This Month’s Theme:
Stuffed Animals

And I don’t mean pets that ate too much.

“Duty Calls”
Science fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

The guardian patrolled the crash site, pounding the ground and crushing vegetation as he went.

“I am Cyberdax QZ-2500, a destroyerbot,” his voice thundered. “No native flora will stand in my way.”

He stomped his way around the perimeter. Above him, a few clouds wafted across the banana-yellow sky. Three of the planet’s eleven moons were visible as thin crescents. The late-day green sun blazed overhead.

He saw the native creatures approaching—there were twenty-three, his sensors told him. But as big as they were, there was no need to waste precious firepower. He stood his ground and waited until the swarm was upon him, each with ten legs and an armored carapace. He raised his right foot and stomped as hard as he could on the first invader, smashing through the armor as if it were an eggshell. And he kept on stomping.

It was no contest for a destroyerbot. In barely a minute, he’d crushed them all. Such was expected of him; after all, his job was to protect the ship. Even though the crew had perished and the ship was in pieces, the cargo survived.

Standing amidst the carnage of flesh and blood, he turned his mechanical head toward the wreckage. The ship still smoked and sparked. It would never fly again.

He returned to marching the broad perimeter about the ship. Destroyed vegetation from his first thousands revolutions was evident, leaving just scuffs on the bare stone. He had barely marched for a dozen paces when a new creature emerged from behind the downed ship. Cyberdax reacted quickly, spinning and launching into a sprint toward the creature. The creature was bigger than he was, and it showed slavering fangs as it roared—then charged towards him.

Cyberdax’s calculations said that his chances against the beast weren’t good. This enemy would require the blaster cannon mounted on his shoulder.

Too late, he realized the cannon malfunctioned. Nothing fired. And the beast was upon him.It took him down to the rocky ground and tried to take his head in its maw. Of course, that didn’t work. Cyberdax reached up with both mechanical hands and wrapped them around the beast’s shoulders and he squeezed with all his might. The creature’s muscles and bone were too strong, so it took several minutes for Cyberdax to choke the life out of the thing. Finally, he rolled it aside and got to his feet. The hairy creature was very dead, pink stuff hanging from its mouth.

Pink stuff? Cyberdax couldn’t fathom that. He hadn’t seen pink stuff in the creature’s mouth before.

He was about to return to his patrol when he heard the whine of a ship’s engine. He looked into the yellow sky and saw the craft coming for a landing. He stood at attention, watching as the ship set down a hundred yards away.

Presently, two crewmen in spacesuits disembarked and headed across the plain toward him. He raised a hand and announced, “I have secured the crash site. The crew did not survive, but I have guarded the cargo.”

They looked stunned.

“What the hell are you?” one of them asked.

“I am Cyberdax QZ-2500, a destroyerbot,” he announced. “It’s my job to protect this ship.”

*   *   *

The captain looked down at the destroyerbot. Nearby, he saw the remains of a groundhog-sized creature; beyond, he could see a pile of squashed bugs the size of beetles. He could see where the ‘bot had patrolled, because the short grasses and mosses were crushed in the ‘bot’s path.

“Captain,” called the crewman, who was inspecting the wreckage, “he’s right: all dead. Including the ship’s destroyerbot.”

“That is impossible,” said Cyberdax. “I am right here.”

“Looks like its brain is operational,” the crewman continued, “but the body is in pieces. And the brain appears to be malfunctioning.”

“But it was able to link up to the nearest ‘bot it could find, in order to complete its mission,” the captain said.

“That is incorrect,” Cyberdax said. “I am Cyberdax QZ-2500, a destroyerbot…”

The captain smiled. “You’ve done a fine job,” he said.

When they left the site with the cargo and the destroyerbot’s brain, the captain brought the stuffed pink bunnybot with him.

“Punishment”
Sword & sorcery
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Alaric stole from his family, cheated on his women, and lied to his friends his entire life. But when he broke into that old witch’s house and stolen her pouch of gold coins, he finally crossed the line.

