Benny the Psychotic Stuffed and Undead Bear

Exciting news here at the homestead - Little One has been chosen as the Star Student of the (Up)Coming Week. This is a yearly tradition in our town's school system, and every child in the class has a turn as Star Student. Kinda like Everyone Gets a Trophy Day!, but not nearly as pointless, as the Star Student has some obligations and responsibilities in addition to its perks.

One such perk is Benny the Bear. A cute little brown bear decked out in a black and red striped shirt and blue jeans. He gets to come home and visit with the Little One and our family this weekend. One such obligation is that Little One is tasked with writing a story about Benny.

Perhaps it was my side-of-the-road-car-wreck fascination with the series The Walking Dead, but I immediately envisioned our house besieged by an army of undead stuffed animals. I'm boarding up all the first storey windows, banging nails, and there's bandaids on most of my fingers. My wife has a chainsaw in one hand and a blow torch in the other. Patch is on the second floor, somehow armed with a Winchester rifle which she somehow knows how to fire. Little One and Bennie are busy stuffing socks into glass bottles filled with gasoline and stockpiling them on the dining room table.

Suddenly there's a crash near the door to the deck on the other side of the house. Leaping over us and rolling across the kitchen floor, my wife brrrrrrs the chainsaw to life and cuts down the zombie bears climbing through a massive hole in the house. Then a smashing noise from behind me - the last window to be boarded up! - and a horde of brainthirsty calico critters come crashing in. They tackle me as I kick them off one by one, until one lands on my chest, ready to sink its stinking fangs into my neck -

POW!

Patch, from the top of the stairs, blasts a bullet through the stuffed animal's head.

A scream - my wife! More are coming in from the back of the house, and more are coming in from the broken window. Ahh! We have to abandon the first floor, there's just too many! Covered by sparse but efficient gun play by Patch, we make our way up the stairs ... the wife, followed by me, followed by Little One, followed by -

Benny!

Where's Benny!

"Where's Benny!" Little One shouts.

There he is - somehow his leg is trapped under an overturned sofa ... and the zombie stuffed animals are ready to pounce upon him.

"Benny, no!" Little One cries, as she shakes off my hand and rushes back down the stairs into the overrun living room.

Like a pre-adolescent juiced up on sugar cookies and, er, juice, Little One's a blur of karate kicks and judo chops. Stuffed limbs and torsoes go flying in every direction. In seconds she's cleared out the living room of any undead thing, and she reaches down to rescue Benny, beloved Benny -

Who snarls the snarl of the psychotic zombie stuffed animal, and lunges at Little One's neck.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

The End.

I think she should write that in Benny's notebook and return it to school Monday morning. Whaddya think?