My short story, “Zantiel,” was recently published in the LUST anthology by Black Hare Press. This marks the 100th publication featuring one or more of my stories since I have been writing and submitting my work. This is a wonderful milestone for me.
In celebration of reaching 100 publications, I have decided to share the very first story I ever published, way back in 2000. It’s not my best work, and I was highly tempted to do some revisions and editing before posting it, but ultimately I decided to leave it untouched and share it with you, warts and all.
“The Love Bear,” originally appeared in Volume 2, Issue #5 of Dark Moon Rising, it was their September, 2000 edition.
Dark Moon Rising eventually went on to publish four more of my fiction pieces in their magazine over the next few years before they closed their doors in 2004.
I am forever grateful to the magazine and its publisher, Angela Silliman, for giving me my start as a published author and for providing me the confidence to keep writing and submitting my short stories to other venues.
And here is where it all began. So, with no further ado:
THE LOVE BEAR
I woke to an irritating screech that left my blood cold. Quickly rolling over, I slammed off my banshee clock alarm and sat up, shivering through the nausea and headache of an adrenaline aftershock. For perhaps the thousandth time I swore I would buy a new clock and give the old one a burial at sea via the nearest sewer. When my heart finally slowed in my chest to something approximating normal, I pulled on my bathrobe, grabbed my shampoo, and headed for the showers down the communal hall from my dorm room. I knew right away that today was different from most days. Something felt a little weird; a little wrong. First off, here I was up and awake at 6:30 in the morning, and on a Saturday.
Christ! It was Saturday!
Nobody in his right mind gets up this early on a Saturday morning except maybe paperboys and a few neighborhood dogs. I was neither. So why the hell had I set my alarm for so early?
I stopped half way down the hall when I realized all this and turned around to go back to my room. Inside, my roommate, like normal people, still slept soundly. I soon joined him in unconsciousness.
***
10:30 AM. The phone rang. Twice in the same day being awakened by sudden loud noises is a little hard on the nervous system. Well, at least the hour was a little more reasonable. I got up to answer while Dave slept blissfully on.
“H’lo,” I said trying to wake up enough to hear the reply.
“Mike?” asked a girl’s voice.
“Mmmm?”
“This is Stephanie. Did you sleep well?”
Stephanie! Eyes open. Head cleared.
“Hi, Steph. How are you?”
“Fine.”
Sarcasm. Uh-oh. That meant something upset her, and the odds rested at better than even that “something” involved me.
“Except I almost missed my job interview at eight o’clock because somebody who promised to call and wake me at seven, didn’t.”
That answered the alarm clock question. Unfortunately.
“I’m sorry, Steph. I forgot all about it.”
“I’m glad I’m so important to you.”
Ouch.
“I didn’t mean … I…” Hell! “I really am sorry. Did you do all right on your interview?”
“I think so. As if you really cared,” she said, not sounding quite so angry.
“I love you. Is there something I can do to make this up to you? Anything.” I felt guilty, like I had just run over some kid’s puppy. Twice
“As a matter of fact,” she said, brightening instantly, “there is one thing you can do….”
I hung up feeling like I had just been had. I swallowed her little victim act hook, line and sinker, and she had happily reeled me in.
A carnival! A little carnival slash amusement park had set up for the weekend a couple of miles north of town and she wanted to go. She wanted me to take her. Actually, it might not be so bad. I enjoyed carnivals, and I was glad to do anything that made me feel better about forgetting to call Steph.
“Who was that?” asked my roommate, finally waking up. He ran a hand through his hair to unmat it.
“Your mother,” I said. “She wanted to know if I’d be available to bone her later. She just can’t get enough of me.”
“Die.” Direct and to the point. One of the things I liked about Dave.
He got up, threw on some clothes and started for the Dining Commons to get some breakfast.
“You coming?” he asked as he went out the door.
“No.” Why tempt fate, I figured. Today was Saturday and I had the rest of the weekend free. D.C. food had not proved fatal yet, but why take chances on a day off. Besides, I didn’t eat breakfast very often anyway.
I locked the door after Dave left, put the keys in my bathrobe pocket, and for the second time that morning I wandered off to the showers.