She may have lived in a rundown stone hut in the forest, but the witch had great power. She must have quickly discovered the pilferage, for she took flight on her enchanted broom and soon overtook him. There in the forest she drew lightning from the sky and tremors from the ground; her eyes blazed red as she waved her clawed hands high above her. He begged for his life, but she wasn’t listening.

When he regained consciousness in her hut, he discovered that she’d transformed him into a small stuffed horse that a child might play with. His shell was made of random pieces of stitched-together burlap, his eyes were shell buttons, and he was stuffed with straw. But his mane and tail were his very own beautiful hair.

“You’ll spend your days as a child’s plaything, unable to do for yourself,” the sorceress cackled. “But I’ll give you this: If someone should kiss you, you’ll be transformed into flesh again.”

And with that, she cried out spell words and waved a magic wand, and a phantom cyclone whisked him up her chimney and into they night sky. He tumbled, visions of stars and forest spinning about him, until he flew down another chimney, where he landed on someone’s stone hearth.

He lay there, terrified and paralyzed, in the dim firelight. He could see the poor family had very little, but on the fireplace mantle he saw a beautiful silver urn. He knew he had to have it.

In the morning, a little girl found him, and she squealed in delight, scooping him up and crying her thanks to her parents. The mystified people told her it wasn’t them, but Abby didn’t care. She loved her new toy, and carried him everywhere. Alaric knew this was his ticket to becoming flesh again, so he thought all the positive thoughts he could toward her. She only needed to kiss him, and little girls always kissed their stuffed animals.

It was no wonder that the girl so loved him. The family had nothing; Father worked the fields for food, and Mother canned or dried everything for later. Mother also sewed and made clothing, which was why Abby assumed Mother had made the horse. Occasionally, Father would come home with a squirrel or rabbit he’d kill, and the smell of the cooking meat was wonderful to Alaric. He longed to be flesh again, that he might partake of something so delicious.

He learned that the silver urn contained the ashes of Father’s father, and it was the only thing of value the family had. Father wouldn’t sell it, of course, so Alaric knew he didn’t deserve such a fine thing.

His freedom came after just a week. While her parents were in the small barn, sorting carrots from harvest to prepare for canning, Abby was carrying her horse when she abruptly declared, “I love you, my beautiful horse!” and kissed Alaric’s stuffed-horse head.

There was a flash of light, and Alaric felt himself transformed, growing larger, feeling a heart once again beating in his chest, and his excitement built at the thought of that silver vase—even as he heard Abby screaming in shock.

And he felt the sword slash his throat open, and everything went black.

*   *   *

The old witch came to market weeks later, and at one booth where a poor family displayed its wares, she sense her own magic.

“What are you peddling?” she asked.

“The finest jerky,” the father said. “Dried horse meat.”

“And I can make you clothing from this quality horsehide,” the mother said. “If we can earn some extra money, I’ll make my daughter a nice new stuffed horse… to replace the one they lost.”

The parents looked at each other as if guilty.

The witch smiled. “I’ll take everything you have.”

And she gave them an entire pouch of gold coins. They were worthless to a sorceress anyway.

“The Pinocchio Syndrome”
Supernatural
By David M. Fitzpatrick

I am not sure what I am. The small person names me Teddy. The small person has a name. Jimmy. Sometimes I am named Teddy Bear or Ted or Bear. The big person named Daddy names me Theodore. I am made of polyester and stuffed with all new materials. That is what Jimmy sometimes talks is on my leg tag.

There are other Teddy Bears. Small persons take Teddy Bests to bed during dark and squeeze us strong. Jimmy squeezes me strong because he is seven. He talks that seven is big, Not big like Daddy but big for a small person. I have been here since Jimmy squeezed me when he was three. Three is smaller than seven.

I live in Jimmy’s bedroom but I was not always here. When I could first talk inside my head I was in a very big bedroom. There was much noise and it was mostly during dark. Then I was in a small bedroom that was during dark and it rolled and rolled. Then I was in a big bedroom that was always during light and one day Daddy came and took me home to Jimmy’s bedroom. Here I have stayed.

