The Teddy Bears Picnic

Dorset Mitchell had once been a happy child until, at eight years old, he learned a terrible truth- his parents had lied to him.

One afternoon, Dorset came home from school very upset. When his father asked what was wrong, Dorset blurted out that the school bully had told him there was no Easter Bunny.

“What did you say to that?” his father asked.

“I told him there is so!” Dorset replied.

His father paused, studying him. “How old are you now, Dorset?”

“Eight.”

His father hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s old enough.” He sighed, then continued, “You see, Dorset, that boy is right. And while we’re at it, there isn’t a Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus either.” He chuckled as he explained that they were simply stories parents told their children to make holidays more exciting.

Dorset’s mouth dropped open, his eyes grew large and watery. “More exciting!?" he bellowed. "I hate you!” Then he turned and ran to his room, sobbing.

After he had calmed down and gave it some thought about it, it made a certain sense. A giant rabbit? A fat man who flew around the world to every kid’s house in a single night. Pretty hard to believe in the cold light of truth.

Still, Dorset was furious. He had a younger brother who believed all this crap, and now his parents were going to make him an accomplice by not letting him tell the truth? “It’s not fair! Why should Brian have all the fun? I’ll never enjoy Christmas—or any holiday—ever again.”

At the age of eight, Dorset had become the world’s youngest skeptic, cynical of every far-fetched story he heard. He still treated his younger brother kindly but found himself biting his tongue more often than not. At school, his attitude began to wear on his classmates. They felt as though Dorset was constantly contradicting them and, before long, no one wanted to talk to him, which suited Dorset just fine. After all, he was only telling the truth.

What he had learned from his parents was that truth, when used properly, could be a good thing. But hiding the truth behind lies and revealing it later as an excuse could do real harm, leaving deep scars that might last a lifetime.

One of the things that drove Dorset to distraction was a little kids’ show called Pinky the Clown. His younger brother adored it. Dorset, however, loathed it—especially the clown’s smug catchphrase at the end of every episode.

“Remember, boys and girls, always tell the truth, and you’ll never find yourself in trouble.”

“Baloney!” Dorset would hiss through clenched teeth. “This clown spins nothing but fairy tales and make-believe for half an hour. Not a single word of truth ever passes through those big, red, painted lips!”

One day, Brian approached Dorset, saying, “Hey, Dorset. Do you know what Pinky just said?”

Dorset just smirked. “Nothing I want to hear!”

Brian whined, “Oh, come on, Dorset!”

“All right, all right,” Dorset said. “What did the clown say?”

Brian grinned. “Pinky said that if someone tells you what you believe isn’t true, but you believe in your heart that it is true, then it’s really real.”

Dorset tilted his head and squinted one eye. “That doesn’t even make sense. Run that by me again.”

Brian took a deep breath and tried again. “Pinky said that if you believe in something with your whole heart, then it is true—real. Get it now?”

Dorset pouted his bottom lip and nodded slowly. “So, if I believe with my whole heart that the girl who sits in front of me at school—who I don’t even know—will go out with me, then she will. That’s just plain nuts!”

Brain hung his head and whispered, “If Pinky says it’s true, then it is.”

In mid-October, when the trees had turned yellow, red, and orange, Dorset decided to go hunting for woolly bear caterpillars. He had heard a rumor that their furry bodies could predict the kind of winter ahead- plenty of rusty fur at both ends meant a mild season, while a thick black band meant the opposite.

Determined to see whether there was any truth to it, Dorset planned to catch a few and compare their markings. After all, Dorset loved uncovering the truth.

When Brian saw him leaving the house with a butterfly net and a large glass jar, his curiosity got the better of him. Dorset explained that he was heading into the woods to find caterpillars, but Brian immediately told him not to.

“Why not?” Dorset asked.

Brian lifted his chin, “Because Pinky played a song about how teddy bears are having a picnic today, and we should stay out of the woods.”

“Brian, think,” Dorset sighed, struggling to stay calm. “Teddy bears are toys. They’re made of fake fur and stuffed with cotton. They don’t have fingers, toes, or claws. They don’t have teeth to eat a picnic. Teddy bears can’t move on their own. They can’t go into the woods, Brian!”

