Bunnicula: Chapters 2–3

He especially likes mystery stories and tales of horror and the supernatural.

As a result, he has developed a very vivid imagination.

It seems that after I went to sleep, Chester, still stewing over the lost milk, settled down with his latest book and attempted to ignore the rumbling in his stomach.

A shaft of moonlight fell across the rabbit’s cage and spilled onto the floor below.

The wind and rain had stopped and, as Chester read Edgar Allan Poe’s "The Fall of the House of Usher,” he became increasingly aware of the eerie stillness that had taken their place.

As Chester tells it, he suddenly felt compelled to look at the rabbit.

He lifted his tiny nose and inhaled deeply, as if gathering sustenance from the moonlight.

Through the silence had drifted the strains of a remote and exotic music.

Through the silence had drifted the strains of a remote and exotic music.

"I thought perhaps a caravan was passing by, so I ran to the window.”

Chester looked at me with disdain.

I’ve really got to stop reading these horror stories late at night, he thought, it’s beginning to affect my mind.

There in the moonlight, as the music filtered through the air, sat the bunny, his eyes intense and staring, an unearthly aura about them.

There in the moonlight, as the music filtered through the air, sat the bunny, his eyes intense and staring, an unearthly aura about them.

Our new arrival slept all day, and Chester, whose curiosity had been aroused by the strange behavior of the rabbit that first night, had decided to stay awake every night to observe him.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, I caught Chester bleary-eyed over the water dish.

"Oh, Chester,” I said, with an indulgent smile, "I think your reading has gone to your head.”

I’d be ready for a good romp around the living room, and Chester would go to sleep.

I went into the hallway and...you know that new clock they’ve got? The big one? That goes all the way to the ceiling? Well, see, it has this thing in the middle called a pendulum.

"It means...that he paints vegetables?” I ventured.

"I suppose you could call it that. I prefer to think of it as the challenge of the unknown. I put one paw over my nose and reached out with the other one and gave it one good smack. I darn near broke my arm. It’s still tender; see how swollen it is.”

"You fell asleep?” I asked incredulously.

Then I noticed a light coming from under the kitchen door. I went into a crouch, stalking the light, when...click...I heard the refrigerator door close, and the light went out.

"There’s one way to find out,” said Mrs. Monroe, who always was the practical one.

"How fascinating,” I said, as the aroma of frying bacon wafted across my nostrils.