“He slicked his ears back close to his body, and for the first time,” Chester said, “I noticed the peculiar marking on his forehead. What had seemed an ordinary black spot between his ears took on a strange v-shape, which connected with the big black patch that covered his back and each side of his neck. It looked as if he was wearing a coat … no, more like a cape than a coat.”
Through the silence had drifted the strains of a remote and exotic music.
“I could have sworn it was a gypsy violin,” Chester told me. “I thought perhaps a caravan was passing by, so I ran to the window.”
I remembered my mother telling me something about caravans when I was a puppy. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what.
“What’s a caravan?” I asked, feeling a little stupid.
“A caravan is a band of gypsies traveling through the forest in their wagons,” Chester answered.
“Ah, yes.” It was coming back to me now. “Station wagons?”
“No, covered wagons! The gypsies travel all through the land, setting up camps around great bonfires, doing magical tricks, and sometimes, if you cross their palms with a piece of silver, they’ll tell your fortune.”
“You mean if I gave them a fork, they’d tell my fortune?” I asked, breathlessly.
Chester looked at me with disdain. “Save your silverware,” he said. “It wasn’t a caravan after all.”
I was disappointed. “What was it?” I asked.
Chester explained that when he looked out the window, he saw Professor Mickelwhite, our next door neighbor, playing the violin in his living room. He listened for a few moments to the haunting melody and sighed with relief. I’ve really got to stop reading these horror stories late at night, he thought. It’s beginning to affect my mind. He yawned and turned to go back to his chair and get some sleep. As he turned, however, he was startled by what he saw.
There in the moonlight, as the music filtered through the air, sat the bunny, his eyes intense and staring, an unearthly aura about them.
“Now, this is the part you won’t believe,” Chester said to me, “but as I watched, his lips parted in a hideous smile, and where a rabbit’s buck teeth should have been, two little pointed fangs glistened.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of Chester’s story, but the way he told it, it set my hair on end.
Chapter 3 - Some Unusual Goings-On
The next few days passed uneventfully. I was very bored. Our new arrival slept all day, and Chester, whose curiosity had been aroused by the strange behavior of the rabbit that first night, had decided to stay awake every night to observe him. Therefore, he, too, spent most of his days sleeping. So I had no one to talk to.
The evenings weren’t much better. Toby and Pete, who used to play with me as soon as they got home from school, now ran immediately to that silly rabbit’s cage to play with him. Or at least they’d try to. Bunnicula did not make the most energetic playmate. It took him quite a while to wake up each night and then when he did awaken, he didn’t do much except hop around the living room. He didn’t play catch, he didn’t fetch, he didn’t roll over to get his tummy rubbed. I couldn’t understand why they played with him at all. I expect it was because he was new and different. But I was confident that they would soon tire of him and come back to trusty ol’ Harold.
Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, I caught Chester bleary-eyed over the water dish. He grumbled at me in a most unpleasant manner.
“You know, Chester, you were never exactly charming in the morning, but lately you’ve become downright grumpy.”
Chester growled in response.
“What are you doing this for anyway? What are you looking for? He’s just a cute little bunny.”
“Cute little bunny!” Chester was amazed at my character analysis. “That’s what you think. He’s a danger to this household and everyone in it.”
“Oh, Chester,” I said, with an indulgent smile, “I think your reading has gone to your head.”
“It’s just because I do read that I know what I’m talking about.”
“Well, what are you talking about? I still don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure yet, but I know there’s something funny about that rabbit. That’s why I have to keep alert.”
“But look at you—you’re exhausted. You sleep all the time. How can you call that alert?”
“I’m awake when it’s important. He sleeps all day, so I sleep all day.”
“So just what have you seen since that first night that makes you uneasy?”
“Well … ” said Chester, “I, uh … that is …” At this point, Chester started to bathe his tail, which is a cat’s way of changing a subject he finds uncomfortable. He then stumbled sleepily into the living room.
“So?” I asked again, following him, “what have you seen?”
“Nothing!” he snapped, and proceeded to curl up on his chair to go to sleep. After a moment, he opened one eye. “But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to see.”
For the next few mornings, it was the same routine. I’d be ready for a good romp around the living room, and Chester would go to sleep. Pete and Toby were at school. Mr. Monroe was at the university (he never did too much romping around, anyway). And Mrs. Monroe was at her office.
No one to play with poor, neglected Harold. At first, I thought I could strike up a friendship with Bunnicula and maybe teach him a few tricks. But I could never wake him up. He was always waking up just about sunset, when I wanted to take a snooze. A rabbit, I concluded, is cute to look at, but is generally useless, especially as a companion to dogs. So, I would retire each day with my favorite shoe to the rug and chew.
Now, some people (especially Mr. and Mrs. Monroe) can’t understand my taste for shoes and yell at me for snacking on them. But I always say there’s no accounting for taste. For instance, I remember one evening when Mr. Monroe picked some of his sour balls out of the bowl by his chair and dropped a green one on the floor. He didn’t notice as it rolled across the room and landed near my nose. I decided this was a perfect opportunity to try one for myself. I placed it in my mouth … and wished immediately that I hadn’t. As the tears started running out of my eyes, I thought, What’s wrong with my mouth?! It’s turning inside out!
Mr. Monroe immediately noticed that something had happened. “What’s the matter, Harold? Are you looking for someone to kiss?”
“Help! Help!” I wanted to cry, but all that came out was an “ooooo” sound. I “ooooo”-ed for days.
So how can anyone who likes green sourballs criticize me for preferring a nice penny loafer or a bedroom slipper?
But back to the matter at hand:
One morning, Chester had news.
“That bunny,” he whispered to me across our food bowls, “got out of his cage last night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “How could he break through that wire? Look how little he is.”
“That’s just it! He didn’t break through any wire. He got out of his cage without breaking anything, or opening any doors!”
I looked puzzled. So Chester told me the following story.
“Now, Harold,” he said, “I don’t want you thinking I’m not a good watchcat, but after a few hours last night, I grew curious about the time. I went into the hallway and … you know that new clock they’ve got? The big one? That goes all the way to the ceiling? Well, see, it has this thing in the middle called a pendulum. At first, I figured I would just leave it alone. It looked like that spool they tied on a string and hung from the doorknob for me to play with when I was a kitten. Everytime I hit that silly spool with my paw, it would swing back and hit me on the nose. I hated that toy. So naturally, when I saw this one, I decided not to have anything to do with it. I checked the time. It was midnight. I was all set to go back to the living room when something stopped me.”