Дебора Хоу - Bunnicula

I was aghast. What did it all mean? Could Chester be right? Was this harmless looking little ball of fluff really a vampire? Just then, Chester let out a yelp.

“Look,” he said, “the cage is empty again. Oh, we’re fools, we’re fools! We’ve let him get out of our sight. It’s your fault.”

“My fault! You’re the one who took twenty minutes to sit down.”

“Well, if you hadn’t knocked me off in the first place—”

“Wait a minute, why are we arguing? Let’s find Bunnicula.”

Just then, we heard a click in the kitchen.

“Refrigerator,” I whispered. Chester nodded. We jumped down and moved cautiously to the kitchen door.

“Sshhh,” Chester warned unnecessarily as we crept along, “don’t make any noise. We don’t want him to hear us coming.”

“Obviously,” I retorted.

The light went out under the door.

“He must have closed the refrigerator,” Chester said. “Easy now.” We pushed the door open. The kitchen was dark. There was not a sound.

“Pssst, Chester …”

“What?”

“I can’t see.”

“I can. But I can’t see him .”

“He’s not here.”

There was a soft scamper across the linoleum, and we turned just in time to see a little white tail bounce out the door into the living room.

“Drat! We’ve missed him. Come on, Harold, let’s see if we can catch up with him.” Chester started toward the door.

“Wait, Chester, what’s that on the floor by the refrigerator?”

He turned. This new object interested him more than following Bunnicula. “Watch out,” he said, “I’ll take care of this.” He slunk across the room slowly, muscles taut, eyes alert. When he was about six inches away, he stuck out his paw, closed his eyes, and batted at the object tentatively. I don’t think he made any contact.

“Get closer,” I said.

Chester’s eyes popped open. “Who’s the cat here?” he asked. “I know what I’m doing.” And he proceeded to bat the air three more times.

“What is it?” I squealed, as my throat contracted in fear.

“I don’t know yet, but whatever it is, it’s not alive.”

“Oh boy, if I wait for you, we’ll be here all night.” I walked bravely to the object and sniffed it.

“Well?” asked Chester.

“Beats me.”

Chester came closer. After a moment of close examination, he gasped. I jumped. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“Harold … ” Chester blurted.

“What? What?”

“It’s …”

“Yes?”

“It’s …”

“What is it, Chester?!”

“ It’s a white zucchini! ”

Chapter 5 - Chester Goes into His Act

The next morning, I was awakened by a scream.

“Robert! Robert, come down here right away. There’s something wrong in the kitchen!”

For a moment, panic seized me. I thought she’d run out of dog food. But then I remembered the events of the previous evening.

Mr. Monroe came bounding down the stairs. “Chester! Chester!” I cried. “Did you see Mr. Monroe? His face has turned white! It’s Bunnicula, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said calmly, “it’s shaving cream, you idiot.”

By now, the excitement in the kitchen was at full throttle. The table was covered with Bunnicula’s handiwork. There were white beans and white peas and white squash and white tomatoes and white lettuce and white zucchini.

“What can it mean, Robert?” Mrs. Monroe was saying. “I’m getting worried. One tomato is a curiosity, but this is unheard of.”

“There must be something wrong with our refrigerator. That’s it. It’s turning all the vegetables white.”

“But look,” she said, “I left these tomatoes on the windowsill, and they’re white, too. And this squash I left in the bowl on the table.”

At that moment, Pete and Toby came into the kitchen.

“Holy cow! What’s going on?”

“Hey! Maybe it’s a vegetable blight, Mom.”

“Could that be, Robert? Did you ever hear of anything like that?”

“Well … uh … no, actually … that is, I’ve heard of blight, but nothing like this.”

Chester leaned my way. “This will take forever if we leave it up to them. Sometimes, human beings can be so slow.” I started to answer him, but he was heading for the table.

“What about that friend of yours in the Agriculture Department?”

“Oh, Tom Cragin?”

“Could we call him and ask him if we’re doing something wrong?”

“It’s DDT, Mom,” Peter interjected. “I know about this stuff. It’s because you buy vegetables that aren’t organic.”

“All vegetables are organic, Peter,” Mrs. Monroe replied.

“That’s not what my teacher says. See, Toby, I told you this would happen. They’re using chemicals on our food, and if you’re not careful, you’ll turn white, too.”

“Like Dad?”

“Robert, couldn’t you take that shaving cream off your face?”

“Oh yes, of course. Where’s my towel? I know I brought it down with me.”

For that matter, where was Chester? I’d seen him going toward the table, but I’d lost track of him listening to all that talk about DDT. I just hoped they didn’t use any of that stuff where they grew chocolate cupcakes.

“Pete, did you take my towel?”

“Why would I take your towel, Dad? I don’t shave.”

Just then, the door swung open. I could not believe my eyes. There was Chester, with Mr. Monroe’s towel draped across his back and tied under his neck like a cape. That was strange enough, but on his face was an expression that sent chills down my spine. His eyes were wide and staring. The corners of his mouth were pulled back in an evil grimace. His teeth were bared and gleaming in the morning light. He cackled menacingly and threw back his head as if he were laughing at all of us. I thought he’d completely lost his mind.

“There’s my towel. What’s the matter, Chester, were you cold?” Mr. Monroe bent down to take the towel from Chester. Before he could lay his hands on it, Chester flipped over onto his back, closed his eyes and folded his paws over his chest. It was a hideous sight. He opened his eyes wide. With paws outstretched, he … slowly … lifted … his … head … his eyes glazed and vacant. Soon the upper half of his body followed, all in one smooth flow, until he was in a sitting position.

“Hey, Dad, did you leave your brandy glass out last night? Chester is acting a little weird.”

“Well, son, cats are funny creatures …”

I glanced at Chester. He wasn’t laughing.

“Psst, Chester. What are you up to?”

“I’m a vampire, you dolt. Can’t you tell? I’m trying to warn them.”

“Well, it’s not working. You’d better think of something else.” Chester frowned, apparently deep in thought.

“… so you see, Toby,” Mr. Monroe was explaining, “all cats are as individual as all people. Maybe he just wants to get our attention. Isn’t that right, kitty-cat?” Ordinarily, Chester would have left the room upon being called “kitty-cat,” but he was lost in thought.

“Come on, Chester, give me back my towel.” Mr. Monroe moved toward Chester. Chester’s eyes lit up. He looked at me and smiled. I sensed I was not going to like what he had in mind. I was toying with the notion of slinking under the table when Chester fixed me with his eyes. How deep they were, like black pools. I felt myself floating, lost in them, my will no longer my own. I felt an inexplicable urge to murmur “Yes, Master,” when he walked slowly, steadily toward me. As he drew nearer, I found myself unable to move. He stopped before me, never taking his gaze from me, and lunged.

“YEOW!!!”

“Mom, Chester bit Harold on the neck!”