1. Miss Haven was fired.

"Now, Class," Miss Haven said. "I’m going to tell you another story of Thanksgiving, one that I’m certain you have never heard before. Mrs. Luxly isn’t telling her class this story. Mr. Djoon isn’t telling his class this story either. You are the only third grade class that’s hearing this story so you’re very lucky and should listen very carefully."

The children were seated in the three-deep story-time semicircle, spellbound. There wasn’t one whisper or fidget. Miss Haven marveled yet again at their ability to tell when she actually meant what she said.

"On Thursday, most of you will sit down with your families to a nice turkey dinner with cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie and all of that. But some of you definitely will not," she began. "I don’t mean some of you here in this class, necessarily. I mean some people out there in America. And why won’t they eat? Because they don’t have money? Because they don’t have families or friends? Well, that’ll be true for some people, but not the people I’m talking about. The people I’m talking about won’t have Thanksgiving dinner because they’ll be Thanksgiving dinner—turkeys’ Thanksgiving dinner."

Here, of course, there were many objections from the students. Miss Haven heard everything from "That’s not true," to "Really?" to heartfelt giggling. She waved her hand gently and quieted the class.

"It’s true," she continued. "And why shouldn’t it be? After all, everything in this world is tit for tat and quid pro quo. You can’t very well expect to have a holiday centered around eating turkeys and not have them eat you in return. That wouldn’t be reasonable. Of course, turkeys, being much smaller and less powerful than people, cannot hope to serve up as many millions of us as we do of them. They have to be satisfied with eating just a few Americans every Thanksgiving. But rest assured that they do."

"But it won’t be any of us, right?" one little girl squeaked.

"No. Probably not," said Miss Haven. "The chances are very, very slim."

A tense silence followed, with the children gazing at their beloved teacher’s eyes and absorbing the candor and conviction that flowed from them. Then one boy screamed. Then another. Soon the class had degenerated into mayhem and Miss Haven had to call in Mrs. Luxly to help her regain control.

By the time order was restored, Mrs. Luxly had gleaned the details of what Miss Haven had told the children. Horrified, she told the principal, who was no more pleased. Still, a brief reprimand might have been the end of it if he had not arrived the following morning to find angry messages from the parents of every one of Miss Haven’s students on his answering machine. After dutifully consulting with the vice-principal, he had his secretary call in a substitute and he asked Miss Haven to go.

2. The children were convinced.

A typical example was Timothy Turner.

He asked his mother, "Do turkeys really eat us?"

"Of course not," she said. "Where did you hear that?"

"Miss Haven said they eat us on Thanksgiving because we eat so many of them," Timothy explained.

"She told you that? That’s ridiculous. Unbelievable! I always knew there was something wrong with that woman. I won’t have you taught by that crazy nut any longer. I’m going to call immediately and have you switched to another class, okay? Anyway, Timmy, don’t listen to her. What she told you is nonsense. Turkeys don’t eat people. They never have and they never will."

"But I believe her," Timothy said. "She was telling the truth."

"She was not, Timmy. Who are you going to trust, some crazy nut teacher or your own mother? Turkeys don’t eat people and that’s final. Forget about it. Now, stay right here and don’t move. I’m going to go call your school." And Timothy’s mother went to make one of the phone calls that would lead to the termination of Miss Haven’s position.

Timothy sat on his bed and thought about turkeys. He wasn’t afraid of them. Not really. He had seen them plenty of times on many of the farms nearby. Even his uncle had turkeys. They were pretty big, it was true, but they weren’t scary. They didn’t seem like they could hurt you even if they wanted to. He began to wonder how turkeys could manage to capture and kill a person. Maybe a lot of them together could peck through to his heart. Or they could push something onto him from high up, like an anvil, maybe, or a bowling ball. In any case, Timothy made up his mind about one thing. It did seem fair that turkeys should eat people if people ate turkeys, so he wasn’t going to eat turkeys any more. He didn’t want to be part of the cause of anyone’s Thanksgiving demise.

Thanksgiving came and the extended Turner family sat down around the table and started helping themselves to mashed potatoes and peas. Timothy’s grandmother came around the back of his chair and asked him, "Timmy, dear. Would you like dark meat or light meat?" To her dismay, he politely answered, "No thank you, Grandma."

Timothy’s mother overheard and shouted from the kitchen, waving a spatula frantically, "You’re eating turkey, Timothy, whether you like it or not. I’m not letting that crazy nut teacher turn you into a freak. If he won’t choose, just give him dark meat, Mom." And Timothy was forced to sit for an hour after the meal ended, staring sadly at the slice of turkey on his plate that he had stubbornly refused to eat, while everyone else sat and drank brandy in the living room.

Such was a typical Thanksgiving for one of Miss Haven’s third-graders.

3. It was true all along.

In a place that I won’t reveal because I know what’s good for me, the Council of Turkeys gathered for their annual November meeting. First, they heard reports from representatives of the seven divisions of the United States. In the Northeast, Northwest, and much of the South, turkeys had made great inroads into the power base of the nation. It was predicted by one well-respected analyst that within twenty years they would finally be in a position to come out in full force and take over. This had been followed by a less optimistic analysis and another, more conservative, one.

Once this greater picture had been thoroughly discussed and the details of its variations firmly impressed on the members’ minds, the Council took up a more current concern. It was reported that, as some had predicted, the incautious overzealousness of the previous Thanksgiving had had unfavorable repercussions. The mysterious loss of the over two dozen persons which turkeys had carved and consumed for the holiday had sparked suspicion in the minds of some humans. This had been followed by investigation and discovery which, in turn, necessitated the all-too-unreliable brainwashing of some weaker human minds, and, unfortunately, the extermination of some stronger, resistant ones.

To prevent a repeat of these denouements, which, it was agreed, had put at risk the very future of the turkeys’ grand plan, the Council decreed that, in this and coming years, each of the seven divisions would be allowed to slaughter but a single human for a symbolic Thanksgiving dinner.

"When the days of plenty come, when we truly have thanks to give, then we will feast to our gizzards’ content," the old Chief Council Master promised at the close of the meeting. "Until then, however, we must be prudent and patient, as our forebears have been for nearly four hundred years."