#monsterklok

As you step down off of the plane, a gust of wind blows past your face. It’s warm and inviting, it draws you closer inward to the island. The setting sun is hot as well and you're glad you brought enough clothes for the weather. You trudge away from the plane and look up the directions to your hotel on your phone. It doesn't take long before you walk through the hotel's fancy doors and check in at the front desk.

The walls are white with gold trim and fancy small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You never would have been able to afford this trip on your own but you had won a free two-week trip in a work competition. You had to pay for stuff like dinner and room service, or whatever else suited your fancy, but you had saved up enough money to be able to get those things so there was nothing to worry about.

You flop down on the big plush bed in your room, unbelievably exhausted from the seven-hour flight you had just been on. You always found it curious how you had to go through something so tiring and uncomfortable just to get to a nice place to relax. Soon enough, you're drowsing off and asleep in no time. Your dreams are filled with tropical fish and hot, hot sand.

Waking up, you look around the room in confusion before you remember exactly where you are. It's been so long since you've been on a vacation, you can barely even remember how it is to feel carefree and relaxed. You don't work a particularly physically demanding job, it's just a desk job at an office, but it still takes its toll. This vacation is more than well-needed.

You hop off the bed and get dressed in a fun swimsuit you had bought a few weeks prior, it wasn't very expensive but it looks good on you. You had wanted to head down to the beach as quick as you could, wanting to get there either before others or to find a nice place that's fairly private. You never really liked swimming in front of people, it's too nerve-wracking.

Walking out of the hotel and into the blaring sun is refreshing, where you live is rather cold this time of year so it's nice to be somewhere warm. You make sure you have your sunblock and water, and anything else you could need, in your bag and when you find it's all there you set off on your way.

The main beach is crowded and people with their families play in the water, as sweet as it is it's not really what you want right now. You hop along a different way and search for an area with fewer people. And it's behind a stack of rocks that you find a small alcove that seems practically untouched by man. There's a deep water pool in the middle that leads out into the ocean, and there's a natural awning made of stone above you. It's like you're own personal cave.

You walk in and try not to disturb the silence or any formation of rock you come about, you'd like to leave this place exactly as you found it so that maybe one day another person looking for some solitude can find recluse here as well. You recline back against a towel you laid down on the sand, and slather your sunblock onto your skin. The sun is still shining far up above, meaning you have as much time as you'd like here. This specific hotel/resort doesn't close their beaches at night either, so if you really wanted to you could stay until it gets dark, but that sounds slightly frightening so you decide against it.

You lay down for a few minutes but quickly grow restless and choose to wade through the clear turquoise water. It looks so gorgeous you barely believe it's real, back home you never really see water this beautiful. You can see your legs through the water as you swim out farther, the natural pool is wide and very deep and it's like having your own private little swimming pool.

Swimming has always been a favorite activity of yours, it's a shame you rarely get to indulge in it. The water is cool against your warm skin and it makes you never want to leave, you're glad you have two weeks here because it'd be hell if it was just a weekend. You float on your back and look up at the stone ceiling, there are little pieces of moss clinging to it and crawling down the walls. You close your eyes and bask in the ambiance, the flow of the water, and the far-off sound of distant laughing and playing. The sound of the ocean waves hitting sand, rocks tumbling quietly, echoes of birds cawing. Wait-- rocks tumbling?

You open your eyes quickly and scan the nearby area, it's now eerily quiet and nothing seems to be around but you know you heard it, was someone spying on you?

“Hello? Is someone there?” You call quietly, it makes you cringe to think that's exactly what someone says before they die in every movie ever. You spin around in the water, and suddenly you hate that you can't feel the ground beneath your feet. You swim closer to the edge where the sand drop-off is, and even though you're going as fast as you can you still feel the cold, slimy hand that touches your ankle. You shriek and flop up onto the ground, you fumble and crawl as fast as you can away from the water.

You try to regulate your hyperventilating, try to calm down at least a little to see what could've grabbed you in the water. It was probably just some seaweed, but when you had looked at the water before the bottom of the pool was just sand, with no greenery whatsoever. And when you look down now, you see the same. Except for this time, you can see the small cave at the bottom of the wall of the pool. Maybe a small squid or octopus lives in there and you had just freaked it out? It didn't feel like a tentacle though, and wouldn't you have marks from the suction cups? But there are no marks on your ankle and you're starting to get even more freaked out without any answers.

You pack up your things and leave earlier than you would've liked. Now in the hotel room, you inspect your ankle for any marks or indication as to what could've grabbed you. But there's nothing there except for the ever lingering feeling of slimy webbed fingers.

