Goose bumps peppered his forearms and legs, and at once he felt more awake, like he’d gulped a cup of coffee. He suspected this bear was “Ernie,” a 600-pound behemoth that was the stuff of shack legends. Shack visitors had often found enormous scat on the game paths crisscrossing the orchard. The funny thing was they’d always found the scat at the highest points, as if the bear appreciated a good view while doing its thing.

His father and Ron used to try and scare Matt and his friends with Ernie tales. Supposedly Ernie had once tried to open the shack door when Ron was there by himself. And who could forget the story of Ernie breaking into Ron’s camper shell and running off with a ham? Matt had doubted these stories, assuming they were the product of too much booze around the campfire. If this was Ernie out there in the dark, he wasn’t very frightening. Ernie looked gentle as could be, darting out his long tongue and grasping branches plump with chokecherries. Ernie didn’t seem to mind him, and Matt in turn was glad to finally see the legend. After several minutes, Ernie slumped off into the berry bushes.

Certain he was in no danger, Matt placed a fat log and a crispy piece of kindling on the fire. The embers took on a nice, red glow. All sorts of shapes and patterns materialized in the fire—ones the human brain was accustomed to seeing, such as faces. One particular face in the embers he didn’t care for, a bulbous face with a wide forehead that seemed to glare at him. The embers burned so hot the face bloomed in neon. The jaw hung prominent, with several ropes of braided hair dangling from the chin, the eyes beset with cat-like inquisitiveness. The thing had three mouths, all circular and with sharp teeth like the lampreys that had devastated the Great Lakes fishery. The middle mouth was set in the usual human place. The other two mouths, about half the size of the original, occupied the cheeks and opened and closed like fish lips out of water.

The embers pulsed as the eyes stared at him.

A chill coursed down his limbs, but not the pleasant goose bump kind.

Matt turned his attention to another spot in the fire. This time he saw a hand sticking out of the embers, open palmed, fingers splayed. The hand looked strong and rough—the sign of a man who’d worked hard.

He realized it was his father’s hand.

A wave of memories overcame him and he clenched his fists.

No more staring into the embers, he thought, turning from the hypnotic fire. Something flashed in his peripheral vision. The fiery, open hand jumped from one side of the fire to the other and smacked the eerie face.

The fire popped and embers shot into the sky.