Page 15 of Bears Not Included

My heart starts to throb as if a dull knife repeatedly takes a stab at it. Still, I try to think rationally. I have to. There must be a way out. I go to the windows and try to jerk them open, but nothing happens.

A mirthless laugh starts to bubble in my chest. The windows don’t open. The handles don’t move. It’s as if they’ve been painted shut, and no amount of strength that I’m capable of can undo them. I rush through to the kitchen, almost frantic now as I look for a back door and find none.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I keep whispering that one word to myself.

It’s okay. I’m going to be okay.

But suddenly, I’m no longer enthralled by the whimsy around me. I want to turn everything upside down until I find a way out. My attempts to keep rational and cool slowly give way to alarm and dread.

It may be temporary, but I’m locked inside this house that is deceptively welcoming and it takes me back to memories of my mom, her fingers pointing to the illustrations she drew—the same things I’m seeing in person right now as she held me tight and read to me.

But something’s wrong, and now I’m trapped inside.

I need to find a way out.

I drop my backpack on the floor beside me and shakily retrieve my phone from my pocket. I had a good signal all the way up here, so I should still have a good signal here. But a new dread arises inside me.

The only thing my phone can give me is the time. It’s useless for anything else. I can’t call anyone, not even emergency services. I can’t text; I can’t send an email. That means I’m no longer sending a live location to Faith, and I can’t get a hold of the girls at FFF. Or the police.

Okay.

I initiate a strategic plan to escape. I look for other hidden doors in the living room and the kitchen. I’m no longer worried about trespassing as I hurry my way down the short passage to the bedrooms. I don’t feel as if I’m invading someone’s privacy. My only focus is escaping because I’ve been inadvertently trapped here.

I don’t allow my gaze to dwell on what lies before me. I’m only looking for an escape. I check for doors that actually open. I find none. The windows here are painted shut, too. I open the closet doors, at this point desperate for a secret passage that would see me on the other side of the house.

I waver between moments of thinking I’m eternally trapped inside this house and being determined to find a way out. I remind myself all my reasoning points to one thing. The front door, the only door in the whole house, has somehow become jammed. That’s how I erase any insidiousness from my situation. No one is trying to keep me here deliberately.

But now that I’ve exhausted all other avenues of escape and failed, my only viable option will be to break the door down. In order to do that, I must find some sort of axe to splinter apart the wood. I have to do something.

I search drawer after drawer and come up empty. Literally. There is nothing in any of the drawers. How does the house look so lived in, and yet there is no evidence of anyone actually living there?

Icy droplets of perspiration slither down my back.

Think, Livia. Think, Livia.Think, Livia.

And then I see it. Camouflaged in the pastel-colored wall in the living room is what appears to look like the frame of a door. A secret door that must surely lead outside.

My mind bursts with hope as I start pushing against what I’m certain is now a slab of wood masquerading as a door. Nothing budges until I use whatever brute strength I’m worth and push until I feel lightheaded.

The door slips open. But I’m met with utter darkness. I search for a light switch on both sides of the walls. The cottage may be more than a few hundred years old, but it had proper plumbing and electricity. But there’s no light switch that I can find.

In my search for tools or an axe, I would have remembered coming across candles or matchsticks, so I have to proceed in the dark. My skin is already crawling with what hides ahead of me.

The eerie feeling that replaces the wonder of finding the cottage where the three bears lived amplifies as I’m forced to take a step into the darkness. I can’t leave what’s on the other side of this door unexplored if it means it's my only way to get out of this cottage.

I get onto my hands and knees, feeling ahead with my hands before I move forward. I crawl for maybe a minute when my hands no longer feel the floor. I curl my fingers around the part where the floor stops. I lean forward while keeping my knees firmly in place to keep me grounded.

Stairs.

I swallow in fear.

I’m going to have to descend god knows how many steps in order to get to the bottom. But I keep my spirits up and tell myself it’s a secret passage for escape. I just have to persevere.

At the end of the stairs, I’ll find another door that will open onto a brilliantly open sky, and I will be free.

The instant I turn around, with my intention to crawl backward down the steps, a burst of light shines upon me. Above my head is a sconce that is clearly motion-detected.

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