The next day you decide to investigate some more, so you head back down to the cove with a deep feeling settled into your gut. Looking down into the blue-green water is unsettling and has lost its relaxing qualities now that you know something lurks within.

It doesn't take long before you see a flash of what looks like neon green, and a thin webbed...thing? It's sort of like a large fin but, and you looked it up last night, there aren't any large fish or squid in this area. So what could that possibly be down there? It wiggles from side to side, almost like it's shaking in fear. A long, taloned hand reaches out and quickly pulls in its fin.

You gasp and lurch back, but find yourself creeping back to the water. That was a suspiciously human-like hand. Except it had webbing between each finger and long, pointed dark green talons instead of regular fingernails. Its skin was a mottled green, almost translucent as well almost like those deep-sea creatures that live on the bottom of the ocean floor. If that is some sort of fish, why is it all the way up here? And why is it so human-shaped?

The water ripples as its tail seems to unfurl out of the little cave it resides in like it's slowly leaning out to check if you're still there. And sure enough, a mess of black hair peaks out of the cave and turns up to face you. Its big neon green eyes stare up and widen at the sight of you. It makes a loud chirp that you can hear from outside of the water, it makes you jump and almost fall into the water. But you hold on tight and watch as the fish-like man cowers back in his cave.

You stay there for a little longer in hopes of seeing him again. A low rumbling emanates steadily from the cave below, it hiccups every once in a while but stays fairly constant. You think he's trying to comfort himself with the low purr-like sound. He doesn't seem to have met a human before and you hope he isn't violent, he doesn't seem to be.

Soon enough, he peaks out of his cave once more, but he doesn't see you at the edge so he creeps further up the wall. You backed off about thirty minutes ago and are now reading a book at the back of the cove. His jet black hair makes a quiet splashing sound as it crests out of the water, his vibrant eyes cast their gaze on you.

A barely-there chirp sound leaves him as his mouth opens slightly. How is he making that sound? You look up at him and wave hesitantly, you've grown fairly comfortable with the idea of fishmen in a short amount of time but you're still fairly wary of him.

He ducks down quickly at the movement of your hand, he's obviously not familiar with the gesture. He quickly regains his confidence and peaks back out of the water, but this time farther than before. He chirps once more, but in a different rhythm and pattern. Is he talking to you?

“Hi...” You say, embarrassed by the fact you're continuously talking to him in a language he doesn't understand but it's not like you know his language either. Surprisingly though, he mumbles:

“H-hiye.” It's not perfect and there's an emphasis on vowels that aren't there, but it's unmistakably a greeting. His voice is a deep timbre and it rumbles much more than the chirps he let out earlier. It's obvious that speaking the way humans do is difficult for him but you watch in awe as he tries to form another word. “H-hurt?”

It's a question that breaks your heart, he thinks you're going to hurt him.

“No, no I'm not going to hurt you.” You reassure as you inch closer to him. He chirps once more but this time it's an embarrassed squeak and he back up slightly, but eventually chooses to slink closer to you.

You tell him your name, and it takes a few tries before he understands but soon enough he's saying his version of it. It's sort of lilted and garbled but it's your name. You smile at him and ask for his name, pointing a gentle finger at his chest as you ask.

He responds with a series of chirps that sound vaguely like a name.

“Nathan?” You ask to clarify, it sounded closer to Nuh’tan but you aren't sure how to say it. He seems to like your version of his name though, as his low purr-like rumbles start again. He smiles at you and it's hard not to recoil in fear as the sight of his maw filled with row after row of black pointed teeth comes into sight. But you manage it and smile warily.

The day draws closer to night as you converse with the strange fishman, and learn all the words he knows. Which are: hi, hurt, no, yes, fish, and boat. He mimicked the people on the beach to show you how he learned the words, often from hearing shouts and commands from the humans on land. Eventually, you have to regretfully tell him that you have to leave. He is incredibly opposed to this but you promise to come back tomorrow, which calms him somewhat.

You visit him for the rest of your vacation, learning that he doesn't have any fish friends or family, and that he often goes hungry because of the small fish population in the area. You start to bring him food, and watch as he tears into the assortment of fish you bring him with his black fangs.

The woods behind your house growing up had always been your favorite place to play, no matter how much your parents told you to stay away. You'd never found danger there so what was the point in staying away? There were only the sparse deer and squirrels. And of course, there were the tall, ever-reaching trees.

Looking up at the sky, full of the green, brown, and white of limbs reaching for the sun, was an activity you often did inside of the woods. Nothing could beat that sight.

Now that you're older, and you've moved into the old childhood home --as your parents had moved out long ago, moving off to Florida for retirement-- you feel a call to the woods like before. You vaguely remember an imaginary friend of yours; an angel, you used to tell your parents. He had long, flowing golden hair and wings that could reach the sun, much like the trees that he held so dear. It makes you laugh thinking about your once active imagination, you don't often get the same kind of creative ideas you used to.

