I'm sixteen. I really should know better. This isn't me. I shouldn't
have wished for a way to hurt others. I was wrong. There was
a heat of the moment thing, I promise. And if I'd known my
wish might actually have been granted, well then I wouldn't have made it.
I wouldn't, and yet it was. You're a stupid girl, Katie.
My sisters spat at me, her eyebrows furrowed with disgust. When are you
going to grow up and accept some accountability for your actions? I hate you,
I screamed back into her face, turning and slamming the front door behind
me. In a burst of rage, through the darkness, I stormed down
the path towards the road as leaves were blown about my feet, scuttling and
swirling in the gloom. I hate her, It's all I thought, over
and over again. She went off to college and came back thinking she was
some amazing genius. Well she's not. She's just this awful she's always been.
I can't believe I actually missed her. Struck by the cold, I
became further frustrated by how hastily I left the house. I didn't even grab
myself a jacket. When are you going to grow up and accept some accountability
for your actions? Ah, I muttered out loud, seething, striding down
the roadside, the puddles beneath my feet illuminated in the glow of the street
lamps. My frustrations merged with others. My thoughts leapt like electricity onto other
similar poisons. I consider the girls in my form class. They'd like to
make fun of me. I thought about the boy I crush on and the
conversation I overheard him whispering and laughing about to his friends. I'm pretty sure
it's about me. I clenched my fists and looked up to the sky,
and there, through a gap in the clouds, I saw it, the
shooting star. It was red, and I felt it reflected in my eyes
as it silently tore across the void and vanished into nothingness. I wish I
had a way to hurt people, I thought to myself, in a way
that they hurt me. I stopped for a second, just thinking, and
for a while I felt a little better, a little calmer. It was
just cathartic, that wish, nothing more so was it a coincidence. I
found the bear that night, or was it fate? I don't know.
I turned after I saw the star. With a deep, slow breath of
cold late night air, I began to return home. I chose, for
reasons unknown to me, a root I would not normally have taken, And
on this root, beneath a flickering light, set a box with free to
a good Home scrawled in marker across the side. It caught my eye and
I paused as the wind sent a chill up the back of my neck.
I went over to it. Of course, curiosity compelled me. I just
wanted to see. And there in the box, sat propped against the back,
was a stuffed bear, a teddy. It wasn't like a classic one,
no, it looked more modern. Plus she styled a little damp about
the head and shoulders with drizzle, but otherwise in good condition. A thick,
dark pen, perhaps the same one that had been used to write the
name on the side of the box, was tucked into his collar, and
from this collar hung a small white rectangle. My name is it said in
tiny letters above the blank white space. My cl plushes. But I was
not about to take some gross thing from the side of the road. So
I made to leave, and as I walked away, I began to think
how good this little bear would look alongside my others, my other plushes.
Now I thought, I'm too old for soft toys. Now I don't need
it. I stopped. My sister's voice returned to my head. When are
you going to grow up? She said, and I felt another bristle of
anger flood my veins with warmth. Screw it, I said out loud,
swiveling on the spot. Why shouldn't I take it? It's my damn life.
And I reached down into the box and grabbed him up, cradling him
in my arms as I strode back down the road towards my house. It
was soft and warm, and just a little bit heavier than I was expecting.
My sister was waiting for me when I returned. I pushed through the
door and shuddered with a welcome wave of heat from inside. What the hell
is that, she asked, pointing at the bear. Where have you been?
Are you serious storming off into the dark like a little kid when you
get mad? I was worried about you. Do you even I squeezed the
bear a little tighter and walked right past her screw Rachel I hissed, interrupting
and ignoring a further tirade. As I pounded my way up the stairs to
my room, I slammed shut the door and allowed myself another deep breath,
then placed the bear on my bed, carefully looking him over. I reached
over and eased the market pen out from its collar, and as I did
so, a little folded note was pulled out too, and it fell and
patted against the sheets. The room felt a little colder. Just then I
looked from the note into the eyes of the bear, and silently, emptily,
he looked back into mine. I swallowed and reached for the note,
Opening it up. It read, give me a name to make me reel,
then choose how best to make me feel shivering. I read through it
again. It made me uneasy, this note, and I began to doubt
whether or not the rescue of the bear had been a good idea. This
gross, random bear found in a box at the side of the street.
