Джеймс Хоу - Bunnicula Meets Edgar Allan Crow

“ I have a rabbit for you, Mr. Tanner!” shouted Kyle. “See, one time Pete and I did this hare-raising project for Scouts. That probably sounded like a joke, but I didn’t mean it that way. I mean we bred rabbits. And Bunnicula was the dad, and I have his son, see—Sonnicula! And the other day my mom said she was afraid she was developing an allergy to him and maybe we should find him a new home. And so what if he goes to live with you?”

Miles looked down at the sleeping rabbit in his arms. “It wouldn’t be Bunnicula,” he said.

“No,” said Kyle.

“But it would be fine.”

Everyone cheered. And Chester began to purr.

The next day, after Miles returned from visiting Pete’s school, we all went out into the backyard to say farewell to Edgar. Ms. Pickles was there and so was Kyle. And so was Sonnicula, although—since it was still daylight outside—he was sound asleep on Miles’s bed up in the guest room. Miles took to Sonnicula right away, although he said—and who would argue—that no one could ever really replace Edgar.

Now we watched Edgar’s flock flapping its wings in anticipation of leaving. Suddenly one of the birds flew down and landed on Miles’s shoulder. He nipped him on the ear, and Miles stroked his feathers.

“You’ve been a good friend,” Miles said. “Thank you for everything. I will never forget you. Never.”

Edgar flew off to join the one who was waiting for him. And then he flew back one last time, grabbing Ms. Pickles’s scarf in his beak and drawing her toward Miles. He hopped onto Miles’s shoulder and tugged at his ear until Miles was forced to move toward Ms. Pickles. Once their arms were touching, he flew down to grab the cuff of Miles’s shirt, pulling it up until Miles’s hand was in Ms. Pickles’s.

Miles turned red and smiled at Ms. Pickles.

“Clever bird,” he said.

Miles and Ms. Pickles lifted their eyes skyward as Edgar flew off, and the birds rustled and flapped and began to grow smaller in the distance.

“Goodbye, Edgar!” Miles called. There was a catch in his voice as he cried out, “Will you forget me?”

The crows spread out across the sky and went into a formation, and the formation was a word, and the word was:

A Letter Within a Letter Within a Final Word from the Editor

Iam writing this from my sheep farm in northern Vermont. My yard is filled with crows, and I find I have grown quite fond of these birds, with their shiny feathers, saw-toothed cries, and mischievous ways. I like to imagine that Edgar and his family may be among them, but then I also find myself searching pumpkin patches for white pumpkins with a hint of orange.

I can’t help being a bit sentimental when I think how fortunate I was to be able to edit this book. For it helped me see that change is a good thing, even if it means letting go of what’s safe and known. As Harold has always said, “Life is an adventure, and adventures are meant to be shared.” So here I am, sharing my adventures as a sheep farmer with my family and looking forward to whatever life has in store for me.

Not that I’m done with editing entirely, mind you. My publisher asked me to continue working on a handful of books from my farm. And there’s a certain young writer whose books I look forward to editing. But I’ll let Harold explain. I received the following letter from him a short time ago:

My dear friend,

I hope you are doing well. All is well here in the Monroe household. We are relieved that Bunnicula is still with us—even Chester, who maintains that that was not a tear and he did not sniffle at the thought of Bunnicula being taken from us. He claims he was having an allergic reaction. To what, he never said. Still, I can’t help but notice that he is more protective of Bunnicula than ever and spends an inordinate amount of time around his cage.

As for me, I am enjoying my retirement from writing, although I must admit I will miss visiting you in your office. I was especially fond of the snack machine at the end of the corridor. However, should you ever need help with your sheep, I would be happy to pay a visit (I do have some herder in me), and I know Howie would love to come along if you have any crows that need chasing.

Pete received a letter from Miles the other day, and I thought you would enjoy knowing what he had to say:

I have good news! Marjorie and I are to be wed! I will be moving to centerville, because I do not want her to have to leave your school library, where she feels so at home and needed. So we shall be neighbors!

(Do I have to tell you that Howie practically did cartwheels on hearing this news?)

The other good news is that I am writing again. My brief visit with you motivated me write two books! The first, which I have just completed, is entitle Quoth the Raven. It is the story of my relationship with Edgar, and I am publishing it under my own name: Miles Tanner. “M. T. Grares” will continue to write the Flesh-Crawlers books, although no animals will be transformed or harmed in any way in the making of those books—ever again. Instead of the story about the rabbit (that turned into a bat), I’ve written an entirely different book called The Exeellently Weird Adventures of Charlie the Cat from Galary Wine! Can you guess who inspired that one?

Needless to say, Chester is less than thrilled that he is to be a “psycho-creature in one of M. T. Graves’s demented novels.” But Howie is beside himself that we will all be characters in the final scene of Quoth the Raven, which takes place in our own backyard at the time Edgar is set free.

Encouraged by the visit from his favorite author, Howie has begun writing his own books. I think they might turn out to be rather good. May I send you the first one when he’s finished? It has something to do with a mad scientist and a stuffed animal named Pudgykins. I think you will like it.

I think I will like it. I’ll miss working with Harold, but it’s always good to work with beginning writers. Everyone needs a change. Everyone needs something new. Everyone needs good company and the inspiration it brings.

And now I must go tend my sheep.

HAROLD MONROE is the nom de plume of Harold X, dog by day, writer by night (and sometimes by day, when he isn’t napping). Harold has written other books about his family and their adventures: Bunnicula, Howliday Inn, The Celery Stalks at Midnight, Nighty-Nightmare, Return to Howliday Inn, and Bunnicula Strikes Again! He is also the author of Why Is My Food Dish Empty? a mystery thriller that remains unpublished. He did not plan on becoming a writer, but years ago when an unusual rabbit joined the household and vegetables mysteriously started turning white, someone had to write about it—and it certainly wasn’t going to be Chester, who was too busy hyperventilating and saying things like, “Today vegetables, tomorrow the world!”

Harold loves chocolate, especially chocolate cupcakes with cream in the middle. He is also fond of broccoli, bacon, and banana cream pie, although not together. Now that Howie is writing books, Harold is looking forward to retiring. He plans to spend his golden years enjoying his hobbies, which are eating, sleeping, and ... well, eating and sleeping.

Despite the fame and fortune his books have brought him, Harold does not own a cell phone.

HOWIE MONROE is the nom de plume of Howie X, even though he really has no idea what a nom de plume is and thinks X is a weird last name. The talented, smart, funny, clever, and cute-as-a-button wirehaired dachshund puppy has been writing books since twelve thirty. Just kidding. He’s been writing books ever since M. T. Graves came to stay at his house and his uncle Harold found an unused notebook under Pete’s bed. In a burst of creative genius, he wrote six books, and they’ve all been published! The series is called Tales from the House of Bunnicula, although Bunnicula isn’t in any of them. That was his publisher’s idea. If he’d had his way, the series would have been called Tales from the Talented, Smart, Funny, clever, and Cute-as-a-Button Mind of Howie Monroe.