Brian shook his head, undeterred. “Pinky the Clown always tells the truth! I think he played that song to warn us. There’s even a line that says, ‘It’s safer to stay at home!’”

Dorset’s hands curled into fists. “Zip it, Brian! Pinky the Clown is just a fake—just like S- ” He stopped himself short.

Brian’s face fell, his eyes clouding with worry. “As fake as what, Dorset?”

“Just as fake as some of the other stuff he tells you,” Dorset said curtly. “So forget it. I’m going.”With that, he stomped across the backyard toward the woods. Brian watched him go, eyes brimming, and whispered, “But I believe it with my whole heart, Dorset.”

Once Dorset entered the woods, all thoughts of his younger brother slipped away.The air carried the rich scent of fallen leaves, crunching softly beneath his feet. He loved how the warm afternoon sun cast dappled shadows over everything, giving the forest an almost magical feel.

As he searched for the elusive caterpillars, Dorset became aware of the Teddy Bear Song looping through his mind. He stopped and shook his head violently, as if he could shake the tune loose, but it stubbornly continued.

“Oh, come on!” he shouted in exasperation—then froze, realizing the music wasn’t in his head at all. It was drifting from somewhere beyond the small knoll just ahead. Dorset moved as quietly as he could, careful not to snap a twig or stir so much as a sound that might give him away. He crested the knoll and slipped behind a tree. When he peered into the small valley below, his knees nearly buckled.

There, before him, was a group of real teddy bears. Brown ones, white ones, and black-and-tan ones. They wore tiny vests and pink satin ribbons, spreading red-and-white sheets and blankets across the grass. As they opened picnic baskets and set out plates and cups, the bears sang their song, their voices light and merry. Jars of honey appeared, along with berries and fruit.

Then Dorset locked eyes with a little yellow bear and gasped.

The bear beamed. “Dorset, you came! Come and join us, we’re having a picnic!” At once, the other teddy bears chimed in, their childlike voices rising toward the treetops.

“Join us! Come and play! We’ll have so much fun!”

Dorset timidly stepped out from behind the tree. This is madness, he told himself.

The little yellow bear scampered up to him and took his hand, leading him toward the picnic. Dorset felt the truth of it immediately—the fake fur beneath his fingers, the soft cotton stuffing inside. A toy. Just a toy. As the crowd of bears closed in around him, Dorset cleared his throat. “My little brother should be here,” he said. “If Brian could see you, he’d be overjoyed.”

“Oh!” the yellow bear exclaimed. “We love Brian. He believes in us with his whole heart!”

“I know,” Dorset replied. “I keep telling him not to do that. He might get hurt.” A sudden roar of excitement swallowed his words. “Let’s play a game!” the bears all cheer. “Let’s play!”

They guided Dorset into the center of the clearing and formed a ring around him.

“Sing with us, Dorset! Sing!” Hand in hand, they began to circle, their voices rising together.

“When you go into the woods today, you’re in for a big surprise!

When you go into the woods today, you’d better be in disguise!”

Dorset chuckled nervously as he watched the stuffed bears skip and hop around him. With every turn, they moved faster—faster still—until their voices rose into a shrill squeal, sounding like Alvin and the Chipmunks. Their shapes began to warp and swell, sprouting thicker fur as they grew larger and larger.

They spin so quickly that Dorset could barely follow them, yet he could still see their button eyes glowing a sinister red. The seams of their stitched mouths split open, revealing sharp ivory fangs, and their soft paws stretched into clawed limbs. As they whirled, he heard their voices chant, “You’d better not go alone… you’d had better stay at home!”

Dorset never heard the final line. His own screams drowned it out as the bears leap upon him.

A rescue team searched for two weeks but never found Dorset. They followed a faint trail that led to a small grove, where the only thing left behind was an empty jar. Most disturbing of all was the bloodstain beside it—shaped unmistakably like a large paw.

So, if you go into the woods today… well just saying.