Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery (7 page)

“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.

As for me, Mrs. Monroe spent the evening petting me and the family chatted with me all night long. And of course, I’d had my yummy steak dinner. So … it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

Except that now my steak was all gone. Poor Harold.

In the days that followed, Chester’s behavior was exemplary. He purred and he cooed and he cleaned his paws. And he rubbed up against everyone’s legs to show what a good boy he was. I was getting worried. Chester acts that way only when he has something devious in the back of his mind. But I didn’t know what it was. He had tried everything in the book to get rid of vampires, and all his efforts had failed. But I knew from the expression on his face that something was definitely up. Of course, I didn’t know for certain because he had not spoken to me since the steak incident. I guess he realized that my heart just wasn’t in the destruction of the bunny vampire.

In fact, I was beginning to like the little fellow.

The Monroes were relieved by Chester’s improved behavior. They didn’t know how to account for his strange doings but, to their credit, they were willing to let bygones be bygones. The only disturbing factor in all our lives was the reappearance of the white vegetables each morning in the kitchen. And yet, after a few days, even that stopped and life seemed to return to normal.

One evening, I dropped by Bunnicula’s cage to chat. I’d found myself doing that more and more since Chester had stopped talking to me. Of course, Bunnicula didn’t talk back, but he
was
a good listener. I’d begun to think of him as a friend—a strange one, granted, but one can’t always choose one’s friends. I was distressed this particular evening to see that he was dragging his ears, as it were. He looked tired and listless. I felt his nose and it seemed a little warmer than it should have been. I became alarmed.

I ran over to Toby who was doing a picture puzzle on the floor and began to bark—something I do only in cases of extreme emergency, since even I do not care for the sound.

“What’s the matter, Harold?” Toby asked without moving. “Are there burglars?”

I ran to the cage and looked at Bunnicula. I looked back at Toby and whimpered. Toby just looked confused.

“Do you want to play with Bunnicula? Shall I take him out of the cage?‘

“Woof,” I responded, indicating, I hoped, that that was indeed what he should do.

“I’ll ask Mom and Dad, Harold. You wait here.” He was back in a minute, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Harold, but Mom says you can’t play with the rabbit. It causes too much commotion.”

I looked down at the floor and whimpered again.

“Sorry, Harold, maybe later when we’re all in here together.”

I regarded Bunnicula whose eyes met mine. He gave a little shudder, and I felt like crying. My friend was sick, and I didn’t know what to do. I wished I could tell Chester, but I knew it was no use. He was just too mad at me. I would have to sort this one out on my own.

That night, I couldn’t sleep worrying about Bunnicula. I decided to go downstairs and check on his condition. What I saw when I entered the living room horrified me. Bunnicula was out of his cage on the floor, while Chester stood in front of him, a piece of garlic around his neck and his arms outstretched, blocking the kitchen door. Suddenly, it all fell into place. Chester was starving Bunnicula! Of course,
that’s
why he seemed so listless, and that’s why the vegetables had stopped turning white. Chester had made it impossible for Bunnicula to eat.

“Chester!” I cried.

Chester jumped a very high jump.

“What are you doing down here?” he spat at me as he landed.

“I know what you’re doing, Chester, and the jig is up. That little bunny never hurt anybody. All he’s doing is eating his own way. What do you care if he drains a few vegetables?”

“He’s a vampire!” Chester snarled. “Today, vegetables. Tomorrow … the world!”

“I think perhaps you’re overstating your case,” I suggested cautiously.

“Go back to bed, Harold. This is larger than the two of us. It may seem harsh, but I’m only being cruel to be kind.”

Who’s he being kind to? I wondered, as I went back upstairs. The tomatoes and zucchinis of the world? Maybe a few cabbages? It just didn’t make sense. But I could see I wasn’t going to get anywhere with Chester tonight. Tomorrow, however, would be another story, and I was determined that, by hook or by crook, my friend Bunnicula would eat by sundown the next day.

I realized that there was nothing I could do for Bunnicula during the day, since he was sleeping. But that gave me time to plan my strategy. At first, I thought I would bring food to his cage, but then it occurred to me that Chester must be taking everything away that was given to him. Pete and Toby usually left lettuce for Bunnicula during the day while he was sleeping, and Chester, ever watchful, probably nabbed it each evening just before the rabbit woke. No, there would have to be another way.

I thought and thought all afternoon, and I could see that Chester had done a good job of isolating Bunnicula from his food. There was no way I could think of to overcome Chester’s game plan. As evening drew closer and I grew more and more frantic, I stumbled into the dining room … and saw the answer to my problems sitting before me on the table. It was a big bowl of salad! All I had to do was get Bunnicula to the salad and let him get his fill before the family came in to eat. With that funny white dressing on it, they would never notice if a few vegetables were white.

I ran to the hallway to check the clock. Six fifteen. It would be fifteen minutes before the sun went down and Bunnicula woke up. I would then need at least five minutes to get him from his cage to the table and feed him. All I had to do was make sure no one came into the room until he had finished. I needed a good twenty minutes, at least.

I went back into the living room. Chester was asleep on his brown velvet chair, shedding in his sleep, still worn out from the previous night’s activities. I checked upstairs. Toby was reading in his room, the last chapter of
Treasure Island
, I noted. Pete, who should have been doing his homework, was listening to records in his room.

I ran down to the kitchen.

“Hello, Harold,” Mrs. Monroe said as I came through the door. “What’s new?”

Other than a rabbit starving in the next room and an imminent attack on your salad bowl, nothing, I thought. I stood at her feet and panted. She scratched my head. This gave me a moment to check out how far she was in her cooking.

“Sorry, Harold,” she said. “I have to baste this chicken.” I noticed the oven timer still had thirty-five minutes to go. It’ll be tight, I thought, but I can make it. Now, where is Mr. Monroe?

I went to the front door and whimpered loudly. Mrs. Monroe followed me.

“Are you waiting for Daddy, Harold? He’ll be home soon.”