Susie and Mary Beth each grasped one end, as easy as if they were holding onto a jump rope. Their teacher — Mrs. Stimple — struggled, one fruitless attempt after another to try and break their grip. Little Bobbie suckled on the sweet, tender meat and juice of Mrs. Stimple’s inner thigh; her screams of pain with each bite and lick excited him to further actions, even though her sounds were mostly drowned out by the buzzing in his ears… the sickly nothings that the wind whispered as it passed.

Tired of the charade, hungry for their pound of flesh, Susie and Mary Beth exchanged wolfish grins before ravaging their teacher’s neck. They gorged themselves on the geyser of blood that issued forth from where her head was once attached.

Once the death throes subsided and Mrs. Stimple’s body quit spasming, the children rapidly lost interest. Their plaything, a broken doll, no longer held any allure. They wanted something new… something that walked and talked and screamed. Mostly, they wanted something that screamed.