***
The rest of the day passed pretty smoothly, albeit a bit slowly. No homework had been assigned in any of my classes for the weekend, so I found other things to keep myself occupied. I read a few chapters of a new science fiction novel I bought recently, after which I ate some lunch and called Steph again to make final plans for taking her over to the carnival that evening. When I hung up I had three hours left to kill before I had to pick her up. I ended up vegetating in front of the television set. It’s amazing how absolutely fascinating children’s cartoons can be when you’re bored out of your mind. He-Man, Bugs Bunny; what actors!
Saturday afternoon crept by slowly, like an animal afraid to move while you watch it, and only wiggling an inch or so when you look away. I did not even have anyone to talk to to help relieve the monotony. Dave had left earlier in the day. His family lived only twenty minutes off campus, so he spent most of his weekends at home. I never could figure out why he didn’t live at home full time and avoid the cost of campus housing.
Eventually 5:30 rolled around. I grabbed my jacket and practically ran out of the dorm building, glad to be away from the now suffocating little room. I had been about ready to bang my head on the wall just for something to do.
Stephanie met me at the front door of her building. She looked great. She was dressed casually in jeans, tennis shoes, and a pink blouse under a gray sweatshirt. But the look on her face really made my day. She was smiling. I was out of the doghouse. I gave her a hug and a quick kiss and told her to come on or we’d be late. Late for what I don’t know, but I was in a hurry to get going. Maybe I thought if we stood there too long, I would eventually say something stupid and land myself back in trouble. The idea was not so ridiculous. I had done it before.
But my luck continued to improve. The drive over took less than fifteen minutes, and I found a parking space right away. I parked the car in a dirt lot, marked off with hay bales, close by the front entrance of the carnival. We headed up to the front gates and purchased a booklet of tickets for the rides. Actually, I should clarify that although we went to the front gate, I bought all the tickets for the rides. One of the provisions of our earlier agreement regarding this trip to the carnival was that I would cover all of the expenses while Steph would chose what rides we would go on. I suppose it could have been worse. She might have made me pay for everything and then had me wait for her in the car.
The first ride she wanted to go on also proved to be my personal favorite; the Ferris wheel. The sun had streaked the sky a brilliant orange-red as it set majestically behind the foothills to the west and the air still held enough summer warmth, making this the perfect time to ride. At the top of the wheel I could look out for miles in any direction. As the sun moved further down and the daylight dwindled I could make out the lights of the city to the South. I put my arm around Steph and she snuggled down against my chest. I smiled at the warmth of her against me and the smell of her hair. I wished the ride would last forever, and apparently so did Stephanie. We rode three more time before moving on to another ride. As we stepped away from the wheel the last time, full dark had descended and the carnival now shone with only its own glaring, noisy illumination.
Next on the Stephanie’s list was the merry-go-round, followed by the giant slide, twice, then the bumper cars, kiddy kar ride, and so on. I have no idea how Stephanie could stand all that excitement in just one night.
“How about the roller coaster?” I suggested as we dismounted from a ride titled “The Rocket.” The only thing fast about it had been the pitchman at the turnstile. All the slow rides she selected started making me feel like a five year old, and I wanted something a little more adult before I started feeling the need to compare myself to the cartoon characters in front of the attractions saying “You must be as tall as me to go on this ride.”
Stephanie stopped walking and looked at me. “You promised,” she said, placing her hands on her hips.
“Yeah,” I sighed. Then, pasting on a smile, “What would you like to do next?”
“How about the roller coaster?”
“Aw, do I have to?” I feigned a whine and grinned stupidly.
She laughed and ran on ahead.
After the roller coaster, we explored a few of the other attractions, and this, along with buying something to eat every fifteen minutes, was rapidly emptying my pockets. But I didn’t complain. After all, I had promised.
Next, we began to explore the gaming areas, starting with the video arcade room. We exited five minutes and four dollars later. Walking on, we saw dart throwing, basketball toss, throwing dimes at glasses and ashtrays, water gun shoot, hoop toss and about a dozen others, all with loud talking attendants trying to draw attention to their particular enterprise. We strolled along, playing some while ignoring others. I spotted a booth where some people were throwing softballs and trying to break plastic dishes. I had been a pretty good pitcher in high school so naturally I found myself drawn to this game. In spite of the fact I hadn’t touched a baseball in over two years, I knew I was still the greatest thing ever to be placed on a pitching mound since the rubber.
