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MAMA ALWAYS SANG THAT teddy bear song to me before bed. I imagined my teddy bears coming to life at night and waddling down into the forest to dance and play. I wished I could join them as a kid, but I was too young. No matter how long I tried to stay awake, the teddies never left my room, and when I woke up, they all sat exactly as I had left them.
She sang that song to me every night until I was thirteen. Then she became ill and couldn’t get out of bed. I ended up singing it to her.
Mama was sick for five years. I took care of her that whole time. Then one night, when I sang the song, her eyes didn’t open.
I was nineteen when she died. In her last breaths she warned me never to go into the woods. Her eyes grew soft, and then she was gone. I cried until the sun went down. When I stopped crying, I sat and pressed my face against her hand.
I fell into a shallow, dreamless sleep, and was awakened by a shuffling sound. I looked up, my cheeks stiff with dried tears, and watched as the teddy bears from my room waddled by. Their movements were quick and jerky as if walking was an abnormal movement.
I followed them. They marched across the lawn, single file, and into the woods. I paused at the edge of the forest. Clouds covered the moon. The trees rattled in the wind, their branches swayed, beckoning me forward. Despite Mama’s warning, I entered the woods.
After I had forced my way through the lower bushes, I saw a light ahead. In the delirium of my recent loss, my thoughts reverted to when I was a child. I imagined the bears playing and dancing, feasting on cakes and pies. I licked my lips, anxious to taste those succulent treats.
I entered the lighted clearing and gasped. The bears weren’t dancing and playing. They stood in a circle lit with candles. When they saw me, they turned and stared. Their eyes glowed red. They leaped forward, attacking. They knocked me down and dragged me into the clearing.
Tied down with stiff, biting ropes, I could hardly move. They started with my hands and feet, little bites, gnawing up my arms and legs. I chanced a look. My arms were raw. Bone showed in places, my hand was a mess of tattered skin and blood.
The largest bear sat on my chest. For a moment he looked almost normal, like the bear sitting on the shelf in my room all those years. Suddenly, he leaped forward and bit into my throat. I screamed as little, sharp teeth tore my skin. I tried to struggle, but he was heavy on my chest.
My screams ceased abruptly as the teddy ripped through my trachea. I gasped for air. The last thing I saw was a sharp claw coming toward my eye.
