The little bunny had begun to move for the first time since he had been
put in his cage. He lifted his tiny nose and inhaled deeply, as if
gathering sustenance from the moonlight.
"He slicked his ears back close to his body, and for the first time,"
Chester said, "I noticed the peculiar marking on his forehead. What had
seemed an ordinary black spot between his ears took on a strange
v-shape, which connected with the big black patch that covered his back
and each side of his neck. It looked as if he was wearing a coat . . .
no, more like a cape than a coat."
Through the silence had drifted the strains of a remote and exotic
"I could have sworn it was a gypsy violin," Chester told me. "I thought
perhaps a caravan was passing by, so I ran to the window."
I remembered my mother telling me something about caravans when I was a
puppy. But for the life of me, I couldn't remember what.
"What's a caravan?" I asked, feeling a little stupid.
"A caravan is a band of gypsies traveling through the forest in their
wagons," Chester answered.
"Ah, yes." It was coming back to me now. "Station wagons?"
"No, covered wagons! The gypsies travel all through the land, setting up
camps around great bonfires, doing magical tricks, and sometimes, if you
cross their palms with a piece of silver, they'll tell your fortune."
"You mean if I gave them a fork, they'd tell my fortune?" I asked,
Chester looked at me with disdain. "Save your silverware," he said, "it
wasn't a caravan after all."
I was disappointed. "What was it?" I asked.
Chester explained that when he looked out the window, he saw Professor
Mickelwhite, our next door neighbor, playing the violin in his living
room. He listened for a few moments to the haunting melody and sighed
with relief. I've really got to stop reading these horror stories late
at night, he thought, it's beginning to affect my mind. He yawned and
turned to go back to his chair and get some sleep. As he turned,
however, he was startled by what he saw.
There in the moonlight, as the music filtered through the air, sat the
bunny, his eyes intense and staring, an unearthly aura about them.
"Now, this is the part you won't believe," Chester said to me, "but as I
watched, his lips parted in a hideous smile, and where a rabbit's buck
teeth should have been, two little pointed fangs glistened."
I wasn't sure what to make of Chester's story, but the way he told it,
it set my hair on end.
Excerpted from "Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery" by Deborah Howe. Copyright © 2006 by Deborah Howe. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.