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Mr. Bear

A man who lay on a stone bed awoke in a jolt as a cold sweat plagued his body. He sat up slowly while running his rough hand through his slimy untamed black hair. Taking in shallow breaths, he tried to recall what happened the night before.

Standing up, he swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. He leaned against the nearby wall as the room began to sway again. “What the hell happened?” he asked in a low whisper.

Annoyed with his brain, he shoved his hands into his baggy jean pockets to get a cigarette. Instead of his usually tiny ones, he pulled out a thick cigar that was half way burnt down. “What the hell?”

Suddenly, the image of a broad man who had his mouth hanging open and was throwing up blood, flashed before him. “Whoa!” he shrieked as he slammed into the wall behind him from the disturbing mental image. Sliding down it, he desperately tried to block out the image of the man.

“Damn you, you stupid wall!” he wailed as he rubbed the back of his head. With his head pounding like a mallet to a bass drum, he shoved his hand back into his pocket to see if he had a lighter for the cigar. His hand rapped around something that was smoother and round. “Huh?” He pulled the object out and held it in front of him. Before him was a broken pearl necklace.

He stared at the unfamiliar necklace for quite some time. Without warning, flashes of a woman danced in his head. Her long silky black hair was cut awkwardly and tangled. Her eyes were carved out of her head leaving little black abysses.

The man blinked furiously, but still the mental image remained. He flung the pearls across the claustrophobic room as violent shakes took his body. He wrapped his sore arms around his knees and whispered to himself in an unknown language that seemed that only he new. His silvery eyes flashed back and forth between one wall to the other. The man's heart ached as the image remained implanted in his head. “Where are you?” he whispered.

“You'll find me in your pocket,” a scratchy voice said.

Without hesitation, the scared man again shoved his hands into his ratty old pocket to only pull out a tattered and torn teddy bear. Its head was attached to the blacken body by several stitches. Stuffing was puffing out from various rips and tears. “What are you doing here Mr. Bear?” he asked in a cutesy voice.

“I missed you,” the voice replied.

“That's so sweet of you,” he said smiling.

“Don't say that! You'll make me blush.”

“But you're so cute when you blush, Mr. Bear.”

“Are you so sure of that?” the voice barked.

Abruptly, a new vision flashed before his eyes. This time it was a small frail boy, whose short blond locks were covered in a red liquid. His hollow little face was covered in that same fluid that drenched his hair. In the arms of the boy was the very same bear that was in the man's arms. “Why are you there, Mr. Bear?”

“You don't remember? You gave me to him.”

“No I didn't!” he exclaimed confused.

“Do you want to remember, Mr. Friend?”

He nodded in reply.

“Then check your pocket.”

Without questions, he again reached into his pocket. “Ow!” he shouted as he stuck his punctured finger into his mouth. Being cautious this time, he put his hand back into his pocket to retrieve a small switch blade. He examined it and realized it was his 1.5 inch illegal one. Flipping it open, blood splattered across his face.

Suddenly he linked his fingers through his hair, almost ripping it of from the roots. In a low whisper he screamed with all his might. In his mind were flashes of the man, women and boy he saw before. The broad man was burnt; his skin peeling and pussing as he hung from the ceiling. Next to him was the eyeless woman; her limbs scattered around her lifeless corpse. Behind the two adults was the hollow little boy who hung above the floor; his eyes wide open in horror. His little body was tattered and torn like the teddy bear that lay below him.

The man screamed louder than a banshee could ever. Breathing heavily he flung the bear away from him. “What the hell was that?!”

“Don't you recognize them?”

“No!” he screamed.

“I can't believe you can't recognize your own loving family,” the voice lied.

Dumbfounded, the man could only stare back at the bear that stared at him with beady little eyes. Clutching his hands tightly around the blade, he un-questionably stabbed it through his chest. Blood trickled down his chin and slowly hit the floor in little plops. He fell to his side as his breathing became shallow. Before the darkness took his mind a small light formed producing a memory. The little boy who used to be hollow was now standing, plumped and smiling. "I wove you big broder, aways," he said smiling bigger.

Slowly, a single tear fell from the corner of the man’s eye and down his cheek. “Love you too, little brother,” he whispered. The darkness engulfed his mind and the memory along with it.

A few minutes later, another man with spiky black hair crouched next to the corpse as he began to examining it. “It’s another suicide.”

“Well he was schizophrenic.”

“Still, he could have gotten some medicine to help him.” The man was searching the corpses pocket to pull out a ratty looking picture. “I think I found the source to his problem.”

In the man's hands was a family portrait of a wealthy family. The faces were unrecognizable since they were covered with black ink. The word hate was written on every nook and cranny of the small rectangle. On the back, four words were chicken scratched on it.

“‘Thank you Mr. Bear?’” the man questioned.

“Probably his ‘little’ voice.”

“It must have been an evil voice if he went to this measure to get away.”

“You know he might not have been running from the voice. He was probably running from the fact he killed those innocent people.”

“You might be getting somewhere with that.”

The man placed the photo next to the pale corpse who also held the tattered bear. He covered the body with a blanket as a sinister smile spread across his face. “I love you Mr. Friend.”