Jimmy and other small persons and the Daddy and the Mommy bring themselves to other bedrooms. I try to bring myself places but I cannot without Jimmy. Sometimes he brings me to other bedrooms where my eyes see other things. I know it is my eyes that see because when the small person covers them it is like during dark. Persons can bring their eyes different ways in their heads but Jimmy has to bring my whole head for me.

But they have a bad thing called ithurts. Ithurts is when the Daddy drops something on his finger and he holds it and makes his face all squeezed and talks ithurts. Or when the Mommy burns herself. Ithurts she talks. The small person tripped one day and his hand ripped and his red stuffing came out. He cried and talked ithurts. I think ithurts is a feel. The small person talks about feel all the time. I feel when the small person touches me or brings me but it doesn’t seem bad like ithurts. I think persons have all kinds of different feel, not just ithurts.

I talk in my head about wanting to have feels or to bring myself to other bedrooms or to bring my eyes to see things. But I am just a toy. Jimmy talked that one day. He talked Hey Bear you’re not alive like me. You’re just a toy.

The bedroom where I mostly am has much toys. They cannot bring themselves places. They don’t yell ithurts when Jimmy throws them or drops things on them. They cannot talk outside his head like Jimmy, except for one. He is called Marvelous Marvin the Robot Teacher. But he never talks like Jimmy. He talks sounds and talks You Are Correct and You Are Incorrect. I do not think he can talk inside his head like me. I do not think any other toys can.

Sometimes Jimmy makes the box light up and it shows pictures and talks sounds. Other persons live in the box. Once the box showed a Teddy Bear like me. It was a rabbit but it was the same polyester with all new material. The box talked that the rabbit was stuffed but the rabbit wanted to be like the small person who owned it. One day a special Mommy was there and she made the rabbit real so it could bring itself places. Maybe one day a special Mommy will make me real. I have much to do but need to bring myself around to do it.

Jimmy has a book like that rabbit. Books are like the pictures in the box but Jimmy has to talk them. The book has a Daddy who is much more than seven. He makes small person out of wood and then a special Mommy makes him able to talk and feel and bring himself. When the book is done the special Mommy makes him not-wood so when he is ithurts his stuffing might come out. I like that book. If it can happen to a small wooden small person it can happen to me.

If I were real I would be much strong and heavy. On the box once they showed real Teddy Bears who had red stuffing and could talk but did not use words. Roar they talked. Grrr they talked. A voice talked that real Bears are much big and strong and can bring themselves places and do things.

Some Bears are where small persons can see them. They are in cages with bars, like Jimmy keeps me in his bedroom. Those Bears are real but they cannot get out of their cages. Small persons come to stare at the Bears and give them food. I am in a cage but there are no bars. When Jimmy brings me places and makes me do things it is a not good thing for a helpless Teddy Bear.

I do not have food like the Bears on the box. Anyone real has food. They put it in where they talk and it is gone. I think if they do not have food for much time then ithurts. When Jimmy wants food he says imhungry. Imhungry is a feel like ithurts. I talk in my head that small persons must need food to stay real. Persons that are not-real are dead. In the box sometimes they are made dead. Like when Jimmy feels ithurts and his stuffing leaks out. But on the box they close their eyes and are dead and other persons put them under dirt. I think that when persons are dead they can’t talk in their heads like I do.

Under dirt would be good. It would always be during dark and I could talk in my head but would not have Jimmy always bringing me places and squeezing me. Under the dirt would be alone with no squeezes. There are things to see in bedrooms, but seeing all those things and not being able to bring myself places is like ithurts.

Jimmy is bringing himself here now, after school. I don’t know what school is. I talk in my head that he must go there or he has ithurts and will become dead. But there is no school now.

He looks at pictures on the box for much time. But now he talks at me.

Hello Bear, he talks.

Hello, small person. He does not know I am talking in my head to him.

