Chapter 1: Benny Wants Me to Jump

After my son watched the cartoon Grizzly & Friends, he suddenly announced he wanted to jump out the upstairs window.

I froze, my heart in my throat. "Wait, what?" I managed. I tried to keep my voice steady as I rushed to him, every parental instinct screaming at me. The way he stood there, so matter-of-fact, sent a chill down my spine. In that split second, the distance between us felt like a mile.

Terrified, I blurted out, "What’s going on?"

My hands shook as I knelt in front of him, putting myself between him and the window. "Buddy, what are you talking about? Why would you want to do that?" I tried to keep my voice calm, but the fear must've shown in my eyes. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as I waited for his answer.

My son told me that Benny the Bear was calling him from downstairs. He said there was a honey waterfall outside and that Benny wanted him to jump out quickly to check it out.

I stared at him, not sure if I should laugh it off or totally freak out. Benny the Bear? Honey waterfall? It sounded like something out of a fever dream, but the seriousness in his voice made my skin crawl. I tried to smile. My lips felt numb.

In a panic, I rushed to look out the window. To my shock, there really was a black bear downstairs, holding a chainsaw, grinning up at me in a way that made my skin crawl…

I blinked. Hard. Thinking I must be seeing things. But no—there it was, a hulking black bear, standing on two legs like something out of a nightmare, the gleam of a chainsaw in its paws. It grinned up at me, its teeth bared in a way that made my knees go weak. The sight was so surreal, I half-expected the sky to crack open next.

I walked in just in time to see my son tiptoe onto the window ledge, standing right at the edge.

The world slowed down. My breath caught as I saw his tiny toes curling over the edge, his arms out for balance. For a split second, he looked so peaceful, like he was about to take flight. The sunlight caught his hair, turning it gold. My insides twisted, a sick lurch deep in my gut.

“Benny said there’s a honey waterfall outside,” my son suddenly turned and gave me an extremely bizarre smile.

That smile—it didn’t belong on my little boy’s face. It was too wide, too knowing. Too wide, too knowing. For a heartbeat, I saw something old behind his eyes, something that didn’t belong there. My hands trembled as I reached for him.

My heart pounding, I rushed over and grabbed him just as he was about to climb out the window.

I snatched him back, heart hammering so loud I could barely hear myself think. I hugged him to my chest, clutching him as if I could anchor him to the earth. My breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline making my hands shake.

In that moment, I clearly saw my son’s expression shift from a smile to confusion, and then to fear.

His smile faded, replaced by a blankness, then a flicker of uncertainty. His eyes darted around, searching for something. Suddenly, fear twisted his features, and he clung to me like a lifeline. My heart broke a little, seeing him so scared.

At the same time, the roar of a chainsaw sounded from outside. The noise was sharp and piercing, like it could rip right through my eardrums. I winced, hands flying up to my ears.

The sound was so loud it rattled the window glass, making my teeth ache. It was the kind of noise that makes your skin crawl, the kind you feel in your bones. I instinctively flinched, tightening my grip on my son.

Instinctively, I looked down from the window. Down below, there really was… a black bear! It was holding a running chainsaw, grinning creepily up at our apartment. And its face was twisted, almost like it was wearing a mask.

My mind reeled. The bear’s grin looked painted on. Twisted. Unnatural. As if it wore some kind of grotesque costume. The chainsaw whined in its paws, the blade glinting in the sunlight. I blinked, but the image didn’t go away. It just kept staring up at us, unmoving.

I hugged my son tight and asked him who Benny was, but he didn’t answer. He just kept struggling in my arms, muttering that he wanted to see the honey waterfall.

He wriggled, his voice rising in a strange, sing-song trance: "I want to see the honey waterfall, Daddy, please!" I could feel his heartbeat racing against my chest, his breath quick and hot. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

When I looked outside again, the black bear had vanished without a trace. Was it just a hallucination? There was no way a black bear with a chainsaw could really be here.

I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes. The yard was empty now, as if nothing had happened. No bear, no chainsaw, just the usual patchy grass and the neighbor’s old swing set. For a moment, I wondered if the stress was finally getting to me. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.

Still confused, I decided to call building management. If a black bear really had gotten into the neighborhood, it would be dangerous for everyone.

My hands shook as I grabbed my phone. The number for the front desk was on speed dial—I’d called before, but never for anything like this. Not for something like this. Never. I took a deep breath and tried to sound calm as I dialed. My mind spun with worst-case scenarios: news vans, animal control, kids in danger.

The front desk picked up quickly—it was Mr. Miller. He always got the night shift.

Mr. Miller’s voice was warm and gravelly, like he’d just woken up from a nap. He always worked the late shift, and I’d chatted with him a few times about football and the weather. Tonight, his familiar tone was almost comforting.

“There seems to be a black bear in our neighborhood, and it’s holding a chainsaw. Mr. Miller, please let everyone know not to go outside for now.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out rushed. I could almost hear him frown on the other end of the line. Chainsaw-wielding bears weren’t in his usual job description.

“Another black bear? That’s the seventh one…”

His words hung in the air, strange and casual, as if we were talking about raccoons tipping over trash cans. Seventh one? My mind raced, trying to make sense of it.