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Sophernika von Olmstetter is waking up. It is still dark and suspiciously quiet. Sophernika—whom we will call Sophka—starts to think. Darkness is fine; it’s winter, and as such, it will be dark when she has to get up. But usually, it is already busy in the house. At least her father should be up preparing his coffee. So, it must be night.
But why did she wake up? Well, just to be safe, she will go to her parents. She slides her feet from the warmth of her bed into the cold of the room and cautiously tiptoes to the door in the dark. Then she hears it: heavy paws with long nails are quickly running through their attic—a bear, possibly.
Sophka starts screaming, "Beaaaaaaaar!" She runs to her parents' room, jumps into the bed, and drifts under the covers.
Her father, Mr. von Olmstetter, groans, "Scheiße, feleiße," while Sophka's mother continues to sleep as if nothing had happened.
Sophka is wide awake and starts to say, "Papa, there is a bear in the roof."
He responds groggily, "What—why? How would a bear get in our roof? I need some sleep, child."
This is not a sufficient answer to calm Sophka. How the bear got into the roof is not her concern; it is more the problem of him being there.
"Sophka, listen, we will figure it out in the morning. The bear will not come down from the attic tonight."
"Why not? What will stop him?"
"Bears can't open doors, and the door to the attic is closed." This answer is a bit more reassuring.
Sophka can calm down a bit—not enough to sleep, but enough to feel safe. She lies there for a while and wonders how the bear got into the roof. Probably he didn't enter through the main door or any of the windows; in the winter, they are closed. So maybe he used the window in the attic? But why would that be open? Maybe he entered via the chimney, just like Santa.
Probably that is what happened. She imagines a bear with a white beard and a long, red coat. That makes her chuckle and forget the danger. She slowly dozes away.
When she opens her eyes again, her father is gone. Some light is breaking through the blinds—brighter than in previous days—and it smells like morning. She gives her mother a kiss, jumps out of bed, and starts her way down to find her father.
She finds him in the living room. Normally, he sits in his armchair, reading something on his phone while drinking coffee. This morning, he stares out the window, cup in his hand, humming a Christmas song.
"Sophka, look outside."
When she looks outside, everything is white.
"Wooooooooooow, snow," she says in surprise—she didn't expect snow. "I want to go outside."
She expects her father to grumble something about breakfast and having no time, but nothing like that happens. Ten minutes later, they are standing outside in warm clothes, inspecting the blanket of snow on the branches.
The cold air makes Sophka's brain work on extra power. She remembers the bear from last night and tells her father, "I know how we can find out where the bear entered the attic."
Mr. von Olmstetter looks confused. "Bear? What bear?"
"The one in the attic."
"Sophka, there is no bear in the attic. Why would you think so?"
"I heard him running in the roof last night. You didn't hear him because of the snoring."
"I don't... How would a bear even get into our attic?"
"Well, that I'm going to find out. He will have left footprints in the snow."
"Footprints?"
"Papaaaaaaaaaaa, he will have left footprints in the snow before he entered the house and I'm going to find them."