As you scrub away at the dishes in your sink, you look out the window and gaze into the edge of the woods. It's almost like the trees sway and bend towards you, beckoning you to them. A thought passes through your mind without permission: ‘I wonder if He misses me?’

It's a sad, strange thought and it makes a sense of longing swell in your chest. You decide to go into the woods, just to walk around, tomorrow. The moon cast light through the tips of the trees, squirrels rush about and climb to their respective homes. You dry your hands and head up to bed yourself. The night is full of hazy dreams, images of multiple hands, multiple eyes, and strange gold light.

Waking up the next day, your chest feels heavy and you lug yourself all around, doing your chores begrudgingly. Soon enough, you're outside. Your boots touch the foliage around the forest line, creeping so close but too afraid to step farther. All those warnings your parents whispered to you come crashing back into the forefront of your mind. Do they hold some semblance of truth?

You step forward and are pulled in further, step after step you walk. It's not long till you’re standing above a creek, it's water rushing below you and your heart thumping in rhythm with each splash.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the gold light, the warm and spectacular light you used to fawn over. But it wasn't real, was it? Nothing like the being you used to play with could possibly exist in the real world, it was just you're overactive, childish imagination. And it's you're overactive, childish imagination now as you look on and see a grey-blue feather float to the soft, plush grass. He wings were that color, weren't they? It was a pigeons, it had to be.

The light saunters off around a tree and disappears, like it was never there in the first place. Another feather falls next to the other, seemingly out of thin air and it makes your lungs constrict just watching it. You step on a row of rocks and cross the stream, stopping just in front of the two surprisingly large feathers.

You crouch down and hold one between your fingers, twirling it around and inspecting the deep color. It ombres from a lighter grey-blue, to a darker blue and it's almost magical looking at them. You've never seen a bird with these kinds of feathers, the pigeon comparison is practically insulting, but you do remember seeing one thing with these feathers. Oh, your angel, your angel.

His long arms, all four of them, are probably the most memorable thing about him besides the wings. The hugs you used to get from him made up for all the hardships you experienced growing up. You suddenly remember how often he used to ask you to come back when you were older... Maybe he's what's calling you to the woods? Or at least the thought of him.

But it's hard to keep telling yourself he's just a thought when you see a hoof enter your line of vision. You look away from the feather and stare at the pale skin and hard hooves in front of you, your eyes trail his legs and stop at his abdomen. He still wears little clothing, only a long flowing white cloth that is inconceivably staying in place.

The flecks of gold that litter his skin shine brightly under the hot sun above. His four peircing eyes stay locked on your fear-stricken face. And it's not til his rumbling voice floats through your ears do you snap out of your stupor.

“Hellos, little ones.” He smiles widely, his perfect lips stretching in the most attractive way you've ever seen. No human could ever compare, it dawns on you that maybe he's supposed to be this beautiful, that he's supposed to make you long for him. Even as a child, he was the only thing you wanted to befriend. But now it's not quite the same feeling.

You look into his eyes and stand up slowly, he's easily over seven feet tall. It didn't feel intimidating before but now it terrifies you. Is he happy to see you? Is he even real? Did you fall and hit your head in the creek? No, this isn't a hallucination or a dream, it's too good to be that.

“Little ones? You happy's to see me?” He smirks and it smacks you into action. You jump and run off in the direction of your house, but the woods start changing. The trees get up and move and suddenly you don't know where you are. And he's right behind you again. A scream rips it's way through your throat. “Is dats anyway to talks to an olds friend?”

He grunts as one of his gentle hands turns you around. He let's his hand slide down to your own, he pulls you along deeper into the trees. You're trembling at this point, all that trust you had as a child has been replaced with an adult feeling of apprehension and fear.

“Wills you tells me your name this times ‘round?” He asks and his fangs, not dissimilar to that of a vampires, glint in the sunlight. His smile hasn't stopped being attractive but his words still fill you with dread, you're parents warnings of creatures in the woods start to ring true. You vaguely remember their talks of tricksters and things wanting to gain control over you while you run around the trees.

“N-no.” You're shaky answer does nothing to dissuade him.

“I’ll tells you mine if you tells me yours firsts.” He chuckles quietly and clutches all four, strong hands to your arms. “Tells me yours name, you trusts me.”

“No.” You say more decidedly. You somehow break free from his relentless grip and step back a few feet.

“Fines. We can still plays, ja?” He tilts his head to the side in question. Does he mean like you used to? Does he not realize you're a whole adult now? You don't play anymore. “Does you still plays? I could plays you my harp, like before.”

