Page 16 of Bears Not Included

A flood of relief washes over me. I rise from my hands and knees, face the stairs, and begin my descent, certain that despite the darkness on the landing, a motion-detected light will activate upon reaching the bottom step.

When there are no more steps to descend, I’m thrown into an abyss of darkness again. The light at the entrance of the staircase has shut off.

I remain motionless, trembling uncontrollably, about to blindly confront an even more vast unknown.

But I have to move. I have to do something. I take one step to the side of me, then another, and nothing happens. I do the same on the other side, moving tentatively a step further each time. Dread pounces on me. What if there isn’t any motion-detected light here after all?

The darkness starts to suffocate me. I need air. I need to be outside. In my car. Driving home.

Just when I’m certain I’ll have to brave what’s before me in the dark, a light goes on. Thank god. My eyes take precious moments to adjust before a heavy frown creases my face.

What am I looking at?

As half my brain filters in the sight before me, the other half frantically realizes there is no escape from this part of the cottage.

No matter how hard I blink, my eyes are not deceiving me. This is not an illusion. I’m not imagining things. There are no windows or doors here. Just unforgiving layers of brick, making the area inescapable.

My chest heaves, and terror coats each breath I take. In the white-hot light from the sconce in the center of the ceiling, my gaze drips in horror as I take in the things before me.

The eeriness that followed me from the living areas above to down here is disturbingly reinforced.

On a small table lie three bowls. Three chairs occupy the middle of the room. Toward one end, three beds line up against the side of the wall. Three bowls. Three chairs. Three beds.

I swallow nervously at the irony of it.

The chairs aren’t welcoming or comfortable. They’re not made of down and covered with velvet. There is nothing plush and inviting about them. They’re made of wood and embellished with things that remind me of a black-and-white horror movie. The beds are the same.

I stagger backward now in fear, as I can no longer unsee the things I’m seeing; I can no longer hide them from my mind as a means to protect myself.

There are restraints on the arms and the legs of the chair. On the seat of one of the chairs is a gas mask used in World War I. The seat of the second chair is bare, and so is the third seat.

Two of the beds have restraints as well. Spiked leather cuffs with chains that hang from the posts of the bed. There doesn’t seem to be anything sinister about the bed in the middle, but on a closer look, I realize the floral bedding is plastic, like vinyl.

There is nothing innocuous about what I’m seeing. I’m in danger, and I know it without any doubt.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I turn around, ready to stumble my way back up the stairs. I’m safer up there than down here.

I’m a step away from the stairs then shriek in terror. A metal gate drops down from the ceiling to the foot of the stairs and cordons off my exit.

“Hello, pretty girl.”

A deep, rough, voice shatters the evil silence around me. I whirl around, trying to find the speaker, but I find no one.

Chapter Nine

Livia

My muscles turn into lead. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Panic starts to build in my stomach, and I feel nauseous.

I rattle the steel bars that dropped from the ceiling and disappeared into the floor at the landing of the stairs. Nothing happens. It’s conclusive; like the door upstairs, I’m stuck on this side of it.

“Are you lost, pretty girl?”

I spin around and press my body against the bars at the sound of the voice again.

I didn’t imagine that voice. And now I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stepped into a trap. And in order to get out, I’m going to have to leave a part of myself behind.

Dear god, what’s going to happen to me?

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