Дебора Хоу - Bunnicula

I was awakened by a bite on the ear. Chester was sitting by me, looking very impatient.

“Boy, nothing wakes you up,” he said. “I’ve been yelling and poking at you for ten minutes.”

“I was dreaming,” I answered defensively, “about a place where there weren’t any cats around to bother nice dogs and wake them up when they needed their rest.”

“You can finish sleeping later,” he said crisply. “Right now, you have to help me.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Get Bunnicula out of the cage.”

I sprang back. “Get him out of the cage?! I thought that was what you didn’t want. I thought you said he was dangerous. What if he attacks me?”

“Aren’t you ashamed?” Chester replied. “Afraid of a harmless little bunny?”

“Harmless? I thought you said he was a threat to this house and everyone in it. Isn’t that what you said? Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about all this time?”

“He is a threat, but only at night. During the day he’s just a very sleepy rabbit, and that’s why we have to do it now, while the sun is still up. Follow me,” he said. “There isn’t much time. Toby stayed down here forever, and the others will be home soon. Boy, you must have been tired, Harold. You slept through lunch.”

I followed Chester into the living room. My heart was pounding as he unlocked the cage door with his paw. (It looked as if he’d had years of experience opening locks.)

The door swung open; Bunnicula was sleeping peacefully. He did, however, look a little green around the gills, probably from the garlic. I was just wondering how a rabbit could have gills when Chester said, “Okay, Harold, do your stuff while I get what I need from the kitchen.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? I can’t read your mind.”

“Get him out of the cage and onto the floor, and I’ll be right back,” Chester said.

What? What?

“What?” I verbalized. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Use your head,” he answered. And he was gone. Looking at the cage, I realized that was precisely what I would have to do.

Until this moment, I had never had to face the possibility of actual physical contact with a real, live rabbit. I looked upon my chore reluctantly. I seemed to recall my grandfather telling me that one picked a rabbit up by its neck with one’s teeth. This I attempted, though the very idea set my stomach churning. I squeezed my head through the tiny door and gently placed my teeth around the skin of the bunny’s neck. To avoid any suggestion of violence (I’ve never been one for the sport of hunting), I preferred to think of myself as the creature’s mother, carrying it off to safety. Unfortunately, I couldn’t carry it anywhere, for once my head was in the cage, it wouldn’t come out again. I could go neither forward nor backward.

At that moment, Chester appeared at the door, carrying in his mouth what looked every bit like a nice, big, juicy raw steak. My eyes popped, my teeth dropped Bunnicula, my mouth opened, and I began to drool. After all, I had missed lunch.

“Chester, what are you doing with that steak?”

“Haven’t you gotten him out of there yet?”

“I can’t get either of us out of here. My head’s stuck.”

“Oh, Harold, sometimes I despair. Here, I’ll get you both out. I should have done everything myself.”

He came over, dropped the steak just a few feet away from me, and climbed up on my shoulders. “You pull your head out while I push against the cage.”

“Who gets the steak?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about the steak, Harold. Just pull.”

“I would have more motivation if I knew who is to get the steak.”

Chester ignored me. I pulled. He pushed. I felt something go POP! We all fell in a jumble: Chester, the cage, Bunnicula, and me. When I looked around, Bunnicula was lying next to me, still sound asleep.

“There you are,” I said. “We got him out. Now, let’s eat.”

“No dice,” Chester said. “Just read this to me so I’ll be sure I’m doing it right.” And he handed me a book. That book, again .

“Start at the top of the page,” Chester said as he picked up the steak.

“Why don’t you read, and I’ll hold the steak?”

“Mmphph,” Chester replied. I took it to mean that I was to start reading.

“‘To destroy the vampire and end his reign of terror, it is necessary to pound a sharp stake …’”

Chester interrupted. “A sharp steak?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll taste it and tell you if it’s sharp,” I offered.

“Oh, never mind. This will do. It’s sirloin. Keep reading.”

“‘… to pound a sharp stake into the vampire’s heart. This must be done during the daylight hours, when the vampire has no powers.’”

“Okay,” he said, “this is it. I’m sorry I had to go this far, but if they’d listened, this wouldn’t have been necessary.” He dragged the steak across the floor and laid it across the inert bunny. Then with his paws, he began to hit the steak.

“Are you sure this is what they mean, Chester?”

“Am I anywhere near his heart?” he asked.

“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “All I can really see are his nose and his ears. You know, he’s really sort of cute.”

Chester was getting that glint in his eyes again. He was pounding away at the steak, harder and harder.

“Be careful,” I cried, “you’ll hurt him.”

Chester increased his attack. I was really getting worried when the door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were suddenly with us in the room.

“Chester!” Mrs. Monroe screamed. “What are you doing with my dinner? Robert, get that steak away from Chester. And what’s the matter with Bunnicula? Why is he on the floor?”

Mr. Monroe took the beautiful steak away. I wished it a fond farewell with tears in my eyes. As the kitchen door swung open, Chester whispered with cold determination, “All right, the last resort!” and dashed into the kitchen. Seconds later, he was back, carrying his water dish between his teeth. He ran toward Bunnicula and with a mad yowl threw the dish of water at the rabbit. Unfortunately, he was so hysterical that his aim was not the best. With water dripping from my ears, I watched Mrs. Monroe pick Chester up by the scruff of his neck and toss him unceremoniously out the front door.

“Robert, we are going to have to do something about that cat. Look at this mess. Dinner’s ruined, the poor bunny is out of his cage, and Harold is sopping wet.” I tried to look as pathetic as I knew how.

“Aw, poor Harold,” Mrs. Monroe cooed as she dried me off. “You’ve had a rough day … you and Bunnicula. I don’t know what’s the matter with your friend. But unless he learns how to behave, he’ll just have to spend the night outside.”

Mr. Monroe meanwhile had restored Bunnicula to his cage and the cage to the windowsill. I couldn’t believe it when I saw that Bunnicula was still asleep.

“Ann,” Mr. Monroe said, “the steak is ruined. Why don’t we let Harold have it? He deserves a treat anyway, don’t you, ol’ boy?”

I panted appropriately.

After my delicious dinner, I turned my attention to the book still lying open on the floor.

“‘Another method of destroying the vampire is to immerse the body in water. The body will then shrivel and disappear, as the vampire emits one last scream of terror.’”

Whew, I thought, so that’s what he was trying to do. Thank goodness he missed. I had no regrets about missing a scene like that. Poor Bunnicula.

I looked over toward the cage, and there on the other side of the window was a pathetic tabby face looking in. His little nose was pressed against the window. I couldn’t hear him, but from the movement of his lips, I could see he was very unhappy. Poor Chester.