Becoming the Bear

For the past two weeks, Mitch had thought of little besides Walt and the coming weekend. Work was a struggle, and even normal household tasks had been sidetracked by thoughts and worries about Walt and friendships and the weekend to come. The email and chat with Rusty and Moose had helped fill the hours and had drawn them closer. He was impressed with how much Moose had changed as a person. Their invitation to spend Christmas with them was a very pleasant and welcome surprise. He had gotten out of the habit of celebrating holidays.

The phone chimed insistently. "OK, OK!" Mitch pulled over at a turnout and flipped the phone open. It was a message from Walt's home number. The little voice in Mitch's head began to speak pessimistically, 'See?', but Mitch pushed it down and listened to Walt's voice over the tinny speaker. "Hey buddy! You wouldn't believe the day I've had. Whatever could go wrong has gone wrong. Stuff at work, late deliveries, and now a flat on the bike. Don't worry, I'll be there, but it's a four-hour ride, not good at night. I'll leave early tomorrow morning and be there between 9 and 10, OK? Make yourself at home there; the key is in a notch on the top of the third post on the right of the porch. Sorry I won't be there to greet ya." There was a pause. "I'm really sorry, buddy. But I'll make it up to you when I get there, OK? See ya soon."

Mitch closed the phone and looked at the directions Walt had emailed him. So far, so good; it looked like only a few more miles to the turn off. Then he would have to watch the odometer carefully. The last turns were based on mileage. He eased the truck back onto the state highway and struggled with his disappointment. He had been looking forward to a hot night with Walt, maybe in front of a fireplace; but at least it wasn't the blow-off the little voice would have predicted.

He reached the turn off and swung the truck to the right onto a rather narrow paved road. Watching the odometer, he drove slowly, his headlights illuminating the tall conifers in the darkness. Occasionally he caught a pair of eyes in his beams at the roadside, and once a deer bounded across the road. Turning left at .6 miles, he bounced along on a dirt road, for a further half a mile, then turned left again and after a short ways, saw the cabin.

Cabin was a misnomer. From the outside, it appeared to be a substantial older house, a classic rock and timber dwelling with a wide porch and steps, more like a lodge. On the left side of the house were large windows that would give a magnificent view of the rugged mountains and trees. Mitch parked the truck and stepped out, inhaling the clean cold air. "Damn, that smells nice."

Mitch climbed the steps and found the key Walt had mentioned. He opened the door, then returned to his vehicle and opened the door. He shouldered his skis and poles and climbed back up to the porch and leaned them against the wall by the door, and returned again to the truck and pulled out his bag and a box of groceries. Walt had said there was no need to bring anything, but Mitch hadn't felt right showing up without contributing to the food larder. He locked the truck and wearily took the rest of this stuff his stuff inside.

Several Tiffany shaded lamps sprang to life when Mitch flipped the switch inside the door. "Wow," Mitch breathed as he looked around. The interior of the lodge certainly was much more comfortable and stylish than the outside had promised. It was plain that whoever owned this place had put a lot of money into its furnishings without having relied on glitz or trendiness to make an impression. Soft leather and good sturdy Craftsman style furniture invited relaxation. Thick area rugs softened the floors, and yes! a magnificent cut stone fireplace dominated one end of the living room. Soft thick drapes covered the wide windows to keep out the cold, but would open to provide a magnificent vista. Several beautiful paintings were on the walls and shelves by the large chair by the fireplace held an array of well-worn books. Upon Mitch's examination, a number of them proved to be signed first editions. Two bronze sculptures of bears, looking very much like the work of Remington sat on other shelves. A large floor lamp by the chair promised good light for reading, comfortably close to the fire. Another equally large chair was across a rug from it, and a large couch completed the arrangement in front of the fireplace. Mitch took the groceries into the kitchen and saw a much more modern galley than he expected. Again, it wasn't 'fashionable' but obviously designed by someone who valued convenience. "And someone who likes lots of food," Mitch said out loud, seeing the large pantry and the equally large refrigerator. "Sub Zero... nice!" Mitch put the perishables in there, and stacked the rest of the provisions, noting ample counters and a variety of utensils, all readily available to hand.