Ah, right, okay. I kept the pen and the notes separate and
decided to toss the toy into the washer to blitz him clean. I couldn't
get his collar off were the little whiteboard tag, so I just left it
attached. Once he was washed, I threw him in the dryer and went
to bed, exhausted and weary, and still very much frustrated with the world.
My dreams were walked and uneasy. I saw myself writing a name onto
the bear's tag, though I cannot recall now what it is that I wrote,
We're adrift in a world that didn't exist. The bear and I then
and altogether rather featureless passer by strolled past beneath a flickering street lamp, and
I completed the name, And once the light turned green and the passer by
came to a stop, I remember placing my hands on the bare's soft leg.
I remember squeezing and twisting, and I remember the passerby collapsing to the
ground, shaking. I remember turning the toy's leg into a position there would
not physically be possible for a real person, and with a sickening crunch,
the leg of the passerby snapped in the exact same manner they writhed about on
the ground, and with no mouth of their own. There was no cry
of pain, but I felt as if I could still hear it all the
same echoing around in my head, and I felt good as they writhed.
The light shone greener and brighter and louder. I awoke the next morning with
my heart pounding with fear, with a sheen of sweat across my forehead,
and with a sickness in the base of my stomach. What the hell was
that I might? Tearing off the sheets and rushing to the dryer to grab
the bear. I found him as I expected, this for a little fuzzier
than it had been, and I brought him back to my room with me.
The sun had only just begun to rise, and a thin sliver of
silvery light was cast into my room, heavy with shadows. I looked at
the bear, at the note, at the pen, and the little tag
my name is. And as I looked the bear over, I was unable
to help recalling my anger with my oldest sister. How a harsh and horrible
words had spurred me to leave the house and rage to walk the street alone
at night that had been dangerous, and she just let me go, She
didn't even come after me. I clenched my teeth and fumed all the rage
of the previous night resurging, and I acted as I had in the dream.
I gave the bear a name. I gave it my sisters. I
wrote Rachel on his tag or her tag, I guess. And then I
looked at it. I looked at this bear with my sister's name written on
the tag, and I just sighed and shook my head. What am I
doing here? I said out loud, Just let it go. This is
ridiculous. Already the visions and the dreams were beginning to fade. It all
seems so stupid. Maybe it's just right. Maybe I do need to grow
up to be accountable. I looked at the bear, and images flashed in
my head of my sister's face, snarling, smirking, shouting, of her
belittling me, of her twisting my words and getting me into trouble with my
parents, of her rebuffing my attempts at contacting her at university, because because
it's just too busy with her precious new friends to even think of me.
And in a sudden burst of fury, I grabbed the bear in my hands.
I grabbed it by the arm, and I twisted back as far as
I can. I expected the soft squish of a plushy, conforming comfortably to
whatever forces applied upon it, before jumping back to the way it was.
What I was not expecting was a loud, sickening crunch a snap. The
bear's arm did not spring back. I stared at it in horror as fluid
began to lead through the stitching. In a panic, I snapped it back
to where it was before, my hands shaking, and a scream from the
other room echoed loud and clear throughout the house. Oh my god, Oh
my god. I instantly darted forward and scrubbed my sister's name from the bear's
tag. There's no way. There's just no way. I smashed through my
bedroom door and ran to my sister's room, as did my parents, and
we found her on the floor beside her bed, tears rolling down her face.
Her arms snapped and clearly broken. My eyes flew wide open. I
fell to the ground beside her and held her, sobbing. I'm sorry,
I whimpered, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. She choked on
her tears and clutched me with a good arm. It's okay, I'm sorry
too. I didn't mean it either, I'm sorry, but she didn't know
she didn't know what I was really apologizing for. I never forgot the panic
and fear of that morning, but over time it began to morph into something
else, And so here we are present day, A week later. My
sister's arm is still all busted, but the doctor's believe she'll make a full
recovery with time. No one knows exactly what happened, no one except me.
We all think she just fell out of bed in a sleep, a
freak accident. But I know the truth. I know what happened. I
did this to her, And as this last week passed by, my sister
and I were reconciled, We forgave each other. We have, in fact,
never been on better terms. And this new positivity, this success,
I guess it warped something in my head. I started to feel good about
what I did. The guilt who evaporated. I began to smile when I
thought about snapping her arm. It was for the best, I reasoned.
