Short Story: The Bear Cave Inn
Photo: Terrible AI rendering, but it’ll have to do.
I’ve been working on this short story for about 2 years. That is not to say that I’ve poured 2 years’ worth of labour into it. More like it’s been a splinter I haven’t been able to remove for about that much time. I think it came to me like one of those images that just appear in your head out of nowhere, and you can see it so clearly that all you have to do is write it down. But it wasn’t fully formed. And so I sat with the question of “and then what?” for ages.
Below is the part that I was stuck with. The basis of it. The start of the idea. The seed. And then what? That’s a question I’ll leave for pondering.
The Bear Cave Inn
“We’re almost there,” he said. His voice was rough and low, like he could barely force his words to cut past the thick and heavy cold. We had been walking in the snow and ice for hours, and it was pitch-black outside. It felt like it was getting darker by the minute, and now, I’m not even sure we’re headed in the right direction. But I have to trust him. What other choice is there?
“You sure?” I asked. I wanted to hear him say it.
“Yeah,” he sounded winded. The cold was getting to him. It was getting to me, too. It must be at least minus 20 degrees Celsius. Maybe more now that it’s night. Minus thirty at the worst.
“It’s just up ahead, round that bend in the road. There’s a motel there, we can stop for the night,” he said.
“Alright.” I wanted to say something else, but I was too tired. I didn’t know what it was I wanted to say anyway. All I could think of was, “are you sure,” and I’d asked that enough for one night. Don’t want to provoke him. Nobody likes answering the same question again and again. I’d just have to trust him. Besides, in this cold, the worst thing you could do was to sit down and stop moving. You’d freeze to death like that for sure. Wouldn’t take long either. It’s so cold. Too cold to think about how cold it is, or it’ll just make you colder. The hotel sounded nice, though. Warm. Welcoming.
I’d just have to trust him.
We kept walking, trudging through the darkness and the snow. The snow was almost up to my knees, so it was harder for me. I didn’t have his long legs. Every few minutes, he would stop and turn around, making sure that I wasn’t too far behind. We were walking down the middle of the highway. At least the locals called it a highway. It was a small country road, what the people in charge of naming roads called a “route.” It was January 23rd, and we were on our way home from visiting his mother in the hospital. She lived about 3 hours outside of the city, in a small town called Grisly. I couldn’t think of a worse name for a town if I tried. It was a depressing little place, with not much going on. Church, hospital, police station, school, grocery store, and that was just about it. Podunk. But worse. The town was made up mostly of aging farmers who moved to live closer to the hospital. Aging and ailing farmers, just waiting to die. That’s what his mom was. Waiting to die. She had cancer and not much time left, so when she called him up in the middle of the night 3 days ago to come and see her, he couldn’t say no.
“Mirabelle Waters calling for Mark Waters please,” the voice had said. It was her voice. I never knew why she always said it like that. It was polite, I guess, or proper. But not very friendly. No “hello” or anything. So formal. Like you were nothing more than a secretary. Well, she never liked me much, so I imagine that it was easier to pretend that I was his secretary than anything else.
We kept plowing our legs through the snow. It was hard and icy on top and soft underneath. Every step was a bone-rattling crunch as we shoved one foot through the icy crust and then dragged the other leg behind. It was slow going and getting slower. On our way back from the hospital, the car broke down on us. Mark said it was probably the transmission. It had been dying for a while; only a matter of time. He pressed hard on the gas pedal, and nothing happened. Then, all of a sudden, the car made a loud “clunk” and threw us into what felt like warp drive. He pressed on the brake, then there was another clunk, then that was it. No more gas pedal, no more car. He kept pretty good control of it at least, better than I would have, but we still ended up in the ditch. He looked under the hood, but there was nothing we could do. Even if we could get it started again, we’d never get it out of the ditch. Not in this snow. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we were on a busy highway, but nobody drove out to Grisly this time of year. In the summer, there were trucks coming and going, hauling fruits and vegetables into the city. Tourists, too, and locals coming out to the U-Pick strawberry fields. But not this time of year. Not a single car had passed us. Some of the old folks who lived in town didn’t even leave their houses all winter. So it was either walk or sit there and freeze to death.
“You see? Up ahead. Can you see it?” Mark was pointing at something off in the distance. There was no light in the sky. The moon was out, but you could only see a faint hint of it. It was snowing when we left the hospital, but now, it was clear. At least there was that.
“Where?” I strained my eyes, but it all looked like darkness to me.
“You can’t see that? That glow? Up ahead, right there,” Mark took my face with his icy hand and directed me towards the hope of a warm bed. His fingers were turning blue. My cheeks were probably blue too; I couldn’t feel them anymore. That’s always a bad sign. When you can’t feel something anymore.
In the distance, I could just make out a glimmer of light. It looked so far away, so faint, I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I had only imagined it to be real. I opened my mouth to ask Mark if he was sure, but stopped myself at the last moment.
“You’re right, yeah. I see it,” I said. Did I see it? Was it really there? I wanted it to be there. Just thinking about the hotel made me feel warmer. I could have a hot shower, then a hot bath. Or maybe a bath first and then a shower. And food. There would be food, wouldn’t there? I honestly don’t know if hotels have food at this hour. But a vending machine, maybe. Or maybe there’d be a pizza place still open. I have no idea what time it even is. My cell phone died yesterday while we were still at the hospital, and Mark turned his off to save the battery. He tried it when we left the car, but there was no reception. But then it was 7:15 PM. It couldn’t be that late now. Maybe it was only ten or eleven or so, and there would still be lots of stuff open. I don’t know, it’s hard to gauge the passage of time when it’s so dark and cold.
We kept walking, warmed by the thought of escaping the cold. Being able to get out of the snow and eat and be warm again. To rest in a bed and watch TV. The moon was coming out now. It was out before, but I guess there were clouds covering it. Now it glowed in the sky like a beacon, guiding us to our destination. The more we walked, the more clearly we could see that glimmer in the distance. A faraway hope, slowly becoming something real, something attainable.
As we got closer, we could see that there was definitely light up ahead.
“Hallelujah! You see it?” He said. We were getting nearer now. The light shone on an old, vintage billboard featuring a smiling housewife with a perfect row of bright white teeth. Her hair was covered with a red handkerchief, and she was holding a little brown suitcase. It was a beautiful sight. But the closer we got, the stranger the billboard looked to me. The colours were all off. Like they were dirty and faded, but new and clean at the same time. I couldn’t tell you whether the ad went up yesterday or if it had been sitting there, fading out for 30 years or more.
…