His voice seems to shake as he steps forward, it's like he's afraid you'll leave again. How could that be? It wasn't long ago he was trying to trick you into giving up all your free will to him. His long flowing gold locks slide off his shoulder as he leans increasingly forward. His face is right next to yours but the rest of his body is two feet away.

“You’re not real.” You grunt but it only serves to make him laugh. It's a hearty laugh and it makes doom settle in your stomach. “L-let me go home.”

“No. I'll plays my harp fors you.” He gently grips your hand in his and leads you over to a moss riddled cave. There are various flowers and plants growing up the sides of the cave and having off the ceiling. “Donts be afraid, please?”

You look at him incredulously but don't answer, only stepping into the rather large cave in tandem. It's warm and makes you a little sleepy, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you wide awake. A moss and leaves bed lays in the corner, next to a large golden harp. You don't remember this place.

His large frame sits down quickly on the moss-mattress and pulls you with him. You gasp and try to wriggle away but you can't.

You're pressed to his chest as he pulls the harp close and starts plucking the strings, making up a song as he goes. It's fairly good, it calms you even though you don't want it to.

“Tells me yours name, little ones. I promise I’ll tells you mine, I won't hurts you.”

The harp lulls you into a false sense of security, and it's not long before you're mumbling your name to him. He smiles so widely, in utter triumph... But he stays true to his promise, unlike many others of his kind, and he whispers back:

Dragons died out about twenty years ago, it’s common knowledge. Your little village used to feed one back in the day, he would singe anything it thought was important if it didn’t get what it wanted. Which was often tubs and tubs full of the best liquor your village could distill.

He often asked for wines, beers, tequilas, and any other hard liquor and spirit your little village could make. It also demanded bread, meats, and fruits. This is the only request your village struggled with, it wasn’t a large village and there were only so many crops. Sometimes, he would let this slide, others he would

It lived up in the mountain on the outskirts of your village, it had a massive, sprawling castle that once used to belong to royalty. Before he ate them of course. All the dragons had stopped appearing though, and soon enough your dragon stopped visiting.

You grew up with stories of them and how greedy they were, how immense their hordes could be, and the sheer amount of bones that could get stuck in their teeth. Even with all this terrifying imagery of dragons, you still couldn't help being intrigued by them. Your fascination was only spurred on by your aunt, she served as a knight for the royal family that used to live in the castle. They were horrid people and anyone who worked for them was grateful for the dragon, who only ate the royals and not the employed.

For your sixteenth birthday your aunt gifted you a dragon scale, she often told you the story of how she got it when she’d tuck you in for bed. She'd tell how the skies lit up with orange and the blood that stained the marble floors was like a weight lifted off of everyone's shoulders. She'd tell how the biggest beast shed ever seen had picked her up by her armor and held her to his face, how he'd blown silver-grey smoke into her eyes and laughed a wicked laugh.

She'd tell how he set her down, touched her face with his leering claw, and leaped up into the rafters, leaving behind one enormous scale. It was red and tinged with orange, it shone and shimmered in the right light. Growing up, it was your favorite possession, and even to this day, long after the passing of your aunt, it still is.

Living alone, it hangs up on your bedroom wall. You touch your fingertips to it every morning before you leave your room for your morning routine. Which consisted of picking your strawberry bushes and milking your lone cow, Stella. You have a large backyard and she has plenty of space to roam, you used to have chickens to keep her company but you eventually had to sell them. It's good Capricorn, your little black cat, is there to annoy her by smacking at her tail.

You walk out into the morning air, and Stella hollers her enjoyment at seeing you. She knows you bring her the good bits of lettuce every morning, she looks forward to it. You bring each bit up to her large muzzle and watch as she chows down on it, you sometimes wish you could get her some better snacks but you can't afford to do so.

After Stella gets her snack you trod off to your strawberry bushes, it's a long task but it's good to have something to distract yourself with each morning. Most of the people in your village have left for larger towns or better business, it's only you, a cobbler, a seamstress, and the lovely couple that owns the tavern. You'd moved out of your childhood home when your parents had left the village, about five years ago. You now live in a little cottage on the edge of town, right next to the base of the infamous mountain.

You often hear the rock groan and mumble, and watch every morning as stones tumble down seemingly from nowhere. But it's getting to be so frequent that it's starting to look like it's not a coincidence.

You shrug it off and bring your basket full of strawberries into your home, and after milking Stella, you settle down to eat breakfast. Which consists of a spot of wine and some strawberry jam on bread. The cobbler down the street makes bread loaves in their spare time and they often bring anyone who's left in the village some loaves. It's nice and fluffy and has a great texture, doesn't gum up your teeth like other bread.

