The bear's lips roll back, showing his teeth. He rears up on his hind legs. I consider my options. I could kick him in his big fat gut, but he could easily bring his claws down on me. A jab to the head -- not an option, he's too tall. I couldn't turn to run out the door without exposing my back to him. Doing it backwards, too slow.
The bear raises a paw. I prepare to duck.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Miss Copper-Cleaver, to have alarmed you," says the bear, extending his paw cordially. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Spindlewind."
"I... um... hello," I say. I lightly shake his paw, which is twice the size of my hand. "I'm, um, Glass."
"Oh, I know all about you, Miss Copper-Cleaver," says Spindlewind. He drops down to all fours with a THUMP and strolls toward the fireplace. "Miss Glass Copper-Cleaver. Twenty-three and a half years old. An expert in various types of martial arts, fencing, horseback riding, mountain climbing, water-skiing, motocross, scuba diving, sky diving, and some juggling. Has done occasional stunt work but is currently unemployed and living with her parents. How am I doing so far?"
"Swell," I say. "But I prefer to say I'm between jobs."
I take a few steps into the room. After winning a battle against a rug, talking to a bear doesn't seem so strange.
"Did you kidnap me?" I say.
"No," he says. He lowers his voice. "That was the enemy." He looks around nervously and motions his head toward the couch. "Come closer, child."
I'm no fool. I go toward the fireplace first and get my hands around one of the iron pokers. I yank it out of its stand and point it at him.
"No funny business," I say. "I need to get back home. I have an audition in two days that I can't miss. Can you help me or not?"
"Miss Copper-Cleaver, I assure you I mean you no harm."
How trustworthy are bears? On the one hand, he's got a cuddly, heart-shaped face. On the other hand, he is strong enough to bite my head off. Also he can talk. What is happening?
I take a seat in the rocking chair to his right and lay the tote bag with Bernard in it on the table next to me. I grip the poker with both hands.
"What's going on?" I say.
"Keep your voice down," says the bear. "Even the walls have ears."
Spindlewind rises up to grab a pipe and a matchbox from the mantlepiece. He puts the pipe in his mouth and fumbles with the matchbox. He sighs and hands the matchbox to me.
"Would you mind? It's so dreadfully inconvenient not to have opposable thumbs."
I strike a match for him and light his pipe. He takes a few big gray puffs and relaxes onto his haunches, drifting off in thought.
I clear my throat.
"Oh, yes. Excuse me. It's been so long since I've indulged. What I meant to tell you is this," he leans toward me. His breath smells like tobacco and fish. "This is a prison, my dear. We are both trapped. The enemy has lured us here."
He's a prisoner too? I have so many questions. "What's going on? Why are we here?"
My bag scoots on its own toward the edge of the end table. I grab it. Spindlewind watches the bag for a moment and then looks at me.
"There isn't time," he says. "Too many ears." The bear starts to cough with tiny roars. "Terrible habit. I should never have picked it up." He sighs and removes the pipe from his mouth. He taps it on the edge of the fireplace. "Here," he says. "Quickly, girl."
Tote in one hand, poker in the other, I go to the fire place.
"I saw them put the spell on this place. They covered all the walls, doors, and windows, but they forgot one thing," whispers the bear.
"What?" I whisper back.
"Shhh!" cautions Spindlewind. He taps his pipe on the edge of the mantle and looks up the chimney.
"The chimney?" I say.
"Shhh!" says Spindlewind again.
Bump! Bump! Bump! Something moves on the floor upstairs. Bernard wiggles at my side. Spindlewind growls at my bag.
"It's just my turtle," I say. Spindlewind growls louder.
"I don't trust turtles," he says.
The bumping gets louder.
"No time. Up the chimney with you, Miss Copper-Cleaver."
"What about you?"
"I couldn't fit," he huffs, shaking his large, furry belly.
Can anyone fit up that? The grizzly bear pushes the weight of his body against me, and I'm forced to stumble into the fireplace. I kick the logs out under my feet and start sneezing from the ash. Spindlewind starts shoving me upwards.
"Ow! Stop! I've got this," I tell him. I sling the tote back over my shoulder. The bear steps back, eyeing the wriggling bump in it that is Bernard. I hook the fire poker through a belt loop. Never know when that might come in handy. I look up the open shaft. The opening is only just wider than my shoulders.
"You don't have a rope, do you?" I say.
"No time. No time," says the bear.
I stand into the dark, ashy hole and brace my back against the wall. I leap my knees upward and jab them at the other side of the chimney. I can hear my bone THWACK the brick and know that I'll have a mighty bruise there later.
No time, Glass. You can do this.
I'm a serene warrior. I strain my muscles, and painstakingly inch my body one half at a time up the chimney. It sure is a good thing I went spelunking last summer.
At the top I gasp in a deep breath of the fresh air and fall onto the cabin roof coughing and covered in soot. After I catch my breath, I peer back down the chimney at where' I'd come from. I can see a nose and a tuft of brown fur whispering, "The other side of the lake. That's where the others are. Godspeed, Miss Copper-Cleaver."
Woa! The house is shaking. I hear a commotion. The chimney roars. I lose my balance and slide down the roof. I grab the poker just in time to use it to hook the gutter before I fly off. I'm able to dangle there a second before letting go and landing on my feet in the grass.
Smoke pours out of the chimney. I run down the hill toward the lake. The smoke turns and follows me. Why not? Nothing surprises me anymore.
There is a dock with a single rickety canoe directly in front of me. To my right is a wooded trail. To my left is nothing but trees.
What is happening? Where am I going?
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