The Getaway

I hear the scratching almost as soon as I put everything away. The little rural store a few miles from the cabin didn’t have a huge selection, but it would do. I am starving when I return to the cabin, ripping open an extra-large bag of peanut M & M’s and eating a few before I carry the groceries in. When I returned from the store, I had tried to balance three bags of groceries on one arm, as well as the candy. The M&Ms slipped from my hand and spilled out, scattering everywhere. I left it.

Maybe that was a mistake, I think now, as the scratching sounds intensify. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is bears. They aren’t exactly uncommon in the area surrounding Gatlinburg. And it is said that they can smell things a mile away. Campers are always told to hang their food on a line set up high, and a good distance from their campsite.

But I’m not afraid, although I probably should be. They say a little fear is healthy. I don’t remember ever feeling that way. And I enjoy the sport of hunting. I’m adept with more than a handful of weapons. Besides, I won’t be able to call for help if I even want to, because the cabin has no phone, electricity or Internet access. But for my purposes, it suits me just fine.

No, this cabin is definitely not bear-proof. It’s pretty old, and the wood would no doubt give way under pressure from a black bear, if he really wanted to get in, and it seemed that this one did. Damn M&M’s! If that’s really what enticed him… 

The scratching is getting annoying. I have work to do, but I’m getting a little hungry. It probably isn’t a good idea to eat lunch now, though. If it is a bear, the scent of food will only whet his appetite, make him more intent on breaking in.

I grin as I remember a U-tube video I saw: A bear knocking down a cabin door, not unlike this one, with what was probably a big swipe of his paw. The camera was on the inside of the cabin, so you could see the bear crashing in, stepping right over the downed door, frame and all. He looked around, then turned around and stepped out of the opened doorway. There were no M& M’s, I guess. Yeah, bears were pretty strong animals, major predators. Maybe I should be afraid, but I’m just not.

For as long as I can remember, even as a young boy growing up in a really shitty part of the city, things that provoke fear in most people, especially kids, excited me. Sometimes I heard gunshots at night or screaming and yelling, and it seemed like all the time, police sirens. But I wasn’t afraid, just excited. I wanted to get out there, see what was going on.

I’m still in the kitchen, groceries put away, my hunger growing stronger by the minute, when I hear what I can only describe as a rubbing noise. I manage to climb a chair and look out the only window in the kitchen, above the sink. Yep, it’s a bear, and it appears that he is now scratching his back on a corner of the cabin. Next thing you know, he’s gonna want a neck rub.

I know I should take it more seriously—a bear attack is no joke, but I feel that I’m well-prepared to deal with whatever he has to offer. I can’t say I blame him. It’s November now, and he just wants to fill his belly before the big winter hibernation. But I need him to leave. I have work to do, and I’m anxious to get started. I watch the back-scratching continue.

I think I hear an animal sound coming from my bedroom, so I jump off the chair and make my way to the open door of the bedroom. Could there be another bear? Nope, all is fine. I find my rucksack, stashed in the corner, near the bed, and bring it into the kitchen. It makes a clanging sound as I drop it on the table. Inside, I find two handguns, a Ruger Super Redhawk .454 Casull, and A “Dirty Harry” type .44 Mag. Both are loaded with hard-cast bullets. Just in case.

There are also a nice variety of knives, but none that would stop a bear. I dig a little further and pull out a canister of Counter-Assault Bear spray, purchased at Dick’s Sporting Goods, one of my favorite stores. They seem to have everything I need, all the time.

The funny thing is, research has it that bear spray may be more effective than firearms in deterring bear attacks. It’s fairly easy to use, and if you don’t want to take a chance with a non-lethal shot, which would just serve to piss off the animal, then it’s a good choice. I can’t say I’ve ever used it before, but it’s not rocket science, and I just want the damn bear to leave!

The scratching is starting up again, and it sounds like this guy is serious about getting in. If he does, I’m ready for him, but I really don’t want to kill him if I don’t have to. He’s one of nature’s top predators, and I admire him. I’m trying to decide how I’m going to spray him because I damn well don’t want to open the door when my problem is solved.

He crashes the window over the sink and is now sticking his massive head in. I grab the spray, jump up on the chair and let it rip. I spray hard and long, aiming for his eyes. Thankfully, there doesn’t appear to be any wind, He lets out a cross between a huff and a low growl, pulls his head out of the window, and turns around. A few seconds later, I see him disappear into the colorful Sugar Maples, Scarlet Oaks, and Dogwood trees of Fall.

I admire the trees in all their glory for a minute, but mostly, I am thrilled that I won’t have to use my Ruger on the bear, and I just hope that the experience was enough for him to not want to risk returning.

Now I can go to work in peace. Of course, I will have to nail some plywood over the broken window. But, I think, that can wait. I am excited to get to work.

I step into the bedroom, lugging my rucksack with the lovely assortment of knives, and approach the bed. She is awake now. Maybe I’ll take the tape off her mouth so I can hear her scream. Yes, I think that would be exciting.  She struggles against the ropes holding her. My God, she is beautiful. Long blonde hair, her eyes an unusual shade of green. She is the best one yet. What a talented hunter I am!

I will take my time with her, in this cabin away from it all. I have two full days to enjoy her before I have to return home, to my day job and my boring wife. Life is sweet.