Bearry

Back in bed, with Bearry securely under his arm, the shadows didn't look scary anymore. They just looked like shadows. Remo smiled, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep, knowing the best guardian in the world was back on duty. If you liked this, I can: Write a for Bearry and Remo. Make the story shorter or longer .

Inside the fort? No. Behind the couch? Just a lost Lego. The Bathroom: On the sink? Nope.

Mom appeared in the doorway. "Oh no! Where did you have him last?"

After a long day of building pillow forts, chasing imaginary dragons, and eating peanut butter crackers, six-year-old Remo was ready for bed. He brushed his teeth— chka-chka-chka —put on his rocket ship pajamas, and hopped into bed.

Remo’s hand met empty air. He sat up. He looked left. He looked right. He looked under the cozy blue blanket. Bearry was not there. "Bearry?" Remo asked, his voice shaking just a little.

Bearry wasn’t just a toy. Bearry was a guardian. He had fuzzy brown ears that smelled faintly of maple syrup, one button eye that hung a little loose, and the best hugging arms in the world. Without Bearry, the shadows in the corner of the room looked suspiciously like closet monsters. Without Bearry, his teddy bear duty roster—protecting from spiders and bad dreams—was completely unstaffed. "Mom!" Remo called out. "Bearry is missing!"