John Saul - Creature

The snow was nearly an inch deep on the roof of the rabbit hutch. Even from here Mark could see the little creatures huddling together in one corner of the cage. "Damn!" he muttered. "They're going to freeze to death. Come on,Chivas."

He left his bedroom and hurried down the stairs,Chivas trailing half-heartedly after him. It was only when he was at the hall closet, fishing his jacket out of the row of coats that hung there, that he noticed the hollow silence in the house. He called out, then shrugged indifferently when there was no answer. Putting on his jacket, he moved through the dining room and kitchen and opened the back door.Chivas barked happily, his mood suddenly changing as the blast of cold air from outside struck his nostrils. He bounded outside, coming to a sudden stop as his feet plunged into the icy chill of snow for the first time in his life.

The dog sniffed at the strange white stuff cautiously, then his tongue came out and licked tentatively at the wet, soft blanket that covered the yard. He took a step forward, hesitated, and with a leap, bounded out into the center of the yard, made three wide loops and rolled in the snow, working his shoulders deep into it. Regaining his feet,Chivas rushed toward Mark and dropped low to the ground, his tail wagging furiously. Mark grinned at him.

"You like this, huh?" he asked. "Well, let me take care of the rabbits, and then we'll find your ball."

Chivas, instantly understanding the reference to his favorite toy, hurtled out toward the back fence, snuffling wildly as he hunted for one of the well-chewed tennis balls he'd hidden in the yard.

Mark zipped his jacket up to his chin and walked quickly out to the rabbit hutch. The rabbits, still huddled together and shivering in the cold, seemed to be looking up at him expectantly.

"You guys getting a little cold?" he asked. "Well, we can fix that, can't we. 'Course," he added, glaring at the little creatures with mock severity, "you might have been warmer if you'd thought of going into your house."

He opened the door of the large cage, reached inside and turned the switch that controlled the single bulb suspended from the roof of the little shelter in the far corner.

The light came on but the rabbits didn't move.

"Come on," Mark urged them. "Don't be so dumb you stay out here and freeze to death!"

He reached toward them to herd them into the shelter. For a moment nothing happened. Then, before Mark could jerk his hand away, the big white male with black spots darted his head toward Mark's hand and nipped his finger. Reflexively, Mark jerked his hand back and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. He sucked for a moment, then pulled the finger out and stared at it.

The cut was small but deep, and as he watched, it began to bleed profusely.

"Goddamn it!" he swore out loud, his eyes fixing on the rabbit as a surge of unreasonable fury overwhelmed him. "I'll teach you!"

Reaching into the hutch, he seized the offending rabbit by the ears and dragged it away from its shivering companions. It squirmed in his hands, its hind legs kicking out as it tried to escape. But Mark was oblivious to the little animal's struggles.

He stared at it for a moment, his eyes cold and dead, then he grasped it by the neck.

A high-pitched squeal erupted from the rabbit's throat as Mark began to squeeze, the squeal cut off as Mark's other hand released the rabbit's ears and gave its head a sudden twist.

There was a soft cracking of bones. The rabbit went limp in Mark's hands.

He gazed at the little animal blankly for a moment, as if he weren't quite certain what he'd done.

Then, tossing it back into the hutch, he turned and started slowly back toward the house.

Chivas, a ball in his mouth, caught up with him at the back door and whined eagerly.

Mark ignored him.

CharlotteLaConner eyed the image in the mirror with lethargic disinterest. Could what she saw really be herself? But she knew the answer. The CharlotteLaConner she had grown up with-the gently smiling woman whose soft brown eyes had invariably gazed out at the world with calm acceptance-had disappeared almost completely over the past week. In her place was a pale ghost of her former self. The smile was gone, and around her lips a harsh picket fence of tiny lines had appeared. Her eyes, sunk deep from lack of sleep, flickered with suspicion, seeming even when at rest to be constantly moving, searching for some unseen enemy that must be lurking just out of sight, ready to spring out at her, to attack her if her vigilance flagged for even a moment.

The image in the mirror wore no makeup, its sallow complexion exposed for all the world to see, its stark features framed by a limp tangle of unwashed hair that bore a faintly oily sheen. But it didn't matter what that image looked like, Charlotte realized, for no one had seen it. After all, she hadn't been out of her house for more than a week.

It was Saturday afternoon, though Charlotte was only vaguely aware of it. Time, for her, seemed to have slowed down. Now, as she turned away from the mirror and its strange reflection of a person she was quite certain she didn't know, she felt herself moving with the slow rhythms of someone mired in a swamp. There were things she should be doing; she'd been keeping a mental list, adding items to it each day, as each day none of the previous items were checked off. The cleaning, for instance.

Newspapers were piled neatly by Chuck's favorite chair, the stack growing as each day she reminded herself to take them out but didn't. A thin layer of dust lay over the furniture, and wisps of lint had gathered in the corners. With a desperate effort, Charlotte tried to pull herself together to begin her chores, then sank down in front of the television, her hand automatically reaching for the remote control to flick it on. She sat still, her eyes fixed on the flickering image on the picture tube, but she didn't quite comprehend what she was seeing; the thick cobwebs that had settled over her mind effectively blocked out the inane stimulus of the cartoon on the screen.

Chuck had been patient with her, silently accepting her excuses at the beginning of the week that the snow was keeping her from going out. But the snow had melted by Tuesday morning and still Charlotte remained closeted within the house, retreating deeper and deeper within herself, desolated by her sudden and complete isolation from her son.

She was dimly aware of the back door opening and closing. When Chuck came into the little den where she sat-perched rigidly on the edge of the chair, as if afraid she might collapse completely if she let herself relax at all-her eyes slowly left the television set and focused on her husband.

Chuck gazed at her worriedly. She looked worse today, worse even than when he'd left this morning for a quick meeting with Jerry Harris. She was barely even speaking to him now, and as he'd watched her sitting at the kitchen table earlier, slowly stirring a cup of coffee long after it had turned cold, he'd wondered if she was lost to him, too, as Jeff was lost. But now, after meeting with Jerry, he had a fragile ray of hope. "Honey?" he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Charlotte forced a wan smile. "There's so much to do," she replied, her eyes uncertainly scanning the room. "But I just can't make myself do it."

Chuck drew in his breath, then crossed to her, lowered himself to the arm of the chair and slipped an arm protectively around her. "You don't have to," he murmured. Her neck twisted and she gazed up into his eyes. "We're going away, honey. I've been transferred."

A look of confusion came into Charlotte's eyes, as if she weren't sure what the words meant. "T-Transferred? But we can't go anywhere now-it's the middle of the year. Jeff…" Her voice trailed off, as if the mere mention of their son's name had reminded her that he was no longer going to school.