FSE

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Being honest with Russel about what had happened on the boat was difficult. It's hard telling your friend that you thought they would harm you, but THE SITUATION WAS made worse by how you had to stop it. At first, Russel thought I was making stuff up, but maybe he could remember it. Or perhaps he began to trust me again. Nothing changed our current situation--no phone, no way home, and something taking over our bodies.

Russel decided to try and sleep off his headache. He seemed to have difficulty thinking clearly, maybe from a concussion? Or possibly from the bear. He locked himself into his little bedroom with instructions to wake him in a few hours. Feeling sorry for him, I did not want to interfere.

Bringing in the small satellite phone, I began searching for ways to try and charge it. The only port on the device was labeled for five volts of power. Looking around, there weren't any electrical cables, let alone one that would work for the phone. I found an emergency supply kit in one of the lower cabinet drawers containing a flashlight, a first aid kit, and a flare gun. Nothing in the kit helped charge the phone. Pulling the back cover off the phone revealed a small battery. While it was only three and a half volts, I still had no way of charging it.

Irritated, I hastily reattached the back cover. Attempting to start the phone yielded the same result as before, THERE WAS nothing on the screen and no sound--the blank screen with no signs of life. As much as I wanted to, I resisted the urge to throw the useless device. Carefully placing it back onto the table, I walked away to take a break.

Stepping outside, sighing, and running my hands through my neck feathers, I looked at the canoe and its broken oar. The cool air and silence were something I would have loved to relax TOO, but the stress of the situation made it all the worse. Pulling the boat further up the shore to ensure it would not float away, I fell backward onto the dirt. Landing hard on my bottom, laying on my back, trying to relieve my sore tailbone.

"Ahh!" Trying not to yell, reaching my hand back to rub my tailbone and lay on the ground until the pain subsided. My back began to itch; assuming it was from the grass rubbing my skin, I forced myself upright. Even standing, I still had a slight itching sensation under my shirt.

My back still sore from the fall, I took a seat in one of the folding cloth chairs in front of the cabin. Closing my eyes, I tried to forget what was happening to me. I tried to relax, listen to the sounds, and imagine everything was fine. Slowly, the tranquil sounds of the woods fell to silence.

"Come on! Ted is on his way," Russel yelled as he ran into the woods. Standing up from the chair, I followed him. Something seemed off, and his short sleeves revealed bare skin. Not a bit of fur on his body from what I could tell. No matter how fast I ran, he was always the same distance ahead on the winding trail.

After a surprisingly short chase, we arrived at the gravel airstrip. Russel dropped his bag onto the ground before pointing to the sky, "Just in time!"

In the sky, a red and white plane turned toward us. It slowed before touching down on the gravel, leaving a trail of dust behind it. Russel quickly ran to the plane, climbed into the aircraft, and turned back to face me. "You don't need this. You can fly home," Russel spoke before slamming the door shut.

My eyes shot open as the crashing of the door jarred me awake. The crashing sound seemed to echo off into the distance, and a series of smaller bangs came from behind. Looking back to the cabin, something was going on inside. I slowly stood up from the chair, stretching my back and legs before walking back to the cabin.

As I approached the cabin, I could hear a loud grunting, sounding scarily familiar to earlier. Carefully walking onto the porch, I peeked into the window, and Brown fur blocked my view of the table. The grunting was certainly Russel as the sizeable furry mass continued to move and jostle about. Carefully tapping on the glass, attempting to get his attention, he didn't seem to notice.

"Russel?"

Speaking aloud seemed to do the trick, and the brown head turned to the window. Russel's mouth had elongated into a muzzle, his face now looking more like a bear's than a man's. In his mouth was one of the food tins, torn forcefully as the contents leaked onto his paws. He grunted louder once he spotted me, dropping the tin held in his paws.

"Russel! What are you doing?"

Russel blinked and shook his head lightly. His head dropped, and the uncooked food fell to the floor. He began attempting to spit out whatever remained in his mouth, rubbing his face with his paws. "What the 'ell?" He shouted, pushing away from the table.

"What are you doing? That's all we have for the trip, Russ!"

"What do you-" Russel looked at the mess on the floor, confused, "did I do that?"

"I just watched you do it, dude. Are you feeling alright?"

Russel took a step back, blinking his eyes, "I had this weird dream. I was walking in the woods and..." Russel looked down at his paws, "But I wasn't walking like normal. I was like, closer to the ground?"

"On all fours? Like a..."

Russel squinted, "Yeah, walking with my hands. I followed a sweet smell and to what I thought was food." Looking around the room, Russel closed his eyes and shook his head, "I guess that's how I got here?"

Russel didn't seem to be fully aware of what was happening, and he kept shaking his head and wincing occasionally. His face now resembled a bear's with his long muzzle and brown fur. Whatever was happening to us had a firm hold on Russ, and I can't imagine how much further it could go.

"Well, I think we can make do with what's left. We can, uhh, figure something out for food. Right?"

Russel perked up, "I can fish something out of the lake" he proudly stated, "I brought all my fishing stuff with me."

"Can you? You know... with the paws and all"

Russel looked at his paws again, defeated at the realization, before looking up. "I can't, but I can teach you how to!"

I chuckled, "You'll have to show me sometime. For now, how about I cook up whatever you busted open? We will figure out other means of food later."

Russel attempted to shrug with his thick brown arms. His hands slowly raised to his muzzle, where he felt its length. "So, is this here? Or AM I losing it?"

I stopped digging in the cabinet and took a deep breath, "Yeah, its real. I think it's all real at this point, the feathers, the fur, and I guess even your face."

