What the bear said outside might have been Liang Yu’s last words, echoes of his real voice, stolen from his dying breath. Thinking of it, my heart felt like it was being carved open with a dull blade.
The grief was worse than the fear. It burned through me, sharp and raw, until all that was left was anger, cold, bright, purposeful.
I loaded the rifle with steady hands, pulled the bolt back, and shouldered the weapon, muzzle trained on the door.
“I know it’s you,” I said, voice low and shaking with fury. “Are you really so hungry you need to try your luck with me? Go ahead. You want me? You can try to come in.”
I stared at the door, eyes burning, muscles coiled, waiting for the wood to splinter.
But nothing happened.
No crash, no growl, no claws ripping through the timber.
Just silence the kind of silence that presses on your skull, fills your ears with your own heartbeat.
I realized then, maybe Old Song was right the Face Bear wanted fear. It wanted its prey trembling, weeping, easy to break.
But I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was angry, blisteringly, bone-deep angry.
And the door stayed shut.
The bear never came in.
I have no idea how long I stood there, rifle pressed to my shoulder, listening for breathing on the other side. Old Song never returned.
Eventually, though, I heard movement outside, real, human voices, the flicker of torchlight through the windows, the crunch of heavy boots.
“Open up.... Police.”
A real voice. A real demand.
I cracked open the door, rifle still in my hands, squinting at the group outside officers in blue uniforms, a few rangers in green jackets, all of them staring at me with a mix of concern and curiosity.
Only when I was absolutely sure they were real people did I finally lower the gun and sag against the doorframe, my whole body trembling.
I told them every detail, the Face Bear, the deaths, the nightmares.
Nobody believed me.
“There’s no such thing as a Face Bear," the lead officer said, rubbing his temple. “That’s just local superstition. You survived a grizzly attack, that’s all. Lots of people come out of that kind of trauma with strange memories.”
Another officer added, “Old Song drank too much. We know about the old village bear attack, sure, but nothing supernatural. No talking bears, no bears that walk like people.”
I had no patience for this argument. My gaze caught on something in the dirt by the porch, something bloody, something reeking.
I lurched forward, crouching and my heart stopped.
I recognized the torn clothes in my hands. Liang Yu’s shirt. His pants.
Drenched in blood, stiff with gore.
“Where did you find these?” I demanded, voice breaking.
The officers glanced at each other. “They were on the porch when we got here,” one said, shrugging. “We thought they belonged to whoever was inside.”
A sick wave of horror washed over me, cold sweat prickling my neck.
Was it possible?
Had the bear after killing Liang Yu worn his clothes?
Not just mimicked his voice, but worn what was left of him, shuffled to my door in a grotesque pantomime of help, hoping to lure me out?
My gorge rose.
What kind of monster was this?
No matter how I argued, nobody believed in the Face Bear. The police found Liang Yu’s body not far away, and, later, Lin Qiang’s and Chao Fei’s remains, scattered in the woods and campsite.
Eventually, it was all chalked up to a tragic but natural disaster, a surprise grizzly attack in an area that was supposed to be safe.
“These campgrounds are regulated,” someone muttered, shaking his head. “There shouldn’t even be large predators here.”
I barely heard them. I was holding what was left of Liang Yu, shaking, the clothes stiff with dried blood, that familiar, awful stench rising from the fabric.
They’d never know the truth.
Not really.
And maybe, I realized, standing in the cold morning light, it was better that way
Cradling what was left of Liang Yu clothes stiff with dried blood, barely recognizable I knelt in the dirt, tears streaming down my face.
“Please, accept our condolences,” one of the officers said gently, helping me to my feet. “We’ll get you out of here, but first, you’ll need to come with us to the station to give your statement.”
The police and rangers were carefully gathering the other bodies, what was left of them, their faces grim, voices low.
“Honestly, I’ve dealt with my share of bear attacks, but nothing like this,” one officer muttered, shaking his head. “Back home, when bears go after people, it’s usually because their cubs are threatened, or they’re starving. But this? This wasn’t an attack. This was a hunt.”
Another sighed, “Right. Bears just don’t keep coming like that, or go after so many. Something’s not right.”
I stood there, numb, watching them work until a thought jolted through me.
“Officer,” I said, my voice hoarse, did you find Old Song? Is he.....is he all right?”
The officer glanced up from inspecting the rifles on Old Song’s wall. “Our patrols are still searching the woods for him. Don’t worry he’ll turn up.”
I stiffened, suddenly alert. “Wait, your teams are out there....separately?”
That drew a snort from one of the rangers, a burly man with a thick beard. “Don’t worry, kid. We know these woods better than you know your own house. We don’t need to stick together.”
“But that bear......”
My voice trailed off as I caught the impatient looks from the group that had already heard more than enough about my so called “Face Bear” story. “If there really is a bear that attacks anyone alone,” the ranger countered, “then this is our chance to track it down once and for all.”
Chapter 08
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