Дебора Хоу - Bunnicula

“Well … I guess it wasn’t Mr. Monroe,” I said.

“Not unless he wears bunny pajamas and gets very tiny at night.”

“Bunnicula, huh?”

“You got it. Unfortunately, I hadn’t positioned myself so that I could see him get back into the cage. And I didn’t want to let him know that I had seen anything, so I had to stay put. I still don’t know how he got out, or back in.”

At this point, Mr. Monroe came downstairs to make breakfast.

I wondered if Chester hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. He did admit he’d fallen asleep and, as I’ve said, he has quite an imagination. But I was game. After all, there hadn’t been any excitement in this place for days. Chester and I took our positions under the kitchen table. We didn’t have long to wait.

“Holy cow!” Mr. Monroe yelped as he opened the refrigerator door. He took this funny-looking white thing out of the fridge and held it at arm’s length.

“Peter, come down here!”

“What is that?” I whispered.

“Beats me,” Chester answered. “It looks like a white tomato.”

“Very funny,” I said, as Pete came into the kitchen.

“Peter, have you been playing with your chemistry set in here?”

“No, Dad, why?”

“I thought this might be one of your experiments. Do you know what it is?”

“Gee, Dad, it looks like a white tomato.”

Just then, Mrs. Monroe and Toby came in the door.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Mrs. Monroe asked.

“We were just trying to figure out what this is.”

Toby pulled it down so he could get a better look.

“Well,” he said, “it looks to me like a white tomato.”

Mr. Monroe took a good long look. “You know,” he said to his wife, “it really does look like a white tomato.”

“There’s one way to find out,” said Mrs. Monroe, who always was the practical one. “Let’s cut it open and see what’s inside.”

Everybody gathered around the table. I jumped up on a chair, and in all the excitement, no one noticed that I had my paws on the table (which under normal circumstances was discouraged, to say the least). Chester wasn’t so lucky.

“Chester, get off the table,” Mrs. Monroe said. Chester jumped onto Toby’s shoulders, where he stayed to view the proceedings.

Mrs. Monroe took her sharpest knife and cut cleanly through the thing. It fell into two halves.

“It’s a tomato, all right,” said Mrs. Monroe. “Here are the seeds.”

“But it’s all white,” Toby observed.

“And look,” said Pete, “it’s dry.”

“So it is,” Mr. Monroe said, as he picked up one of the halves. “There is no juice at all. Well, Ann, what do you think?”

“It’s gone bad, I guess, though I’ve never heard of a tomato turning white before. Come on,” she said, clearing the table, “let’s throw it out and have breakfast. And Harold, get your paws off the table.”

Rats.

Chester jumped down from Toby’s shoulders and motioned for me to follow him into the living room.

“This had better be important,” I said. “They’re cooking bacon.”

“A white tomato. Very significant,” Chester murmured.

“So it’s a white tomato,” I said, edging my way back to the kitchen door. “What does that have to do with Bunnicula?”

“I can tell you one thing,” Chester said. “I got a good look at the tomato. There were very suspicious marks on the skin.” So?

“I believe they’re teeth marks.”

“So?”

“So tonight I’m going to reread a book I read last year.”

“How fascinating,” I said, as the aroma of frying bacon wafted across my nostrils. “And what book might that be?”

“ The Mark of the Vampire! ”

“What!” I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Meet me tonight after the others have gone to sleep. You’d better take a nap today so you can stay awake.”

Chester closed his eyes. I shifted my look to Bunnicula, who seemed to be asleep in this cage. A tiny smile sat upon his lips. A happy dream? I wondered. Or something else?

My reverie was broken by the sound of crunching bacon. I was in the kitchen in a flash.

Chapter 4 - A Cat Prepares

I almost didn’t make it to my meeting with Chester that night. Toby had a feast in his room. It was Friday night, and on Friday nights, Toby gets to stay up and read as late as he wants to. So, of course, he needs lots of food to keep up his strength. Good food like cheese crackers, chocolate cupcakes (my very favorite, the kind with cream in the middle, mmmm !), pretzels, and peanut butter sandwiches. The last I cannot abide because my mouth always gets stuck. Chocolate cupcakes with cream in the center, however, are another story.

This particular evening, I stationed myself on Toby’s stomach. Usually, I’m a little more subtle but, having missed out on the bacon at breakfast, I was not about to take any chances on the chocolate cupcakes (with cream in the center).

Toby knew what I was after. But sometimes he thinks he’s funny, and he plays little games with me.

“Hi, Harold, I’ll bet you’d like a peanut butter sandwich, wouldn’t you? Here, you have this one that’s leftover from yesterday, while I eat this boring old chocolate cupcake—which is nice and fresh and has cream in the middle. Okay, Harold?”

Ha ha. My sides are splitting.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want the peanut butter sandwich? All right, I’ll put it away for another night. Oh, here’s something you might like. It’s a green sourball from Dad’s candy dish that was stuck to my sock. Would you like that, huh, pal?”

Oh boy, the kid is really hot tonight.

“No, huh? Well, I’d give you one of my cupcakes, but I know how much you hate chocolate.”

Would a little drooling on your stomach help convince you otherwise?

“Oh, you like chocolate! Okay then, you can have both of them!”

One thing I have to say about Toby: Although he’s got a rotten sense of humor, he’s a nice kid. Naturally, once I’d eaten both cupcakes (which took approximately four seconds), I felt obliged to hang around and let Toby know I was grateful. What better way than to share a few of his cheese crackers?

“Well, Harold,” Toby said some time later, “we’ve had quite a party, but I have to go to sleep now. I can’t keep my eyes open, so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happens in the next chapter. This is a good book, Harold. It’s called Treasure Island , and it’s by a man named Robert Louis Stevenson. It’s kind of hard reading, though. I have to keep looking the big words up in the dictionary, so it’s taking me a long time to get through it.”

I’ve always had trouble with words myself. Half the time they don’t mean what I think they’re going to, and then, even when I do find out what they mean, I forget the next day anyway. You might say that I’m smart—but just not the scholarly type.

“But it’s a really good story,” Toby continued. “It’s all about pirates and this little boy just like me.”

No dogs?

“And a parrot, Harold.”

A parrot? What’s a parrot? Is there anything about chocolate cake? That’s my idea of a treasure.

“Well, good night, Harold. If you’re going to sleep here, you’ll have to get off my stomach because it’s a little full right now.”

Good night, Toby.

I curled up at the foot of the bed, but I couldn’t sleep trying to figure out what a parrot was. I thought it might be a lady pirate, since the words sounded something alike, but then again, I thought it might be an umbrella. Chester would know, I thought, so I went downstairs to ask him.

“Well, you certainly took your time,” Chester snapped as I sauntered casually into the room. “I finished my book half an hour ago. Where were you?”