MR. BUNNY By: Alex Moisi
Saturday, January 31st, 2009“Mr. Bunny is not dead!” my brother’s voice echoed from behind us.
“Jake, what are you doing here? Go home,” I exclaimed a bit harsher than I wanted. “You’re too young to be at the junkyard,” I quickly added, trying to sound like a responsible older brother.
“I’m already five, you’re only two years older,” he protested, his lower lip trembling slightly. “What are you doing with Mr. Bunny?”
My friends behind me were snickering. Mr. Bunny, as my brother insisted on calling it, was just a small wild rabbit that Fred’s dog had caught that morning. He saved it, then put an old leash on the poor creature and gathered us all to see it.
“So what does it do?” one of us asked, as the rabbit stared back with wide, terrified eyes.
“What do you want it to do? It’s just a scared baby,” I said.
“Yeah, this is lame, Fred,” someone chimed in.
“It doesn’t move, like it’s dead,” another boy said.
Fred narrowed his eyes as his cheeks blushed. At eight he was the oldest among us and he hated being the butt of a joke.
“Yeah, it does look dead,” he suddenly grinned. “We should have a funeral for the damned thing.”
At first we were all silent, surprised by the idea. But after a minute or so, we were cutting each other short, planning the new game. My dad had some broken planks we could use as a cross and someone else knew where we could get a shovel and then Fred proposed we bury it in the junkyard.
“Ashes to ashes and trash to trash,” he said with a mocking grin.
Before we knew it, there we were: five second graders holding a scared rabbit next to a shallow hole and my brother with tears in his eyes, begging us to stop.
“Oh poor, Mr. Bunny,” Fred whispered to the others with a grin. Their giggles turned into full out laughter and my cheeks turned red.
“Go home,” I said, harder than I should have.
“Please don’t hurt Mr. Bunny,” my brother said, his voice wavering.
“It’s not a Mr.” I replied. “It’s just a stupid wild animal, and we can do whatever we want.”
My brother gave me one last, hurt look before he ran away. For a second I wanted to go after him, apologize, and tell my friends we’d gone too far, but I was too scared they’d laugh at me. Instead, I took my place around the shallow grave and listened as Fred continued with his improvised sermon. It wasn’t really funny, but we all grinned as if it were. Then, someone brought over a battered suitcase and declared it would be a great coffin. It was a bad joke, but we laughed nonetheless. What else could we do? Fred shoved the trembling rabbit in the case, snapping it closed with a loud, final bang.
The sound scared me. I wanted to stop the whole thing by saying something clever like a hero would, but I couldn’t think of anything. As the earth hit the suitcase with hollow thumps, my mind froze. When we were done, we stared at each other, dumb grins plastered on our faces.
“So, when are we going to let it out?” someone asked.
“How long do you think a rabbit can breathe in a buried, locked suitcase?” Fred asked, without looking up.
“You mean, its dead? We killed it?” the same boy whispered. Instead of answering Fred just slapped him. He had never hit someone before, but things were somehow different now.
***
We all went home in silence.
That evening, my brother was late for dinner. When he finally showed up, his clothes were dirty with mud and his eyes red from crying. He wouldn’t say where he’d been or what he did. I felt sick and went to bed without finishing my food.
The next morning my brother’s voice woke me up. To my surprise, he sounded cheerful.
“Mr. Bunny is not dead,” he said, smiling.
It took me a second to see the dirty, old leash in his hand. He was holding something but I couldn’t see what, the bed-frame blocking my view. A faint, putrid smell filled the room.
“I prayed all night, and it worked,” my brother said as the leash moved slightly and something scraped against the floor.
“Mr. Bunny is not dead,” my brother repeated as the rabbit’s carcass crawled into my view.
___
©2009 Alex Moisi
My name is Alex Moisi and I am a Chicago based horror and SF author. My work has been published or is upcoming in the following anthologies: Northern Haunts by Shroud Publishing, Malpractice by Necrotic Tissue, Desolated Places by Hadley Rille books and various magazine and e-zines. For more informations about me please visit dracken.co.nr