It's just as your eating your last slice of jammed bread that a loud thump followed by what sounds like a scream makes you jump right out of your seat. You set everything in your hands down and run out of your front door. You watch in horror as a shadow falls over the expanse of the village and the littler of the bartenders screams and runs around like a chicken with its head cut off.

You look up and are met with a massive red and orange, shimmery underbelly. It roars out and its paws are at least the size of your small cabin. Its body is round and seems to glitter in the sunlight. It lands with an earthquake as its hind paws hit the ground and leave craters. The quake makes your legs give out and you fall to the concrete steps of your house. Its big yellow-green eyes watch as you try to sit up. It leans forward and its head barely fits in the street.

You start to hyperventilate as its muzzle sticks in your face. Just its nose is around the size of your entire head, and you try not to think about the fangs or the incredible smell of death on his breath. It growls lowly and grunts something that is unmistakably English.

“W-what?” You whisper, hoping he doesn't take any offense to your timid little voice. The fur running down his head to the end of his tail flows as he shakes his head back and forth, seemingly to shake out any leaves, rocks, or twigs.

“I said: ‘where is yer beer?’” It grunts in the strangest accent you've ever heard. He must be from across the continent.

“We-we don't make beer, we buy it... We buy it from overseas.” You look at him with wide eyes and watch closely as his eyes squint in dissatisfaction. “We don't have e-enough beer for a dragon.”

“Ya don't make beer? How can you not make beer?” He growls once more.

“I-i don't know, we haven't needed to. We only have five people in the village.” You inform shakily.

“Five people?! What happened to you all?”

“They left.”

“Why?”

“There's nothing here.”

He goes silent after that. It's like he doesn't know what to make of the information like he's been asleep for a hundred years and just woke up. Or maybe...maybe he's been asleep for twenty years.

“Are there other dragons? Do they still come ‘round and burn yer little houses and stupid fabrics?” His eyes shoot open when you answer with a shake of your head, a resounding ‘no.’ “That can't be, it's only been a little while, yeah?”

“We haven't had dragons for twenty years.” You’ve fallen back down on your steps and have started to grow comfortable with the big guy. He's got beautiful eyes and he keeps his fangs and claws a good ways away from you. He looks crestfallen at your words and slumps down onto the ground, his massive head falls onto your steps and the end of his muzzle rests in your lap. It's heavy but it's not heavy enough to complain about, there's a good possibility that he's just been told he's the only dragon left in the world. His eyes start to water, but before he can start crying he lets out a wail and a growl and suddenly gets to his feet.

He grabs you by your tunic and pulls you close to his chest as you scream, he pushes you off the ground with his hind legs and starts to fly off. You keep screaming and crying, pounding your fists against his large scales.

“Let me go, you beast!” He doesn't take kindly to this name and shakes you in his paw as a sort of warning. It works well and you shut up quickly. You try not to look out at how high up you are and you're glad the landing comes soon, he sets you down when you've entered a large cavern on the other side of the mountain.

He stalks off to the other side of the cavern and you look around at the room, it's covered floor-to-ceiling in gold, gems, and furs. You're even sitting on a pile of silver, gold, and diamonds. You pick up the biggest sapphire you've ever seen, it's multifaceted and shines in the light.

“You can keep that if ya want. I don't need it.” You look up at him in shock and watch as he settles down in a large pile of furs and what looks like goblets and plates, and you have no idea how that could be comfortable. But he doesn't seem to mind it as soft snores leave him. The sun has started to set, you can see the orange-red rays of light through the far-off mouth of the cavern. It looks like it's a sort of dungeon that connects up to the castle, he looks like he could fit into the castle as well. You stand up on wobbly legs and hobble over to him, the sapphire still in your hand. You gently tuck it away into one of your many pockets and secure it.

He cracks open one eye and chuckles at your shuffling form, he sticks out a paw and gently nudges you into his side.

“It's fuckin’ bedtime.” He grunts as you yawn in agreement and cuddle into a large fur, that looks like it could've belonged to a large wolf long ago. You aren't too happy that he's kidnapped you but you also would not win an argument with a dragon, so you drift off to sleep instead of thinking about it too hard.

You wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and incredibly uncomfortable. The dragon is burning like a furnace and his entire arm has been laid on top of you, it's heavy like his muzzle but it's not resting all its weight on you so you're not suffocating. You try to crawl away, at least a little, but he groans and growls, pulling you back to his side.

You're forced to fall back asleep.