"Time to explore." Walking into the first bedroom, he wondered where he was to sleep. This one was obviously the owner's. It had a huge bed, covered in what looked like bearskins, and another one of the comfortable large chairs he had seen in the living room. More books lined the walls and another fireplace filled a corner, and a closed door, presumably the bathroom. He walked down the well-lit hall and did a double take as he looked at the spotlit painting on the end wall. He moved closer and looked carefully. "Oh, my ears and whiskers... that's... that's a Monet!" Mitch gazed in wonder at a pair of haystacks, partially covered in snow and shimmering in pale winter sunlight. The small masterpiece hung proudly alone on the white wall. Mitch turned and looked in another bedroom, this one also filled with a huge bed with a large painting of William Beard's 'Bear Dance' over it, more books, a thick area rug, and what looked like the back side twin of the fireplace in the first bedroom. This room was smaller, though, and Mitch took it to be a guest bedroom. There were other rooms opening off the hallway, but their doors were closed and locked, so Mitch decided that the second room was intended for guests and slung his bag on the bed and started to unpack.

Stripping and padding into the bathroom to take a badly needed leak, he noted that this, too, was larger than he expected, with a huge walk in shower. He shook off and stepped into the enclosure, turned on the water and jumped. Water cascaded out from multiple shower heads embedded on the walls as well and the main one extending from far up on the wall. "Better and better," thought Mitch as he soaped his hairy body and let the hot pulsing spray rinse off the road fatigue. His cock swelled as he soaped it, but he resisted the urge to jack off to the images of him and Walt at the motel. The real thing would be there soon enough.

Stepping out of the shower and toweling off, he padded naked around the house, making sure doors were closed and locked and lights were off. He gazed again at the painting in the hall. "Wow." He turned down the covers (more bearskins?), wondered about the painting over the bed (original? it certainly looked like it) and crawled into the huge bed. "This guy's guests must all be basketball players," Mitch thought. "BIG basketball players." He had wanted to think of Walt and plans for the weekend as he fell asleep, but the hot shower, the oddly pleasant musky smell of the bed, and tiredness overtook him and he fell almost instantly asleep.

Mitch woke and stretched the next morning, comfortably buried in a mound of pleasant smelling sheets and covers. He couldn't quite place the scent, but it reminded him of musk and spice; and oddly, of Walt. He crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands in the large sink, and went naked to the kitchen. He set coffee to brewing and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. The place was cold but not unpleasantly so. The pale light from outside drew him out onto the porch. His balls immediately snugged up tight against his body and he felt his cock shrink, 'Shit, its COLD out here!" He stepped to the railing of the back porch and sipped his coffee and he look out on the small meadow that spread out before him. "This is beautiful." He turned but stopped as he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He gazed intently at the dark trees off to the left of the back porch, forgetting the cold for the moment. He thought he had seen a shadow move. There it was again, the slight movement. A bear? This close to Tahoe? It certainly looked like a bear. He looked again, but the shadow had vanished. He waited to see if it would return, but it didn't. He turned again and went back inside, shivering, and poured another mug of coffee and looked at the clock. Walt would be here in less than two hours, he thought. "Enough time for a hike, I think."

Mitch padded down to the bedroom and put on clothes for a short hike. He strapped his watch on so he would know when to turn back in time to meet Walt. He stopped at the kitchen table and wrote a quick note to Walt that he was going on a short walk and would be back by 9:30, 10 at the latest. Grabbing his bright blue ski parka, he walked out the kitchen door.

Walking across the meadow, he gazed around him. Thick pine and deep green fir trees formed the vegetation off to either side of the meadow, along with granite, glinting gray and mica. Tall mountains provided the backdrop to a rugged landscape. "Whoever owns this place sure picked a prime spot." Mitch thought has he strode off across the meadow towards one of several trails he spied. He scanned the sky. A thin layer of clouds screened the sun and cast a pale cool light on the trees and patches of snow. The path he chose climbed, slowly at first, them more steeply as it angled off through the trees. Mitch found himself listening to the wind sighing in the trees, a sound he hadn't noticed crossing the meadow. As he climbed, the sound increased, and Mitch noticed that the sky had become noticeably grayer. The path was steeper, too. Puffing, Mitch sat on a log for a minute. "I must be in worse shape than I thought." He rose, checked his watch, and resumed walking. Suddenly, the path leveled out and the trees dropped off to his right. A ridge opened out and gave him an impressive view of a ravine and the rugged Sierras beyond. The climb had winded Mitch more than he expected and he stood there looking, catching his breath and sweating. "Parka might have been too much," he thought, and unzipped it, intending to tie it around his waist. The sweater and shirt would be enough for a bit. He looked out across the ravine and noticed that the sky now had black clouds scudding in from the north east, and the wind was more insistent than ever. "Maybe I should keep the parka on," he mused and untied the sleeves from his waist.