A natural assumption.
I turned to Stephanie. “Now I know it’s your decision, but wouldn’t you love to see me pitch a few strikes and win you a stuffed animal?”
She laughed.
“Treat yourself to a dollar,” she said.
I did just that … and then some. With my first three balls I broke one plate. With the next three I did not break any. After a minute and a half I had thrown fifteen balls and broken three plates. Not a very good average, but I was warmed up now. On my sixth attempt I went all out, breaking all three dishes and almost dislocating my arm.
“Congratulations,” said the kid working the booth. “You just won yourself a Love Bear.”
He handed me a fat, honey-colored teddy bear about ten inches tall. The eyes were round black beads and the nose and mouth were a series of badly done stitches with orange thread.
“Love bear?” I asked, examining the far from lovable little creature.
“Yeah. It responds to your love and affection, so be nice to him.”
“Sure,” I agreed, holding the bear by its stuffed hind leg and tossing it to Stephanie. She caught it and gave me a dirty look.
“That wasn’t being very nice.” Holding the bear out towards me, she said, “Now tell him you’re sorry.”
I stared at her for a moment wondering if she was serious or not. I decided I had better go along with it. After all, tonight was supposed to be to make up for this morning’s screw up, so I thought I had better not make matters worse by doing something else to upset her.
“I’m sorry, bear,” I said and patted it on the head. A sharp pain in my finger caused me to jerk my hand away. A bright red bead of blood formed as I studied my injured anatomy. I swore under my breath and wiped the drop of blood onto my jeans.
“Oh, look,” cried Stephanie. “There’s a pin in his ear. Poor little thing.” She pulled out the pin and tossed it on the ground. “Isn’t he cute though?”
“Sure. Cute,” I muttered. My finger still throbbed but at least the bleeding had stopped.
We stayed at the carnival another two hours or so, during which time Steph hardly said ten words to me. She was not mad at me; she just had all her attention focused on the bear. She kept cuddling it and babbling at it as if she were talking to a new baby. Even on the trip home she continued her running dialog with the bear, all but ignoring me. She sat it in her lap and pointed out things along the roadway she thought the toy might find interesting. Every bird, bush or signpost generated some kind of comment addressed to the bear.
“What are you doing?” I finally said after putting up with her silliness as long as I could. “The damn thing isn’t alive.”
“Hush. You’ll hurt his feelings.” She glared at me, then turned back to the bear. “He didn’t mean it, Teddy.”
This was going a little too far for me. I rapidly grew to hate that fuzzy nuisance. It is embarrassing to admit, but I think I was actually jealous of a teddy bear.
When we got back to the dorms I was perfectly willing to forget all about the bear, but Steph wasn’t. I asked her if she wanted to come back to my room for a little while. I reminded her that Dave had gone home for the weekend.
“No,” she said. “Teddy and I have to get to sleep early tonight.”
That did it. I had had enough.
“What do you mean ‘Teddy and I’? You treat that bear as if it was alive. And you completely ignored me tonight. I’m sorry I ever won that thing.”
“Quiet!” she hissed, holding the bear’s ears.
I tore it out of her hands and swore a few times. I’m not sure if I was yelling at Steph or the bear.
“Stop acting as if this is anything more than a rag with buttons and stitching. It doesn’t have any feelings, but I do!”
“Give it back,” she said evenly, holding out her hand.
“No!” I yelled back. I started to feel foolish, but I would not back down. “Maybe I should burn this thing,” I said just to be cruel.
My comment really made her angry. Steph began to yell, and I just yelled right back. We argued and fought for about five minutes before Stephanie turned and ran off crying.
“Damn!” I said to myself. I slammed the bear against the side of my car. One of the glass eyes left a long scratch in the paint. “This is all your fault,” I yelled at the bear.
Christ! Now I was talking to it.
I stormed back to my room, opened the door and threw the bear at the far wall. It fell onto my desk, knocking over the small lamp and breaking the bulb.
“Shit!”
I picked him up again and tossed him face down on my roommate’s bed. Next, I cleaned up the broken glass, turned off the overhead lights and stripped down to go to sleep. I did not feel particularly sleepy, but I could not wait for this rotten day to be over.
