He had this bear, Paddington. You know, the kind with the little hat? I think it was a present from my sister.
One day, I came in to Teddy’s room and found him crying. He was inconsolable. I asked him why he was upset and he pointed to his bed. On it lay the bear. Teddy had torn the little guy’s head off and shredded the body, especially between its legs. I asked him why he had done such a thing.
“It was bad, Mommy,” he said.
“But you love it, honey.”
He nodded, crying harder. “I love it and it was bad so I had to make it dead.”
You know how kids are. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.
I started to notice that certain stuffed animals were missing, usually his favorites. When I asked him about it, he would go quiet and look at me strangely.
A couple years later, the local paper ran a story about how the duck family in Hunter Park had all been killed, the heads cut off and placed neatly beside them in a row, their sexual organs mutilated.
Teddy always loved the ducks at Hunter Park.