I should have trusted myself. I don't know what kind of dark magic this
bear is imbued with, but I'm not weak. I'm not the tight to
let it overwhelm me. I can use it. I can use this toy
for my own ends to make everything better, to make a better world,
and so I do. I returned to school after Christmas break with a new
found confidence, willing to give the people who have tormented me the benefit of
the doubt. I don't think my gait makes a difference, however, they
see my confidence as an obvious target. The popular girls, the one who
was picked me out, Frere Willow Alice didn't get any make of a Christmas.
Then Katie Frey calls to me and they laugh. They all laugh.
Don't be a dick, some boy says to her, passing us all by.
I don't know his name, but he's one of Robbie's friends, my
enduring crush Robbie. This only makes the trio laugh harder. I smile humorlessly
at them and head to my class. Though Freya's dumb, simple comment plays
my head all day. I find myself examining my face in the mirror,
freshly insecure. During English, Willow accidentally splashes the water all the way at
my back. It's cold and clammy. The teacher believes her when she says
she didn't do it on purpose, and I am left humiliated and fuming.
I am called on to answer a question in the final lesson, and I
feel myself flush with preemptive embarrassment. I try my best to answer the question
as neutraally and as uninterestingly as possible, to give no one in the room
anything to comment on. But my attempts make no difference. When I'm done,
I shoot a look over to Alice and Freyer in the corner, and
they huddle together, whispering and laughing and glancing at me. I clenched my
fists beneath the desk. I ignore the text messages that come through as I
head to the bus, the ones telling me to end myself. I'm not
an idiot. I would never do it, and I wouldn't allow some text
to affect me so deeply. But they don't know that. They don't care.
It's so damn rude, and it's all too much. But I can
do something about it now. I allow my bitterness to fester and swarm like
a dark cloud on the ride home, and the second I'm off that bus,
I marched straight back into the house, head up to my room and
shut the door uptight, taking the bear from where I hid him in my
wardrobe and placing him on the center of my bed. I unclasped the lid
of the marker. My mind bent on hurt, I do not allow entry
to any other thoughts. I scribble onto the name tag. My name is
Freyer. And then before I changed my mind, I punched the bear right
in the face, and I laugh. I can't help it, imagining that
this thing is actually her. It's therapeutic. I punch it again, and
again, and then again. The area I strike grows warmer with each subsequent
hit. One of the bear's eyes begins to sparkle red in the reflection of
the It weeps a little on some kind of fiery roll. I scrubbed the
name away and replace it with Willow. I grabbed the bear by the hand
and take it into the bathroom. Adrenaline causing through me as I spin the
tap and allow the sink to fill with sharp cold water. And then,
struggling against a rising tide of fear gnawing away at me, I channel instead
the good feelings, the good feelings of revenge, and I dunk the bear
beneath the water, holding it there. It feels strange in my hand,
like it seems the throb almost like a thing with an actual heartbeat wood.
It twitches my hand and a bubble escapes from the bear's mouth, shimmering its
way up to the surface, where it pops. I hold it there for
a minute, maybe a little longer, and then release it. The bear
isn't warm anymore, it's ice cold. And at last, I wipe away
the name and replace it with Alice. I'm shaking now. My conscious is
screaming at me to stop, but I've committed. Alice was the one sending
the messages. I'm sure of it. She's the worst of them, the
absolute worst. I hate her. I grab one of Dad's disposable razors and
I slice it across the bear's chest, left and right, criss cross,
and to my horror, it bleeds, not a little, but a lot.
Scarlet splashes are splattered across the white of the sink the bath. It
oozes down across the bear's fur, and I drop the thing. In horror,
I wipe away the name and lock the bathroom, collapsing down with my
hands against my head. Reality sets in. What have I done? I
start hyperventilating. You adrenaline morse into what feels like the beginning of a panic
attack. I looked down at the blood of my hands. Oh God,
oh God. I wash it away as quickly as I can. I must
use at least half of the soap dispensers, content trembling and spilling it everywhere.
I hastily wipe up all the scarlet spray and something other days, the
bear seems to have stopped bleeding, so I grab it up and return it
to my room, face pale. You stuffed him in the wardrobe and forced
shut down on my phone before I can give myself a chance to read any
potential income in texts. I spend the rest of the evening on the verge
of panic. I've gone too far. What the hell was that? That
wasn't me, That's not me? Why did I do that? Why did
I do all that horrible stuff? Nightfalls, I dream that I'm back in
that unfamiliar world. The street light flickers, and above it, half shrouded
in the darkness, is the bear, colossal, this time gigantic. In
his paws are a series of strings, and beneath him he dances the bodies
of Freyer, Willow, and Alice. I watch in horror as their eyes
flicker over to me as they dance their bones cracking as the strings are pulled.