The morning is cold and it makes you shiver, your heater has left for somewhere else and it makes you wake up even faster. Where has he gone? There's a good smell of bread, potatoes, and carrots wafting from the upper levels of the castle. You stand up and walk through a large archway that leads into a long and winding hallway, eventually though you come across an immensely grand kitchen. It seems to have been “remodeled” to fit the dragon's size, the ceiling seems to have been rammed into many times and there are rocks and boulders on the ground. It looks like he just smashed into everything to make room.

You see him sitting in front of a stone oven, he's blowing fire on a stack of potatoes and carrots. You watch as he picks up the hot food with his talons and sets it behind him on a large plate. He's just about to knock it off the table with his behind when you rush forward to catch it. The large silver plate is hot but doesn't burn you, and the food itself is steaming and a little burnt at places but still good-looking. It smells good as well.

He looks back at you shyly and mutters a small thanks, he's fairly embarrassed about his situation. The castle is massive but it is not nearly big enough to fit him comfortably. You smile at him in hopes of reassuring him and he gives a little shrug.

“I was gonna take this down to you, so you can eat.” He says, and you're flattered at his attentiveness but you're struck with the realization that you don't even know his name.

“What's your name?” You ask kindly, setting the food off to the side away from him.

“Oh! Yeah, I forgot about that. I'm Pickles.” The name catches you off guard and you struggle to hold in your giggles.

“Like the vegetable? Pickles the Dragon?” You laugh a little at the absurdity.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” Pickles grunts in annoyance at your unabashed joy due to his name.

“Are all dragons named after vegetables?” You laugh once more, leaning against the wall as he settles close to the floor. He rolls his big eyes at you.

“No, of course not. You act like I picked this name, I don’t even like pickles.” This new information makes you laugh harder than before.

“You don't even like pickles!” A smile spreads across his face and he struggles to keep an annoyed appearance. He starts laughing as well.

Breakfast goes by pretty fast, the food is a weird choice for breakfast but it's still good. Pickles doesn't eat with you, he says he goes out and finds cow pastures and villages to eat up. Or at least he used to, he confirms that he's been in hibernation for the past two decades. For the rest of the day he seems crestfallen, probably mourning the other dragons he used to know.

As you both settle down to sleep, you look up at his half-closed eye and wonder just how long he plans on keeping you here. When he’d taken you, he was obviously not planning on letting you go anytime soon but now he’s more relaxed.

“How long am I staying here?” You whisper.

“As long as I want, I guess.” He grunts and shuffles around to get comfortable.

“I have animals back home that I need to take care of.” You inform in the hopes that he’ll change his mind.

“Well then we’ll go pick ‘em up tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You’d lost the trail an hour ago. Go hiking, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. It wasn’t. You’re sweaty, lost, and about to break down crying when you notice the sun dropping below the tree line. Oh. No. The multitude of ‘Warning: Bears’ signs you’d seen at the beginning of the hiking path come to haunt your mind. You're lost in the woods and a bear is going to maul you. It's just going to happen at this point, it's karma.

You plop down onto the slightly damp earth beneath you. It soaks through your shorts a little but you don't have the energy to care. Looking up at the sky, you sigh in desperation, how the hell are you going to find your way out? Everything looks the same! The trees are the same, the leaves are the same, and even the large log in the middle of the clearing is the same! This is why it's so confusing when you stand up and trip right over it.

The ground is unbelievably hard when you face plant right into it with a thump. It takes about two minutes before you push yourself up onto your arms with tears in your eyes and blood dripping down your nose. At first, that’s all you think has been hurt but soon enough, your ankle starts to throb. Nothing feels broken, and you’re not screaming in agony, but it definitely hurts.

It almost starts to hurt worse when you sit up and make eye contact with the biggest bear you’ve ever seen. He's got mud on his gigantic paws and he sits quietly at the edge of the small clearing, right next to a tree that looks minuscule beside him. His bright, murky green eyes stare incredulously at you, he huffs quietly and it reminds you of a chuckle. Of course, the fucking bear is laughing at you, what else could it be?

Your blood has run cold and there's seemingly no escape, the bear steps forward. He's close enough that you can smell him (which isn't very close), and it's rancid. He smells almost like a carcass, and it makes you wonder if he must’ve eaten recently. You also realize that he's not even remotely a black bear, which is the native bear in the area. He's a Kodiak but that makes no sense, you aren't in Alaska or anywhere else Kodiak bears live. He's massive and he stalks towards you even more, and it dawns on you that he can probably smell your blood.

You know that most bears don't attack, especially not around where you live, but he's weird. He's an outlier, what if he's violent? He's not a mother, you can tell both by the absent cubs and the very obvious thing between his legs. So, there's no real reason for him to hurt you, but he smells like he just ate a dead thing... Maybe he's what killed it. The question is: is he still hungry?

