Frye Redux

"if you go down in the woods today you're sure of a big surprise! Every bear that ever was will gather there for certain, because today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic..."
~Traditional

-1-

Jeff and Crowe were walking very very slowly, partly because it was getting dark and they were lost in the woods, but mostly because they'd each eaten most of a 1/4 oz of hideously powerful mushrooms. After the inevitable 45 minutes of puking, Crowe had suggested a slow race. They'd been at it almost an hour before Crowe gave succinct voice to the navigation shortfalls:

Crowe: We're fucking lost...Hey!! you're not moving buttfuck! It's a slow race not a fucking "stop" race

Jeff: eat shit dicklick - no such thing.

Crowe: there is cause you made it up, right now.

Jeff: fuck I think we're lost.

Crowe: ya think? Ha! Think! Thonk! Thank! Think think...

And they both laughed for almost 15 minutes. Crowe stopped first because the hilarity was causing eye malfunction. He was picking nettles out of his jeans when a familiar figure came trooping through the underbrush.

•••

Frye sightings were common enough in the woods around EG. There were no homeless people in town, but Frye - shacked up for years in a decrepit Airstream at the base of an abandoned landfill - represented the local lunatic fringe with aplomb. Word was he'd been in a bad car accident years before, and downward spiraled to eventual dump-life in the ensuing decades.

On this day, although the boys hadn't realized it, the old bum had seen them gobbling the 'shrooms at trail side, and followed them up into the woods to beg some. He'd lost the scent and given up, only to have the boy's long, laughter put him back on task. He'd come forth from the trail, arms high in triumph, about to announce his intention, when a gigantic black bear broke from the brush behind him and tackled him to the ground.

-2-

Neither Jeff or Crowe had climbed a tree in a long, long time. Even so, they were both twenty feet up in an old evergreen before Frye had a chance to scream:

F: what the fick what the fuck what the fuggin fuck!!! Fuck! Frye! Fuck!

J: what what I can't see. Is he... What are they doing?

C: fuck fuck fuck!

J: damn is that?...is he?...I can't...

C: Play dead play dead, that's what you do!

J: play dead! Yes!

C & J: frye! Play dead!

•••

It was just about dusk now, and shadows had claimed the woods. After the initial shock the beast had slacked off a bit, stepping back from It's prey, it walked a slow circle, scratching itself as it went. It stank like hell, filling the whole area with a musky, eye-watering cloud.

Just then Frye - moving ten times faster than jeff or Crowe had ever seen him move - seized his moment, gimping quick towards their evergreen and freedom. Unfortunately for Frye, he became confused in his flight because of the "play dead" command from the trees. Frye was mere steps from safety when Crowe and Jeff had started in. He abruptly crouched and lay down on his belly in a pathetic imitation of death, abandoning an almost surefire bid for safety in favor of a half-assed suggestion from the tripping idiots in the tree. The poor old hobo dropped to the ground, and the stinky bear was upon him once again

-3-

The sounds were the worst part. It was almost full dark by now. Flat grey light and mushroom hallucinations were making it hard for Jeff and Crowe to gauge what was happening down below. The sounds, however, - grtistle pops and squishy grunts - weren't painting any kind of positive picture.

The bear had taken a giant bite out of Frye's ass and the reaction was instant: a low, raspy wail that went on for almost a full minute. For the boys watching from the safety tree, the sound touched nerves:

J: fuck is that?

C: the bear farted...

J: shut the fuck up it's getting louder. Is that frye? Frye!

C: sounds like Grover...

***

He was right, the sounds Frye was making were muppet-like, although not by intention. The bear was standing on his legs and munching on parts of his back and shoulders and the pain was driving the degenerate insane.

To Crowe, Frye seemed to be screaming actual words, but in a foreign language. French, he was guessing.

Eventually, the bear consumed enough of Frye's spinal cord to relieve the pain. The feeding, however, went on for hours. Eventually Crowe drifted off to sleep hugging the evergreen, like a new monkey dangling on the teat, leaving Jeff to keep watch over the spontaneous forest buffet that was once the hobo called Frye.

-4-

The bear stayed around for almost two hours. The moon was half and low and the hallucinating Jeff was able to watch the whole affair like HDTV.
After Frye's spine had been partially consumed, the beast moved to his shoulders, arms (left then right), and legs. After this the animal appeared sated. Jeff actually thought the ordeal might be finished when the beast reared back away from the carcass of Frye. Instead of leaving, however, the bear gave a roar, lumbered forward, and took a giant shit on Frye's back. The smell wafted up to Jeff like a chemical weapon, and he almost fell from the tree.

The bear did eventually move on, but - following immediately after - a team of squirrels fell on the remains of Frye. They seemed primarily concerned with Frye's neck and scalp area. As they ate, jeff could hear their tiny jaws snapping and smacking over the fresh meat.

The Squirrels dashed almost 45 minutes later, then came the raccoons. After the raccoons, snakes and bugs, after that there were possums, dogs, cats, and what looked to Jeff like a miniature elephant. All night they pulled up and back from this new meat oasis, and all night Jeff was there bearing witness. He felt the weight of history upon him and proclaimed to the darkness:

Oh Frye! It's all because of you. Frye...why did you play dead. Why did you listen to Crowe. Crowe killed you! You hear me? Crowe! Crowe! Cro...

Fuck you asshole it was your fault.

Jeff was too shocked and too hallucinating to realize Crowe was awake and fucking with him, impersonating Frye (badly) while pretending to sleep. Just the opposite, Jeff had suspected Frye might still have been alive all during the feast, and - thus - bit hard on the idea when Crowe spoke up. He jumped, startled, straight up on his branch, and in doing so shook Crowe from his. The old hippie hit the ground with a wet thud, coming to rest ten feet below in the stinky flesh-pudding that had once been Frye.