A low grown echoes through the darkness, and the bear lifts his gaze
to mine. I awake, cold and breathless. It was a dream,
right? Was it all a dream? I am shaking as I bore the
bus to school. I see the other kids murmuring to themselves, whispering,
showing pictures to each other on their phones. No one looks at me,
though no one Frayer is not at school. The rumor mill suggests that she
got herself into a fight and got beat up pretty badly. Someone said her
entire eye on one side had seal closed, though no one could say who
the fight was with. Alice is also absent from school. I looked for
her feverish glances down the corridors, over to her empty desk, but she
never showed this time. The rumor said that she cut herself pretty badly.
Apparently she sent a picture to one of her friends in fright, and that
picture is now circulating. I didn't particularly want to see it. I feel
sick. I feel like I'm going to throw up at any point. I
went afar. I did it again? Did I really think this would make
things better? Willow is the only one of the trio at school today.
I gathered the courage to head over to her. She shakes as she looks
at me. She's pale, her breathing is shallow, and her eyes bloodshot.
We stare at each other for a long, long moment. Hey,
I start unsure what to say. I've never called approach to like this before.
She says nothing. I just heard some rumors our Freyer and Alice.
Okay, I don't know, she replies, quietly, rubbing her hand against
her throat. Please leave me alone. She reaches for a water, hesitates,
and then decides against it. She rubs her throat again. She clears
it forces herself to cough. She looks back up at me. Please just
go, And so I do, pondering she didn't even try to make fun
of me? Did it work? Doubt and guilt all swell around together.
I just don't know anymore. I just don't know. Another week goes by.
Freyer at last returns to school. She has a lot of swelling around
her face. It's bright with a bruise. Alice never comes back, however,
She's spoken about only in whispers now. Apparently her parents freaked out about
something and had her transfer schools immediately. The same sequence of feelings as the
ones following the incident with my sister play out in me. The guilt gives
way to cold triumph. Freyer and Willow never bother me again. They don't
seem to bother anyone actually, and Alice will be fine. She will just
go and be the popular girl in whatever school she ends up at next.
I'm sure I spend a great deal of time these days just watching Robbie the
boy alike. He actually smiled at me the other day. I like to
watch him as we all go to catch the buses. He actually clegs his
little sister and they head home together. It's very sweet, the way he
looks out for her. It's good with kids. I was gushing to my
big sister about him one day, and she laughed and told me to go
ahead and ask him out already. And I thought to myself, hey,
maybe I will, Maybe I can. So I find myself watching him as
the day progresses, trying to work up the courage and confidence. It's a
Friday, so I have to ask him out today or I'll be forced to
wait until Monday. I don't know if I'll be able to do that,
I might just burst. Freyer and Willow are sitting at the desk beside me,
watching me as I watch him. Though they aren't laughing now, they
aren't whispering or making jokes. They're just silent. I glance over to them
a few times, orgidly, until at last I feel my fuse begin to
grow short, and I swivel on the spot to meet their eyes. For
a moment. They say nothing, They don't even react. Then eventually Willow
says in a low, quiet voice, you're wasting your time. You don't
need him in your life. Where once I might have averted my eyes and
looked away, instead doubled down and replied, excuse me. Freya nods sombrely.
He's a nasty piece of work. You know you shouldn't fall over him
like all those other girls my flush. What would you? Guys know?
You're just trying to screw with me again, aren't you. I feel the
anger rising. You shoot a quick look to the front of the class and
see that the teacher is occupied elsewhere. I lean close to them in his
You guys should be ashamed. You're the worst, having the r descity to
talk to me about nasty pieces of work? Have the text you, guys,
sen There's a flicker of genuine surprise that passes between them, and the
mood changes a little. I feel my heart start a pound. Katie Freya
says, we never sent you any texts. Willow shakes her head in agreement.
We didn't. I swear that would be too far. I falter.
