On Monday, two joggers thought they saw the bear lumbering towards them through the dawn, which sent them into hysterics. Though the “bear” turned out to be a neighborhood dog, jogging was suddenly deemed “no longer safe.” By Tuesday, rumors that the bear had ruthlessly chased two joggers had spread all over town. The townsfolk rushed to their local Kmart, and by Wednesday, every can of bear mace was gone.
Thursday arrived with a surprise. In the night, a fearful wife had assailed her husband with mace as he tried to soundlessly enter their home. She said she had mistaken him for the bear, but her reasons for his late return were unclear, so naturally, the entire town whispered the word “affair.” This somehow spurred a rumor that the bear could open doors, which left the townsfolk confused and terrified.
That evening, the bear was spotted by a couple who were barbequing steak. They were on their deck, enjoying their wine, when the bear appeared on their lawn. They dropped their glasses and rushed inside, alerting the police immediately. Cowering behind their windows, they watched as the bear consumed their meal. When the cops arrived, the couple told them they’d barely escaped a brutal attack.
“The bear was unprovoked,” they said. “We were only grilling steak.”
The next day, the townsfolk raced back to Kmart, this time in search of weapons. Men who’d never hunted a day in their life drove home with shotguns in their laps. Children were given high-pitched whistles. Everyone was encouraged to stay indoors. The Bear Valley police issued an official curfew, ignoring the fact the bear had only been seen in daylight. The townsfolk ordered bear traps and purchased bear repellant in bulk. They brought their pets in at night and walked their children to the bus stop. No one considered such precautions extreme, nor did they expect what would come from them.
That Sunday, the youth group at the church was broken up following the shrill sound of a whistle. Though questioned, the frightened children wouldn’t explain except to say they had not seen the bear. The priest in charge refused to comment and no one knew what to do next.
By Monday, school was cancelled. Though the bear had been unseen all weekend, the fear surrounding him had grown. Though the townsfolk had learned much about each other, they focused only on the bear, certain that he was the root of all their troubles. They longed for the times before the bear’s arrival, before they were scared, back when they could still trust one another. Now, they padlocked their trashcans, suspected their priest, and feared their own backyards. The townsfolk considered each change a product of the bear’s coming and they resolved to see the end of him, once and for all.
That evening, the bear returned. Still hungry, he ventured deeper into the neighborhood. With the townsfolk driving home from work, the bear tore into a henhouse, aspiring for a meal of chicken. When the birds reacted with aggression, the bear lost interest, following his nose to a nearby patch of recently unearthed dirt. Digging down, the bear found more than he’d bargained for.
A shot rang out, loud and clear in the approaching night. The shut-in held a rifle in her surprisingly steady hands, gun smoke curling out the end of the barrel. The bear looked confused as he fell to the ground, the look in his eyes anything but peaceful. The townsfolk surrounded them in an instant. Their anticipated happiness tasted bitter as they observed the fallen bear, as massive now as he had been in their dreams, only far less frightening. The shut-in lowered her rifle slowly. The sheriff approached the bear. A gasp arose from the crowd just as the sheriff tripped, right where the bear had bear had been digging. Protruding from the dirt, grotesque and pale, was a human hand. Utterly silent, the townsfolk stared between the fallen bear and each other, suddenly uncertain which was worse.
