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  Estella fared no better. She lay limbless next to the bean bag corpse. All four of her appendages lay strewn about. Her snout had been sliced free, leaving a gaping wound of stuffing where most of her bear face should have been. But, she was not dead. She wriggled her stumps, staring into my eyes with her one remaining, a look of cold hatred in the huge plastic thing. One more swing of my club put an end to that.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow, turned to beat a hasty retreat, and was stopped dead in my tracks. There, standing in the parlor was a tiny miniature version of Estella. A little pink and purple teddy bear no more than a foot tall. And then there was a second, this one a giraffe. A third waddled into view, a sheep. They'd broken loose from the headboard.

  “Just-just let me pass and-” I ducked just in time to avoid three blasts of acidic cotton candy cum. The little monsters screamed and charged, sounding like angry children. I clubbed the first one clearly across the room. It exploded upon impact against the far wall, stuffing shooting out into the air like snow. I jumped clear of the other two, who rushed Estella's corpse, diving fully inside of her wrecked body, gorging themselves on her guts.

  More little monsters attacked as I fled the parlor. I easily batted them away with my club or kicked them as I ran. Their chatter was everywhere; the house was full of the dreadful nightmare things, like a bad acid trip inside a grade school cafeteria. The ones I smashed were set upon instantly by the others, giving me enough time to work my way to the front of the house and through the front door. I leaped into my car, never more grateful that I kept a spare ignition key in my glove box. The tiny monsters flooded out of the door after me, giggling and shouting, as I mashed my accelerator and left that cursed farmhouse behind me.

  I drove home in stunned silence. What else was I to do? Call the cops and tell them that a gang of nomadic cannibal were-teddy bears had savagely murdered a group of destitute gang bangers? No. Best to forget that bizarre night had ever happened. Best to return to whatever normalcy I could while I still had my health. I am an old man. I have no business sticking my nose into things like that.

  In the first few days after the nightmare, I was able to do just that. Return to the normal life of an old widower. I threw out all of my porno, cleaned my house, deleted Samuel's number from my phone, eventually blocking it, as he called and texted constantly when I did not show up at Hottest Topics after the... encounter. I placed a single picture of Susanna above the mantle in my den. A reminder of who I truly was, and what I'd truly lost.

  I bought that dog. The one all widowers are supposed to buy when their beloved spouse dies. I planted that garden. Much to the delight of old Mrs. Marsters, the old Mr. P. was back. I was already making plans to return to teaching. My First Life had returned, resurrected, a phoenix raised from the ashes of monster teddy bears.

  But that was a lie. It was not the end.

  The first changes I noticed while out planting peppers with Mrs. Marsters, listening dutifully to her idle gossip about our neighbors. It was the way the light hit, I assured myself, that caused the hairs on my arms to look slightly purple.

  Then my fingernails softened and took on a lavender texture, soft and malleable. A vitamin deficiency, no doubt.

  A week after the absurd events in Hopp's Hollow, I felt a change in my eyeballs, as though the eye itself had begun to stiffen or harden, while the iris came loose and sort of... jiggled about. For this, I had no explanation.

  Then there was the hunger. Insatiable. I bought ten pounds of steak, grilling it at first, then taking it rare, and finally raw. The hunger was not abated. I ate the dog, fur and all. Then I ate Mrs. Marsters, strangling her right under the picture of Susanna in the den.

  My First Life was gone forever, as was my second. This is my Third Life. There is no turning back. I accept who I am now, and -however absurd- what I am.

  I told you girls, at the beginning of this letter, that my story was not a confession. I am not ashamed of what I've done. You see, I went back. I went back to that farmhouse and I took those pelts and loaded the RV with the little ones. They turn back into toys in the sunlight, did you know that?

  The hunger is indescribable. It's all I can think about. I must feed on the true meat. Taste the true flesh.

  The moon should be up now, if I've timed this right. The full moon, girls. And with the full moon will come my first full change. My first true meal!

  ***

  Senica let the final page of the manuscript fall to the ground. She looked out the window into the huge full face of the moon, its light bathing the entire classroom. She felt the teddy bear head grow tight across her face as the child-like chanting began. The smell of cotton candy and the screams of her dying classmates filled the night air.