I had not been expecting this. Well, I stutter, Alice, then
she was always the worst of you guys. Honestly, Katie, she wouldn't
do that. It wasn't her, prayer says, and I exit myself from
the conversation at once, returning my attention to the work on the desk before
me, doodling idly in the margin. Are they being serious? If it
wasn't Alice, then who was it? My mind races all day. I
never get around to ask him, Robbie out. I get back to the
house, and the first thing I do is hastily set myself in front of
the computer and load up the texts from my phone. Remembering an old trick
I learned ages ago, I typed the phone number into book and press search.
Irritably, I shake and jump my leg tapping the mouse with my finger.
As the web page loads one result. My whole body goes suddenly cold
as the profile pops up for me. It's Robbie. No, he wouldn't,
would he send me such awful things? The corner of my mouth twitches,
and I throw myself up and out of the seat. I slam the
mouse against the desk, and I find myself striding to the wardrobe. I'm
an autopilot, not even thinking about my actions. I just know that the
bear makes things better. I get my revenge, and things get better.
The anger burns as I grab the bear and the accompanying pen. I screw
rob his name on the tag red hot. With rage, I haul open
my window. I throw the bear from my window and watch it fall,
its eyes glinting in the light of the setting sun, before it strikes the
pavement with a splat. A shot of what looks like blood is sent bursting
out from a scene by its neck. It does not bounce, and simply
lays there on the ground, staring up at the sky. My temperament cools
slowly quietly. I close the window and sit on my bed. I take
a deep breath, and then another. I shut my bedroom door, and
I turn off the light and I start to cry. The week end goes
by in a grim haze. On Monday, we are all gathered into the
Assembly Hall and I'll share the news that Robbie is dead. My body goes
rigid. The words play over in my head. They allow us to go
home early that day, and I take them up on their offer. I
throw up quite a few times, shivering violently. What have I done?
What have I done? Apparently they found his body near his house. They
say he must have jumped off the roof, not let anyone saw him doing.
Of course, I feel another sickening lurch my stomach, and I WinCE
in whimper. I'm a monster, I'm a monster. Terror crashes around my
head like waves, and the day bleeds into night. My dreams are dark,
and I awaken shaking in the middle of the night. My room is
dark. My door was left uncharacteristically open, and someone must have forgotten to
switch off one of the landing lights. A dim orange closed spills across my
carpet and illuminates the silhouette of the bear standing silently in the doorway. My
heart stops. I stare at it unable to make out his face or the
name upon its tag as they are both shrouded in darkness. It stands there,
impossibly waiting. I'm sorry, I force out in a whisper. I'm
so sorry. Please, I didn't mean to kill anyone. I swear I
never use you again. I promise, I promise, And without a word,
the bear begins the turn, and it quietly pads away out of sight
towards the landing stairs. I jump out of bed and slammed the door shut,
locking it tight behind me, and I stay huddled beneath the sheets until
the sun rises in the morning. The weeks after Robbie's death were hard,
really hard. The guilt makes it difficult to cope. Some days. I'm
going to need professional help. I know it, but I don't even know
what i'd say. I spend less time alone in my room now, though
I like to go for walks it helps clear up my thoughts. On one
such walk and a cool but sunny afternoon, I happened across a guard sail
taking place on a neighbor's front lawn. Anything for a quid, darling,
he grunts at me, and I peer inside. There's a whole bunch of
junkin air, a lave lamp, some old DVDs, and a bear.
I hesitate a bear not dissimilar to the last I found at the roadside,
though this one is pink and a little rounder. Cautiously, I reach into
the box to hold it, to feel it between my hands. It's soft,
as one would expect. I give it a squeeze. Yes, it's
packed full of stuffing squishy. I realize I've been holding my breath and release
it. I turn her over and around. There's no pen, no sinister
name tag. I know exactly what to do with this. I reach into
my pocket for the money. Yeah, I say to the guy, I'll
take her. I take the long walk to Rob's residence, thinking long and
hard about what I'm going to say when I get there. In the end,
all my preparation goes out the window. I see when I arrive at
last, Robbie's little sister sat on the curb with her chin in her hands,
staring into space. I bull tears spring into my eyes and I try
to blink them away. As I approach, she looks up at me,
and we hold each other's gaze for a long long time. In the end
all I can manage is I'm sorry, and she nods and smiles. I
hold out the bear to her. I thought of you when I saw this.
You can have it if you like, or you don't have to.
No pressure. But Robi's sister smiles and reaches up for it, taking the
bear into her embrace. She got us with it a little and sighs.
Thank you. She says she's lovely. She smiles. I think I'll call
her Katie.