A sudden strong gust of wind tore the parka from his hands and blew it up and away across the ravine. Mitch watched and swore as the errant gust deposited it in a snow bank on the other side of the ravine. "Damn it to hell!" he cursed. He stared at the ravine, noting the steep side and pockets of snow and what looked like ice. "How the fuck am I going to get down there?" He walked across the ledge, looking for an easy way down. Nope. He walked a ways further. Still no joy. The temperature was beginning to drop rapidly with the wind, and Mitch anxiously scanned the sky. He continued to walk along the ridge, hoping to fine someplace to cross over the ravine and walk back up to get his parka. He looked again at his watch. "I can just make it back if I can get that parka now." He spied what he thought was a path leading down to the bottom of the ravine. He began to step carefully among the rocks and snow. Patches of ice made the going slow and difficult.

"Don't want to fall and break my fool nec..." Mitch's foot suddenly bent nearly double under him as he stepped on a patch of unseen ice and slipped. He began to topple over and flailed his arms in a vain attempt to right himself. He tumbled forward and sideways and landed hard in a pile of small rocks. Loose and unstable, they gave way and pitched him down the side of the ravine. He landed on the broken branch of a dead pine tree. The broken, jagged splinters of the branch pierced Mitch's side, gashing open his sweater and shirt and rapidly soaking them with blood. He tried to lever himself up off the branch but a splinter of wood broke off and stayed in his side. His hand slipped on the blood-slicked rock and he rolled over into a small puddle of melt water that covered his chest and legs. Searing pain shot up from his badly twisted ankle and around from his side and collided together, making him gasp for breath. Something was terribly wrong, he thought. He gasped again and again in spite of the heavy pain each time he did so, but he still felt as if he was suffocating. He stared up at the heavy snow-laden clouds gathering. His vision blurred and then saw only black.

Walt reached the lodge a little after 9:30, and was pleased to see that Mitch's rental was parked there. He bounded up the steps and reached to open the door. It was locked. "That's odd," he thought. He reached for the key in its hiding place, but it wasn't there. Mitch's skis and poles were there, so Mitch obviously had gotten there and unloaded gear. He walked around the porch to the back and tried the kitchen door. "Ah." Walt opened the door and stepped in, shedding his old leather jacket as he did so. He looked around and sniffed the coffee in the pot. Pouring himself a mug, he called out, "Mitch? You here?" Receiving no answer, he walked through the familiar rooms, looking for his buddy. "Well, he's been here," he said, looking at the rumpled bed. "Wonder if he's out exploring?" Walt walked back into the kitchen to get a refill on his coffee and noticed the note on the table. "Well, that explains it," reading the note.

Walt took his mug out on the back porch and sat on one of the chairs there, sipping and looking at the sky. "Damned if that isn't a storm blowing up." A sudden feeling of deep unease passed over Walt. It wasn't just the pending storm; this was a feeling of almost dread. He'd had these feelings before and had gradually learned to heed them. Something was wrong. He paced, went inside, and reread Mitch's note. "He says a short walk. Its just 10 now, so he's not really late... not yet." He paced more, then went back out on the porch and sat. Restless, he rose and paced some more. His unease grew. The neglected coffee quickly chilled as the temperature dropped and the cold winds increased. Walt went back inside, through the living room and out the front porch and un-strapped his bag from the bike and took it inside. He went to the room Mitch had slept in and hung his few clothes in the closet. He peed, then brought wood in from the front porch and occupied himself laying a fire in both the living room and bedroom fireplaces for later in the evening. He checked the reefer for food, and then let himself into the basement and check the large walk in freezer there for more supplies. He took out a couple of large steaks to thaw for dinner. His feelings of 'wrongness' hadn't abated. He looked at the clock, seeing it was nearly 11. He grabbed his jacket and fanny pack and stepped outside into the cold and wind.

