Bunnicula: Chapters 6–9

Strange noises emanated from downstairs.

Standing in the doorway was Chester, a strange pendant hanging from his neck.

I surveyed the room and saw that it was strewn with garlic.

Chester continued, "The Mark of the Vampire says garlic renders vampires immobile.”

"Doe, Chester,” I said as my nose suddenly and involuntarily closed, "I’be leaving dis roob right dow.”

The sky was clear, the birds were singing, and I felt contented after my difficult night just to be lying in the grass, feeling the ladybugs crawl up my ears.

There in the sink, lathered with soap, was the feline detective, yelling his head off. Mrs. Monroe was scrubbing him vigorously and, from the sound of her voice, was in the middle of a long lecture.

"You can finish sleeping later,” he said crisply.

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

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.

This I attempted, though the very idea set my stomach churning.

"'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?”

He dragged the steak across the floor and laid it across the inert bunny.

As the kitchen door swung open, Chester whispered with cold determination, "All right, the last resort!” and dashed into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, he was so hysterical that his aim was not the best.

I panted appropriately.

I looked over toward the cage, and there on the other side of the window was a pathetic tabby face looking in.

In the days that followed, Chester’s behavior was exemplary.

I was getting worried. Chester acts that way only when he has something devious in the back of his mind.

They didn’t know how to account for his strange doings but, to their credit, they were willing to let bygones be bygones.

He looked tired and listless.

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

"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 just had to be a little more careful where I positioned my head so that I wouldn’t find myself in the humiliating predicament of getting stuck a second time.

With Bunnicula swinging peacefully from my teeth, I made my way stealthily toward the dining room as the last rays of sunlight gave way to the dark of night.

Once inside the dining room door, Bunnicula awakened in great bewilderment.

As luck would have it (and as I should have anticipated), Chester’s sense of timing was as astute as my own.

Chester was having a great deal of difficulty getting back on his feet, but I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he’d attack again. And I knew also that Bunnicula was too petrified to do anything to save himself.

But looking back on the next day, I can tell you that happy endings are possible, even in situations as fraught with complications as this one was.

Rather than jar his fragile stomach with solid foods, the doctor decided he should be put on a liquid diet until he got better.

Chester was diagnosed as being emotionally overwrought.

It was suggested that he start sessions with a cat psychiatrist to work out what the doctor called a case of sibling rivalry with Bunnicula.

"Case closed, Sherlock?” I queried.

The Mark of the Vampire sits, its usefulness obsolete, on its shelf.