"Hey, your face is pretty screwed up too. At least I still have hair on my head," Russel mocked.

Hair on my head? Reaching my hands to my head, I felt for my usual hair. But instead, I found a slightly different feeling covering. Pinching and pulling a small piece of hair, I found it not to be hair at all. Instead, between my fingers were small white feathers. Quickly running my hands across my scalp, it was clear that feathers had fully engulfed my head.

"Did you not notice them?" Russel asked, "They must've grown in while I was sleepin'."

"How was I supposed to know? I thought my changes had stopped after the first ones grew in."

Russel shrugged, "I dunno, man. Did you get the phone working? Or are we still stuck?"

"I don't know how we could charge the thing. The only battery-operated things around are dead." Picking up the phone, flipping it over to look at the backside of its shell. The same numbers; I wish I could understand what they meant. If my dad were here, he would be able to rattle off some nonsense about electricity and build a solution in no time. But instead, It was just us and a few random tools lying around.

Russel walked to the small couch in the cabin as I worked on heating the food. As I was nearly done, the stove's flame began to sputter before burning out. The fuel could have run out, and reaching under the cabinet; I grabbed the spare. Although while picking it up, the canister was incredibly light. The other can had more heft to it and felt like it contained a sloshing fluid. Sure enough, screwing it into the stove had no effect, not even the slight hiss of the other can.

Getting down onto my knees and peeking into the cabinet. The only other canister was heavily rusted and still felt empty. So now we were not just alone with limited food, but out of the main source of cooking, what little we had was out of fuel.

"Bad news," pulling myself up from the floor, "gas is out. I guess we will have to start cooking on a wood fire."

"What else could go wrong, eh?" Russel raised his paws to his face.

Walking Russel's plate over to his spot on the table, he slowly made his way to the chair. He was stumbling with every unsure step--a vast difference from just the day prior. Russel was usually the athletic type. Although this was the first time I had really spent time with him since graduation, he always seemed to be doing something active, be it traveling or just outdoorsy exercising. In most situations, Russel would be the one to help someone in need, but seeing him now essentially helpless and reliant on someone else WAS hard to see.

"Thanks," the bear nodded as I placed the plate in front of him.

Sitting in my seat, I watched as Russel poked at the plate, seemingly as if he was trying to grab whatever he was trying to eat. After a few ill-fated attempts, he lowered his head to the plate. He was holding his paws onto the table to steady himself as he lapped up the plate contents.

The sight of Russel eating like an animal made me feel ill. Reduced to acting like a wild animal, and even worse, the longer he went at it, the more he seemed to enjoy it. He was becoming more haphazard and rough as the plate wobbled and slid across the table surface. Before finishing, he looked at me, and his expression changed from excitement to immediate disappointment.

"Sorrrr-eh" He growled, avoiding eye contact.

"It's- fine," hastily, I tried to eat, failing to be relaxed.

"It's just, so har-rrhd to use my hands," again his voice growled.

"Nothing to worry about, Russ. Just do whatever works for ya." Russel's voice was growing more gravelly, some sounds replaced by raspy grunts. It seemed he was only becoming more and more like a bear. I can only imagine what he may do next.

"Why don't we go outside? Maybe do something to get ARHH mind off things?" Russel pushed up from the table, "maybe we could try some fishin'?"

I nodded in agreement. Russel explained where his fishing tackle was and walked outside as I gathered everything he said we would need. Now carrying a small collection of things ranging from hooks, to rods and bait, that should be everything we needed. Russel wasted no time setting a chair at the edge of the water. As I approached I drug a second chair along with me.

Russel tried his best to instruct me. The closest thing I had ever experienced to fishing was back in elementary summer camp. While we did catch fish, the leaders would actually bait the hooks and remove the fish to release back into the pond. Russel's instructions were clearly knowledgeable, but his inability to physically show what he meant was beginning to drain his patience. Eventually, I was able to tie the hook with the rough approximation of a knot. Following that success, I baited the hook using the putty-like substance Russel packed.

Russel finally seemed to be getting somewhere with me as we prepared to attempt to cast the line out. Taking only three or so attempts before I was about to sling the hook out onto the lake. Reeling the line in was easy, but getting Russ's rhythm took some time and rough demonstrations using his large paws, and he swung his arms in exaggerated motions.

What should have been only an hour for an experienced angler took well over three hours for a professional fisherman to teach an inexperienced one with his arms tied behind his back. In the end, we caught three smaller fish. Not a huge win for us, but it indeed showed some progress.

Packing up the gear, Russel sat and waited for me to finish. His gaze seemed transfixed on the three dead fish lying on the grass. His nostrils flared, and he huffed, breathing in the scents from the fresh catch. The moment I noticed something was going on, it was too late. Russel grabbed one of the fish in his mouth and began pulling at it with his paws.

"Russ? What are you doing?" Shouting, I clapped my hands together, trying to grab his attention. He continued to pull and pull his head away. Eventually, tearing the fish, pulling its meat from the bones as Russel seemed keen on enjoying his fresh meal. Unable to stop him, all I could do was watch him go, keeping my distance as Russel once again acted more like a bear.

As I watched, the strangest feeling came over me. Something about watching the bear-man tear into the fish looked... almost enticing? My mind wondered how it could taste and if there was any for me. Quickly dismissing the ideas, I thought there was no way I could bring myself to eat raw fish. Right?

Russel continued to grunt as he finished off the last of the three fish. His thick brown fur was now wet with a mixture of water and other fluids. His head shook slightly, and he seemed to be with it again. He dropped the remaining fish carcass before bringing his paws in close. His head turned before letting out a deep bestial roar.

RAAAAGH!

"Russel?"