The weather had deteriorated in the hour he had been inside. Thick, heavy snow clouds now filled the sky, and a viscous wind cut across the back meadow, bending tree branches and grass. Now deeply worried, Walt looked around him carefully and then, satisfied, willed his body to change. He pointed his face into the wind and took in a great lungful of frigid air, questing for scent. He moved off toward the back of the meadow and stopped, confused, at the multiple paths leading off in different directions. He carefully went out a ways on one path, scanning the ground for any sign of Mitch's passing. Finding nothing, he retraced his steps and went down another path, each in turn. His search yielded nothing. Frustrated, he knelt to the ground and examined it at eye level, then sniffed. A wisp of something called to him. He set off at a lope up the last path.

Taking the rising path in stride, he reached the level area that opened to a ravine. He turned this way and that, squinting his eyes against the stinging wind. He inhaled again, deeply. There... the faintest tinge of blood. The winds were making this very difficult. He headed down the ridge, scanning the terrain as he moved, looking for any sign. Suddenly, he spotted what looked like a patch of blue... bright blue, there, across the ravine! He focused on the color and made out a sleeve. A parka of some sort. Mitch's? Walt stepped carefully down the rocky side of the ravine, placing his feet with care. He reached the bottom of the ravine and reached into the snow bank and retrieved the parka and sniffed. Yes, definitely Mitch's. His head swiveled up and down the ravine. Where was he? Frantically, Walt tried to focus his hearing against the wind. He inhaled. More blood scent, this time from down the ravine, the wind now working in his favor. Walt moved as quickly as he could in the rocky icy ravine bottom, picking his way among the fallen branches and boulders. His boots crunched through thin ice on puddles. Suddenly, he saw a blood-soaked form on the ground ahead, half in a puddle, leg at an awkward angle. Unable to see its face, Walt stumbled rapidly forward. Yes! Mitch. He knelt and placed his hand against Mitch's neck. His skin was icy cold, his face drained of all color except for a blue tinge to his lips. He detected a shallow, fluttering pulse. Walt lifted his head with a silent 'Thank you' and lifted the limp nearly frozen body, wrapping it in the parka. Snow started to fall.

Walt hefted Mitch's weight in his thick arms and slowly walked down the ravine to the same broken path Mitch had started to use nearly two hours ago. His powerful legs steadied them both as he climbed the side of the ravine, carrying Mitch's body as gently as he could. Cresting the ridge, he looked around. Snow was falling faster now, whipped by the winds. The cold cut through his jacket like a knife. Walt bent his head close to Mitch's mouth and nose and felt faint shallow breaths. His face looked utterly bloodless. He rapidly considered. "He's going fast, who knows how much blood he's lost. The cold will have slowed that some, but it also lowered his temp. Lying in the icy water saw to that. I can't get him back to the lodge in time... he'll never make it." His eyes scanned the immediate area. Nothing. He moved as quickly as he could back down the path along the ridge and then down into the trees.

He moved on, snow blinding him at times, legs churning through the blowing snow. When the wind shifted, he could see better, if only momentarily. But, yes... there, up a ways on the path. Surely a ledge, maybe an opening of some sort. Walt struggled up the slope and was rewarded with the low opening to what might be a cave. He carefully set Mitch down on the rock ledge, fully expecting to have to do battle with some animal for the right to shelter there. Senses alert, he crawled into the opening.

Inside, the cave opened up, allowing him to stand nearly upright. The cave was dry, but more important; it was empty, with no signs of recent occupancy. The back of the cave angled off to the right, providing some shelter from any gusts that might blow in the cave mouth. Walt quickly returned to Mitch and gently moved him inside. Stretching him out, he made a pillow of the parka and placed it under Mitch's head. He looked carefully at Mitch's inert body. The shallow pulse was still evident when he placed his fingers against his neck, but he was SO cold. He saw Mitch take a very shallow breath and heard a bubbling sound. Gently lifting the torn sweater and blood-soaked shirt, he dislodged a large clot and saw fresh bleeding. He also saw the jagged splinter of wood embedded in Mitch's side.