He huff's once more and plops his behind right down in front of you. He sniffs the air around you and his wet nose tickles your face, you're frozen in fear and you're pretty close to pissing yourself. But if you do that, he might just laugh at you again. He reaches a long-clawed paw out towards your face, he's being uncharacteristically gentle; no animal acts like this. His little, fluffy, round ears wiggle about and he rubs his big, stinky head all over your face and neck. It makes you want to vomit.

His nose stops just below yours and he sniffs the now-dried blood. He chuffs in what sounds like disdain or disappointment and he leans back to take a good look at you. He lazily ambles in a circle around you, seemingly checking for other injuries. He stops at your lightly swollen ankle and gently taps it with the pad of his paw, careful not to let his claws near.

The small pressure makes you hiss and pull your leg away from him, which in turn makes him whine and butt his head against your side. He pushes you forward accidentally and you flop onto the ground, with a higher-pitched whine he shoves his face against yours. He looks into your eyes and whines some more, but you aren't sure what he wants so you stay still and quiet. His eyes are unnaturally moss green, you’ve only ever seen bears with brown eyes.

He leans his immense cranium lower to your shirt neckline, and he tugs on it with his sharp teeth. It makes your breathing speed up and your heart rate soar, he tugs harder and pulls you up. You fall back when he lets go, but he continues to grab and pull, grab and pull. He obviously wants you to go somewhere but you're so terrified that you couldn't possibly get up. And just before you can let go of your bladder, he grunts and trudges away.

You watch intensely as his backside wobbles away, finally far out of view. You start sobbing, all the relief running through your veins give you an adrenaline boost and you jump up and start to hobble off in a random direction.

“Where the hell are you going?” A loud voice calls out and you practically fly out of your skin, you whip around and stare at the tall, curly, brown-haired man in front of you. He's wearing a flannel jacket and the most stained tank top you've ever seen, his shorts are a dark brown and his yellow boots stick out like a sore thumb. You're around ten feet away but you can still tell that he smells almost as bad as the bear did. But he's much more approachable... Which is hilarious given his large, angry eyebrows and irritated pose.

“I-i don't know...there was a bear!” You answer, your voice shaking and cracking more than you'd like. You hold up your arms in demonstration of how big the bear was. “He-he was massive! And he tried to eat me!”

Well, maybe that's not quite true but you're too shaky and fear-riddled to correct yourself. The man chuckles, and if you weren't so high on adrenaline and lightheadedness you'd think he was attractive. He has a large gap between his teeth and it makes his words sound like they've been put in a blender but it's actually very endearing.

“Let me take you back to my housche. Your ankle looksch fuckin’ busted up.” He walks over, being mindful of the log you just tripped over. He holds a hand out, you don't think twice before taking it. You trust him more than the bear. He holds you up with an arm under your shoulder and leads you through the trees that the bear went through, it doesn't dawn on your now-sleepy mind that the bear could be down that way. It's hard to breathe walking next to the man.

It's not long before you're being sat down outside of a large wooden cabin, it's got a warm, lovely glow, and it makes you want to fall asleep. He goes up to the door to open it, then comes back and helps you up like before. Walking in, you're met with a warm gust of air, it's so much nicer than the dewy, cold air of the outside. He sits you down on a deep brown couch in front of the large fireplace in the living room. He shuts the door quietly.

“My namesch uh... William.” He mumbles awkwardly, and your half-asleep voice tells him your own name. It's only a few minutes before you're completely passed out on the couch, bloody nose and swollen ankle forgotten.

You wake up every hour or so, the first time you can hear the sound of a bath running in the bathroom. The next time you catch a glimpse of a wet washcloth with the blood from your face on it, and William kneeling down to look at your ankle. The final time you wake up, it's the morning after and you can smell bacon and eggs being cooked somewhere behind you.

You look down and you realize you've been moved to a laying down position on the couch. You're careful of your swollen, bandaged ankle and stand slowly. You look over at the burnt-out fireplace and decide to hobble into the kitchen behind you. William is stood over the stove, grabbing bacon out of a pan with a pair of tongs. He scoops the eggs onto two plates as well.

“Mornin’.” He grunts, not taking one glance back at you. Although, he did sniff the air slightly before he spoke. Strange.

“Good morning.” You murmur quietly, and shift over to sit down at the kitchen table behind him.

“Howsch your ankle? It's not gone, isch it?” He grumbles without humor but you can tell he was trying to joke.

“No, it's not gone. It's better.” You giggle lightly. You both are soon eating the food he'd prepared and it fills you up better than the many granola bars you'd eaten the day before. You really hadn't been prepared for that hike.

