Matt nodded in agreement and tucked into a ball, his clothes still damp. Fortunately the bear den blocked the wind, allowing him to retain body heat.

Noises peeped up across the bog as the night grew richer. Here and there a frog croaked or a stick broke. His spine lit on fire with every noise, and it took five minutes for his body to stop trembling. It was like being on death row for a crime you didn’t commit and hearing the pastor’s footsteps every ten minutes. And the strength of the thing pacing outside his cell. He didn’t even want to think about it. Impossible strength.

The bog noises faded and their absence was morphine. He thought of Andrea and his mother, of how they’d watched those damn movies from the eighties like Dirty Dancing. He remembered how they laughed and this laughter filled his heart as he drifted off. At 1:00 a.m. he woke to a nudge in his backside. He listened, puzzled at the sound of his breathing. It sounded labored. The spicy-sweet scent of body odor filled the den.

Maybe you’re sick, he thought.

Matt listened to his breathing again. Strange. He held his breath, then flared his nostrils when he realized the noises weren’t coming from him.

He fumbled for his headlamp switch.

The beam lit the den wall he faced, revealing a couple squirmy grubs. As he turned his head, the violet cone of light revealed a mass slumped against his body. The mass was thick with black fur. The furry heap rose and fell.

Alive. Breathing.

Heart racing, Matt craned his neck, careful not to disturb the massive animal. With a better perspective, he realized the animal was sleeping against him. A stench of bog algae and fruit farts wafted from the beast.

A freaking bear!

He forced himself to remain still, catching desperate utterances just before they passed his lips. He had to think, had to plan. A single bad move and this could be GAME OVER.

He bunched up, smashing his arms and legs against each other and the den wall.

Do you really think it’s going to attack you, Matthew? the little voice asked. It came into its den and laid down right next to you as if you were nature’s pillow.

Matt sighed.

No need to add more worries to your list. A bear is the least of your problems, Matthew.

The bear’s midsection heaved as it snored, each snore ranging from frightening to comical.

The bear’s face was turned away, its back snug against him. He followed its shape and saw a furry leg and an upturned paw, the pads worn and scarred.

The bear let loose a watery fart, filling the den with the scent of wild berries.

This made him hungry.

You sick bastard, the little voice said. You sick, sick bastard.

Matt chuckled, happy to one-up The Voice for once.