room from my slightly elevated vantage point. It’s a small room, barely wider than the cot bed. There’s no sense of the room’s temperature. It’s neither warm nor cold, merely ambient. No breeze, no feeling of air movement. All is still, and all is grey.

My eyes are drawn to something strange in the centre of the room—a child’s teddy bear. Was it there before? Did I walk past it without noticing? It sits innocently, its head slightly cocked, as if awaiting a reply to an unasked simple question. I step down from the platform and walk closer, a strange feeling of dread increasing with each step.

I stand over the bear for a short while, watching as its unmoving form stares at my ankles. I squat and stare into its eyes for a few moments as it continues its silent vigil. I reach out, my fingers shaking slightly, and stop. Ever so gently, the head of the bear rolls slowly upwards. Its eyes stare directly into mine. My heart freezes in my chest, and my lungs stiffen. I pull my hand away as if my fingers were burned and gently fall backwards.

The bear’s eyes are slightly chipped, making them seem accusing and menacing. The stare continues as I attempt to regain my balance, the seconds stretching into hours until gravity finally claims me. Almost as mirror images, both the bear and I topple backwards to lie staring at the skylight.

I wait a few moments, catching my breath and waiting for my now-thumping heart to slow. I prop myself up and look at the now-empty patch of concrete where I last saw the bear. I scramble backwards, kicking myself along with my feet and scrabbling with my hands until my back hits the wall with a thump. Where had it gone? Had it been there at all, or was my mind playing tricks on me?

I sit there and breathe deeply, desperately trying to regain control of the terror slowly taking over my mind. I barely have myself under control when my eyes catch something in the corner of the room. The dim light makes it difficult to see, but I know the shape—the bear.

I watch it for a second or two while convincing myself that I must have kicked it over there as I fell backwards. I don’t believe myself, but I repeat it over and over under my breath. I blink, and in the tiny amount of time between my eyes closing and reopening, the room goes black. I open them to nothing. No light. No sound. I panic and shuffle myself along the wall until I reach the corner. I bury my shoulders as far as I can into the space and hug my knees.

I pray for the light to return as I begin to sob. I can feel the wet patch spreading as my tears soak into my jeans. I’m relieved as the light begins to return, slow at first, gently building to its pre-darkness level. My sobs slow and stop. I wipe my cheeks and my nose dry and stand once more.

I turn my head and stare at the bear in the corner. It sits on its side now, head still facing me, eyes still staring out into the room. An uncontrollable rage seizes me. I blame the bear for terrifying me and stride angrily towards it. I snatch it up from where it lay and grip it tightly, snarling and swearing at it as I rant. The bear stares blankly back at my rage, once again inert.

My anger grows further as I throw it to the floor and stomp on it with one foot. I jump and land both feet on the bear. I smile and snarl at the same time. A devilish thought comes to me as I squat to lift the bear to my face. I stare into those scratched eyes, their blackness rivalling the feeling inside me, before turning the bear over in my hands. I notice the seam has split down the bear’s side. Small pieces of its clean white stuffing tumble and glide to the floor as I watch.

An evil thought pushes me to begin pulling at the stuffing, faster and faster. I rip out the bear’s innards. I kick and throw the small balls of fluff around the room as if I’m trying to coat every millimetre of the floor. The rage inside me subsides as I look once more into its cold, dead eyes. The sad remains of the bear tumble through my hands; its body is deflated, and one ear is missing. Ashamed, I place the head of the bear in the corner facing the wall and turn to sit on the creaky bed.

Suddenly, there’s a noise. A jangle of keys. A metallic thump as a lock turns and a squeal of old hinges as they resist opening the heavy door. I count the seconds in my head, waiting for someone or something to step through. Nobody enters.

Gingerly, I return to my feet. I take slow, cautious steps towards my exit, hugging the wall and watching the back of the bear’s head. I stop before I reach the first step and stare at the door. The opening beckons to me as it sits quietly, and my mind screams for freedom. I gulp and restrain my urge to rush the door.

I place my hand on the rail and gingerly take the steps up, taking one last look back into the room. Pieces of the bear litter the floor, and tiny motes of stuffing are floating gently in the air. I feel a pang of guilt at my outburst. The bear had done nothing wrong. It was merely a focus for my fear and paranoia.

I smile as I realise my flaws and step up to the door. I push it and move through, out of the room. I take a few steps away from the door and turn to see it closing behind me. I say farewell to the room and take in my freedom. At first, I don’t believe the evidence of my own eyes. I turn and see the doorway is concealed on this side; the faintest of seams in the concrete betraying its existence. I look around me, and it’s then that I recognise the sound of my screaming.

The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are a few features beyond a tatty camp bed and a steel sink. In the centre of the room is a child’s teddy bear. It sits with its head slightly cocked as if awaiting a reply to an unasked simple question.

The End

I hope you liked the short story I wrote. Let me know in the comments if you think this was scary enough for Halloween weekend. Remember to join my mailing list for more good things and updates on book releases.