He smells better than he did yesterday, it's not quite a soap smell. It's more natural and musky but it's much better than the dead smell before. He makes a few crude jokes over breakfast but it's not upsetting, you'd rather have poor jokes over the maw of that bear. Speaking of maws, Will eats with fervor like an animal starved.

“You're gonna have to schtay here a few daysch. You can't walk on that. You uh, you schouldn’t, I mean.” He mutters, looking away to try and hide his awkward blush. He must be embarrassed by his small command. You're really not upset about staying with him, he’s a fairly good cook.

After breakfast, he helps you sit back on the couch and turns on the TV for you. He leaves after about thirty minutes and you spend a few hours wondering where he could’ve gone. When he comes back to the cabin, it’s nearly night, and you both have a conversation about how long you’ll be staying.

Apparently, you’d walked ten miles. The trail was only five. And William won’t be able to drive you back to town because, of course, he doesn’t own a car. You asked why and he’d said it was because he was completely self-sustainable out here. So, it looks like you’ll be staying with him until your ankle gets better and you can walk back to town.

Dinner is quiet. Will cooked up some chicken and mashed potatoes, it’s probably the best chicken you’ve ever had. Its not too dry or too slimy, it’s just good. The food is all you can really focus on, unless you want to have a staring competition with William. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you both sat down. It’s only a little creepy, but mostly flattering. He seems to really like the way you look.

You sleep on the couch for the next few weeks, your ankle gets propped up on a pillow. Will leaves every day, and now that your ankle has gotten significantly better, the curiosity grows even more and you can’t stop yourself from following him.

You wait a few minutes before leaving, and you try to trail behind him by many feet so he doesn’t notice. Thankfully, he doesn’t because this would be very hard to explain. He walks down many trails, sometimes veering off course, and he seems to have the entire forest memorized. You almost lose track of him a few times but you always catch up eventually.

Soon he stops by a little alcove, it has a little hot spring inside it. You start getting nervous, hiding behind a large pile of rocks, you don’t want to peep on him bathing. So, when he starts to undress you look away quickly. But he starts to grunt, like he’s in pain and you can’t help but look over.

He’s naked but he’s hunched over, the bones in his back start to shift and crackle. The hair that was already on his back and neck starts to grow out, his feet and hands elongate and constrict. His fingers fuse together and his joints pop in protest, he roars out and it sounds anything but human. Tears have started to roll down your face, you cover your mouth to stop any sobs from escaping and alerting him.

He falls down, his skin fully covering in fur, his body keeps shifting till the bear you saw all those weeks ago is cowered in front of the pool. He looks up hesitantly as you duck behind the rocks, you can hear him sniffing the air. He’s searching for you, he grunts and snuffles, still in pain but quickly recovering. Your crying gives you away as he trots around the mound of rocks you hide behind.

You jump to your feet and run back in the direction of the cabin. He roars in agony and the sound of his massive paws hitting the ground only makes you sprint faster. You get to the cabin and turn to look back, only to notice he’d stopped following you awhile back.

You enter the cabin and decide to wait for him to come back, hopefully in human form. Your ankle is pulsing, it’s not fully healed and you just ran for possibly miles.

It takes hours before he gets back, he opens the door gently and practically sneaks into the house. His face is covered in tears and dirt and his clothes are slightly ripped. He doesn’t notice you at first, but when he does he jumps in shock.

“Y-you’re schtill here?” He whines his rhetorical question and tries to hold back his sobbing, the same way you had before he found you.

“Y-yeah. Pretty stupid right?” You laugh humorlessly, you watch as he plops down on the couch beside you. Your face falls and you can’t help but ask: “What are you?”

He looks up at you with sadness in his eyes, the same murky, moss eyes as the bear. He huffs, and his posture sags in both guilt and sorrow. He wrings his hands together then leans forward and holds his head. The sunset through the window shines through the curls on his head, your heart lurches and your upset that you ever felt the need to run away from him. Sure, he turned into a bear, but it was still the semi-gentle, if crude, man that’s been taking care of you for weeks. The man that you’ve developed feelings for.

“I-i’m juscht like you… I can juscht, y’know. Turn into a bear.” He grumbles and looks away, there are many scratches along his neck and arms. You decide then that you’ll stay with him, it’s just going to take a little while to get used to the bear thing. You guide his head back to look at you with a finger under his chin, you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the lips and pull him in for a hug before you can get too embarrassed.

“Okay.”

That’s all you say but the acceptance that one word has makes him crumble in your arms. His fluffy head falls onto your shoulder and his scratchy mustache tickles your skin. He mumbles his thanks, tries to muffle his sniffles and hopes that you can’t feel the tears running down your neck and staining your shirt.