Джеймс Хоу - Bunnicula Meets Edgar Allan Crow

He jumped down from the bed and cried, “Let’s go!”

We charged down the hall and came to an abrupt halt in front of Pete’s bedroom. My eyes filled with tears, but whether that was because of the incredible stench emanating from the other side of the door or the thought of what was happening to Bunnicula, I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that there was a very good chance we were too late. We had to get inside.

I began pawing at the door as Chester meowed for all he was worth.

Howie yipped from the other side.

Pete called out, “Go away!”

I couldn’t believe it. Miles had turned his two biggest fans into unwitting accomplices. How had he done it? Had he convinced them that this was nothing more than a magic trick, easily undone, when the truth was that Bunnicula would be transformed into a bat forever?!

I pawed harder and, despite my distaste for it, began to bark.

Mr. Monroe called up the stairs, “Pete! What’s going on up there? Your mother and Toby aren’t back yet, and someone’s knocking at the door. Would you please answer it? My hands are covered with flour. What is that smell? And Harold, why are you barking? Pete, do you hear me?”

Pete’s bedroom door flew open. “I hear you, I hear you!” he shouted as he flew past us and down the stairs.

Chester and I looked inside his room and gasped at what we saw. There, with his back to us, was Miles Tanner, hunched over Pete’s desk. As usual, Edgar sat on his shoulder. And on the bed behind them lay a bat, its wings spread open.

Chester saw it at the same time I did and came to the same sorrowful conclusion.

“Dead,” he pronounced solemnly. “The experiment was a failure.”

“Oh, Bunnicula,” I moaned. “We were too late.”

“We’ve got to show Mr. Monroe,” Chester said. “Grab him, Harold.”

“Grab who?” I asked. “Miles? Edgar?”

“Bunnicula, of course!”

“But... he’s a bat. A dead bat.”

“I’m aware of that. Now just grab him and run to the kitchen. Maybe there’s still life in him. Maybe Mr. Monroe can call the vet. Maybe . . . maybe ...”

I saw the look of desperation in Chester’s eyes. What was the point of telling him how hopeless it was?

I ran to Pete’s bed and grabbed the bat that was once Bunnicula.

Edgar flew at us, flapping his wings and snapping his beak. Miles jumped up, knocking over whatever it was that was on Pete’s desk.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “You startled us! And now look at this mess!”

I ran out of the room, Bunnicula tight in my jaws, and headed toward the stairs, where I collided with Pete and Kyle, who were on their way up.

“Where are you going?” Pete asked. “Hey!”

“Hey,” said Kyle, “why does Harold have your old rubber bat in his mouth? Am I too late for the experiment? Did you get the volcano to work? I can’t believe you got M. T. Graves to help you with your science homework! That is so cool. What’s that smell? Is that the volcano? It’s not what we’re having for lunch, is it? It’s gross. How come your cat is always washing his tail? You have really weird pets. Hey, do you think Mr. Tanner would want to meet my pets? They’re not as weird as yours, but...”

Kyle’s voice trailed off as the boys disappeared into Pete’s room, and I spat out the rubber bat and looked for Chester. He was sitting as far down the hall as possible. I don’t think I need to tell you what he was doing.

“That must be the cleanest tail in town,” I remarked.

He took his time answering. “A slight misjudgment. A wee misinterpretation of the data. Not that I blame you, Harold.”

“Blame me?” I cried. “But you’re the one who—”

“Harold, Harold” Chester said. “Let’s not play the blame game, shall we? The important thing is that the transformation has not taken place. Yet. We can still stop it in time. What we need is a plan.”

“Oh, no,” I said with a shudder. “Not another plan.” Chester’s plans have a way of—how shall I put this?—not working out.

There was a knock on the front door.

“Coming!” Mr. Monroe shouted from the kitchen. “Pete, Kyle, Miles, our guests are starting to arrive! I hope your mother and Toby get back soon! Pete, please come down here!”

“Just a minute, Dad!” Pete called back. “We’re cleaning up! The animals messed up our experiment!”

“I’ve got it!” Chester said. “But we must act quickly!”

“Chester, does this involve any more rubber animals? Because I’ve got to tell you, the taste of latex lingers.”

Chester snorted. “No rubber animals,” he said. “Now here’s the plan.” And he whispered it in my ear.

“You want me to do what?” I blurted when Chester was through telling me.

“Sshh!”

“But . . . but that could hurt Bunnicula. It could kill him! I thought this was about saving him!”

“Don’t worry,” Chester said. “He’s sound asleep. He’ll be so relaxed he won’t feel a thing. Now, go quickly, before Miles notices.”

Did you ever find yourself doing something that, even while you’re doing it, you’re asking yourself, “How did I get myself into this? Have I lost my mind?” Well, this was one of those moments. Of course, I have a lot of those moments, living with Chester. But this was one of the craziest ever. There I was, hiding in the closet in the guest bedroom, clutching Miles Tanner’s precious black bag in my teeth, waiting for a signal from Chester to make a mad dash and . . . oh, I couldn’t bring myself to think about the last part.

“Bunnicula,” I whispered, “if you’re in there, please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

I heard the sound of footsteps as Miles and Pete and Kyle passed quickly by the open guest room door and down the stairs. I heard the flapping of Edgar’s wings. I heard the front door open and a woman’s voice saying, “Hello, I hope we’re not early.” I heard the timer go off in the kitchen. I heard Mr. Monroe call out, “Pete, please make our guests comfortable. I’ll be right there!”

And then I heard Chester say, “This is it, Harold. Go!”

NINE

The Truth About Edgar and Miles

My heart was racing as I burst out of the closet, dashed to the top of the stairs, and with a snap of my head flung the bag into the air and on its way to the entrance hall below! Watching it bounce down the steps, I could only pray that Bunnicula would remain asleep inside, so that he would be limp and not get hurt. Seeing the bag that was heading straight toward her, Ms. Pickles screamed as some other woman I didn’t know jumped back, twisted her heel, and fell into the arms of the man behind her. Catching her, the man dropped a tray of cookies, which landed with a clatter. The noise made Howie howl, which made Mr. Monroe run into the room, which made Howie run out of the room, which made Mr. Monroe trip over Howie, which made the platter of crackers and cheese he was carrying go flying. The black bag landed with a thud at the bottom of the stairs, spewing its contents out into the room. I strained to see if Bunnicula was safe, but all I could make out were peoples’ legs going wild trying not to step on cookies or crackers or cheese or whatever had spilled out of the bag. Miles covered his ashen face and shouted, “ Nooo! ” as Edgar took off from his shoulder and began circling the house, opening and closing his beak in soundless frenzy. As if they could hear him, the crows in the yards began to screech a discordant chorus, and at that moment. . .

The front door opened and Mrs. Monroe and Toby entered. Toby was carrying something in his arms. Even from the top of the stairs I could see what—or should I say who— it was. There, blissfully asleep, was Bunnicula.