I missed you at school today Bear.

Maybe if he brings me to school I can be real. He won’t take me though. He talked Daddy and Mommy once to take me to school for showandtell. Mommy talked yes but Daddy talked no.

Why, talked Jimmy.

Theodore Roosevelt is too big, talked Daddy. And he cost too much money.

Daddy talks much about money. Is very important, like it is much heavier and stronger than other things. Lots of pictures in the box talk about money. I wonder if something so much stronger and heavier than other things can make me real.

Let’s play, Jimmy talks.

But we always play.

He has wrapped his arms around me and is bringing me to sit on his bed. Jimmy sleeps in his bed during dark. Sleep is like not-real. They bring their eyes inside them and are dead until it is during light. Then they bring their eyes back and are real again. This not-real is different than my not-real. While they are not-real they move around in their beds and make sounds. Sometimes Jimmy talks but he talks strange like Marvelous Marvin. Once during dark Jimmy was not-real but he stood up and brought himself around to other bedrooms. Then he brought himself to the bed and was not-real some more. This makes me talk in my head that maybe I’m not-real just for awhile and one day I will be real.

I wrote a story in school today, Jimmy talks. It is about you and me. Once upon a time there was a stuffed animal named Teddy Bear and he was owned by Jimmy.

Owned means something a small person has in a cage, like a bedroom. But I do not like owned. I don’t think anyone who can talk inside his head should be owned.

Jimmy talks his story as he watches a piece of paper. Jimmy loved his Teddy Bear, Jimmy says. He played with him all the time. But he wished the Bear could be real so he could be friends with the bear and the bear could talk to him. One day a good fairy appeared and waved her magic wand and the bear was alive.

Alive is real, like Jimmy. The good fairy must be the special Mommy that helped the rabbit and the wood small person.
The small person and the bear were really good friends, Jimmy talks, and they stayed together forever and lived happily ever after the end.

Small persons like happily ever after the end books. I don’t like them. There is never a happily ever after the end for me. I just sit here for much time and talk in my head. If I could write a book I would. It would not be happily ever after the end. It would be different.

Jimmy the Mommy talks loud from another bedroom. Come down we are going to Uncle John’s for dinner.

Okay, Jimmy talks loud. Good-bye Teddy Bear don’t go anywhere.

Go is bring. I cannot bring myself anywhere. The small person leaves. Soon I hear the noise of their rolling bedroom. Vroom, it talks. Then they are gone.

*   *   *

The windows in the room have no pictures on them because it is during dark. When it is during light they have pictures like the box. It is almost sleep time when everyone should be not-real. But they are having dinner at Uncle John’s so they will be back much time later.

What is this?

It is during dark but there is some light in a window. But the picture is only green. Green light and it is brighter.
Now the room is all green light. The window is opening without anyone bringing it there. But windows are like toys. They need bringing. They cannot bring themselves.

The green light is a ball and it is pretty but it does not look like a special Mommy. Just pretty. Green sunbeams are touching me. I feel them. They feel warm. I feel different. I feel new.

I can bring my legs. I can bring my eyes. I can bring my mouth. I talk a sound but it is not like words. It is like real Bear sounds. Claws on my hands are like real Bears. I am a real Bear. I have fur not polyester. I wonder if my stuffing is all new material. I will touch a claw to my fur.

ITHURTS!

I am leaking stuffing. Not my old stuffing. The red stuffing like Jimmy leaks. I can bring myself even though ithurts. I am bringing myself around this bedroom. This is happily ever after but not the end.

I bring myself to the window and see the rolling bedroom returning. Jimmy will come up to be not-real soon. They will all be surprised. When the small person comes I will talk how I don’t like being owned. I know these claws cause ithurts so I will touch Jimmy until he leaks everywhere. I will make him not-real forever. Then I will go to Mommy and Daddy and make them not-real too. Maybe I will put them under the dirt when I am done.

They deserve it. Nobody owns me.

They’ll just have to be my Teddy Bears for awhile.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.