***
The day mercifully did end, but I could not have been asleep for more than a couple of hours when I was awakened again by … something. I lay still on the bed with my eyes still closed for a few seconds, trying to focus on what had disturbed my sleep. I heard a noise that was so subtle I could not identify it right away, but suddenly I realized someone or something was humming. Not the irritating monotone of an electrical hum. It sounded more like a person crooning some type of song I had never heard before. After a moment I realized something else that caused me to break into a cold sweat.
It came from inside the room.
“Who’s there?” I asked, still lying down and trying unsuccessfully to keep my voice steady.
The humming continued without a pause.
I leaped out of my bed and fled for the light switch across the room. When the room was fully illuminated … it was empty. But the song continued; slow, haunting, malevolent. I crept silently around the room, cocking my head from side to side periodically as I tried to isolate the source of the sound. The hair crawled at the nape of my neck and my testicles pulled up into my body.
The humming came from the bear.
My whole body shook uncontrollably as I forced myself towards the source of the sick twisted music. It still lay face down on the bed where I had tossed it. The horrid lowing never stopped as I stepped up next to Dave’s bunk. I reached out and touched the bear, flipped it over and snatched my hand back as if it had been burned.
A vise squeezed my heart, refusing to let it beat. My eyes locked on the demented features now staring back at me. I could not tear my gaze away. The little black button eyes roiled like oily pools of fluid. The dark stare remained completely empty, yet it seethed with hate, as though something truly evil peered through two small windows looking out from some hellish world that never should have been permitted to touch ours. The stitching below the nose tore and frayed as I watched. The ripped mouth opened and through the tear protruded two needle-sharp teeth. Still the hateful lament continued, growing louder and more piercing.
I heard a scream.
I don’t know if it came from me, or it. Maybe both. But it wrenched my guts and shocked me sufficiently to break the hold the little monster had on me. I shut my eyes for an instant to block out the demonic face. I opened them again quickly. Something deep inside me told me I could not afford to let this thing out of my sight for any long period of time. I reached for it a second time but before I touched it, the hairy little beast moved. It scrabbled backwards out of my grasp.
The thing was alive. And it hated me. I knew as surely as I know the sun must come up every morning, this creature would kill me if I gave it a chance. A deep part of my psyche, perhaps an ancestral memory, or some Darwinian survival urge, warned me I had stepped into something deep and very deadly. A sick shiver ran up my spine convulsing my whole body. I wanted to run, to get away from the demon in my room. I almost did run, but the same tiny piece of me telling me the bear was a mortal threat also made it clear if I ran I would be followed. If I wanted to live, I had to be the aggressor. I had to deal with the monster here and now.
I attacked, blindly charging at the creature that hated me so much. It dodged, but I moved too quickly for it to avoid me. I grabbed it up in both hands, feeling it wriggle as it tried to escape. The living toy was no longer soft. What felt like steel cords of muscle and hard ridges of bone moved under my hands. It ceased its struggling and instead, buried its needle sharp fangs into the meaty part of my left hand, between the thumb and forefinger. Pain flared up my arm and silver sparks flashed behind my eyes as the nerves blasted their message of injury to my brain.
I still did not let go.
I clawed at the monster, tearing at the empty eyes, the face, the body. Screams rang in my ears and hot tears rolled down my cheeks as razor teeth cut me again and again. I lost my mind in a whirlwind of terror and pain. Fire raced up my arms and burned my chest as the tiny fangs found purchase in my tender flesh. The bear thrashed and mewled as it fought, and I realized it struggled for its own survival as desperately as I battled for mine. Blackness began to consume me, but the fear I could now feel coming from the little demon in my hands gave me new strength and hope. I continued to tear and claw, to fight for life and sanity.
Suddenly, it ended. The pain, the hate. All gone.
Confused and disoriented, I crawled to the far corner of my room and curled up tight in a ball, shutting out the world and the memory of what happened. I cried helplessly. My hands, I saw, were bathed in blood. Red ichor flowed freely from a dozen deep cuts and punctures on both hands and arms. Marks of claws and teeth decorated my limbs. I shuddered and tried again to hide inside myself.
Pounding. Voices at the door. More pounding.
I raised my head and saw the room littered with bits of bloodied cotton and rag. As I heard the door splintering, forced open from the outside, my tortured mind could only cling to one weak but coherent thought: how was I going to explain to Stephanie that I had killed her bear?
END