by Jeff Strand
Once its prey is weakened, either through blood loss, strangulations, or both, the jackalope will then chew off a hand or foot; letting the prey realize it′s being eaten alive. Like a child gleefully eating his or her chocolate Easter bunny, ears first, then paws, then feet, etc., the jackalope does the same. Additionally, it appears that the protein is better when eaten live.
In this regard, two scientists were found in a major metropolitan city strangled, drained, and half eaten.
It now appears these dangerous creatures can bend their antlers back at will, not merely a biological predator response when playing with its prey, thereby camouflaging themselves to look innocent, like cute little bunnies.
The hare that went for the jugular in Monty Python no longer appears so innocent! Perhaps it was really a Jackalope!
Be careful with your children, for it appears the jackalopes have begun hitching rides to the cities, where prey is plentiful.
And the prey it seems is you or me!
THE MASCOT
MICHAEL BAILEY
WHY DID THE MASCOT CROSS THE ROAD?
For us to run him over is the only explanation. A lure. We were not drunk, let that much be clear. Leslie had a few too many drinks, but she rode shotgun and counted sheep when our RAM plowed into the suckera horrendous sound as red painted the hood and something large smashed into the windshield and rolled over us. Both headlights blew, the dark highway enveloping the truck in a moment. If truth be told, the man in the rabbit suit had leapt.
Let it be repeated: we were not drunk.
This really happened.
Leslie woke, of course, screaming, ″What the hell, Greg!″ and looked around the cabin, confused, terrified, trying to see through drunken eyes and smears of blood over spider web glass; thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk before she reached over and turned off the wipers.
″We hit something.″
″No kidding,″ she said.
The truck slowed, slid a bit in the shoulder gravel, stopped, and we stepped out into the black. Stars speckled the sky, clearly visible over the lightless highway. A crescent moon smiled upon us, as if it understood the answer to the joke.
For us to run him over, the moon would say.
We were a good thirty miles from any form of civilization and hadn′t passed another vehicle in over an hour. Taillights lit the asphalt behind us red and in the distance lay a hazy silhouette of a crumpled man.
″A deer?″ she asked.
″Larger than a deer.″
″Tell me it was an animal. Tell me we didn′t just murder someone.″
″We didn′t murder anyone, Les. The bastard jumped into us.″
″Jumped?″
″Hopped, really.″
Leslie circled the truck and held a hand over her mouth when she saw the gore. Blood splattered the entire front end of the vehicle and had smeared across the hood. Shreds of rabbit suit and flesh clung to the chrome grill. A meaty rib protruded from the radiator as steam vented. The man must have split apart like a water balloon, splashing everywhere.
″I told you it was a deer,″ Leslie said, pointing to an antler lodged into the other broken headlight.
It wasn′t a deer; it was a man in a fucking rabbit suit, and he had hopped across the road. He had turned his head before we struck him, and he had smiled.
The cellphone couldn′t find a signal as we walked to the lump in the road, but it worked as a light source, creating a wedge of white to lead the way.
″Oh God,″ Leslie said, retching once before doubling over to puke.
The dead man remained smiling, his head twisted toward us while his body and limbs faced the opposite direction. One incredibly long bunny ear pointed up; the other soaked the fluid leaking from his cracked temple. He even had a fluffy white tail. A single antler stuck outward from his head; the other broken offthe one Leslie had tried prying out of the headlight. He wore one of those sticker nametags you′d get at a party, but the words were smudged and looked Latin: LEPUS TEMPERAMENTALUS. The bunny suit had either unzipped or had ripped open in the back, which was now the man′s front. Inside he was naked.
″He′s not wearing any clothes, Les.″
She squatted on the ground near the fence that lined the highway, staring into the field, far enough away so that she was just another shape in the night.
″What are you doing out here, dressed like this?″
The dead man′s eyes reflected the light of the cellphone.
Still no signal, which meant we either had to find help, or help had to find us. Both directions were lifeless. We stared at each other for a good while before Leslie joined us and closed his eyes for him.
″Jesus, Greg. Have some respect. The man′s dead. Look at himwell, don′t look at himbut don′t gawk at him like that either. Have you called the police?″
″No signal.″
She took the cell phone and tried herself, handed it back.
″What are we supposed to do? We can′t leave him here on the side of the highway like road kill.″
We both stood in silence, waiting for answers, waiting for headlights.
″Is that a nametag?″
″Yeah.″
″Did you find a wallet, a phone? Maybe he has a cell with coverage out here.″
″He′s soup, Les. The only thing in that suit″
″We need to do something, Greg!″
″We can bring him with us.″
That quieted her. The thought of putting him into the truck bed was unsettling, to say the least. We′d either have to drag him thirty feet to the truck, or reverse the truck to him; either way, the process involved lifting.
″You can′t be serious.″
″What choice do we have?″
″Leave him here, report the accident, and return with the police.″
Something rustled.
″What was that?″ she said, turning to the field.
″Leslie, it′s past midnight, we′re out in the middle of nowhere, and there are who knows how many types of nocturnal animals roaming about.″
It didn′t seem to matter. She reacted to the smallest of sounds.
″Let′s come back for him,″ she said, ″with help. Let′s get out of here, Greg.″
″We at least need to get him out of the road. Can you agree to that?″
She nodded, understanding the importance. The last thing this poor sicko needed was to be run over a second time. It was the last thing we needed. He was already as dead as dead can get, but not moving him on our part could result in a hundred bad outcomes: someone swerving out of the way to avoid the lump in the road and crashing into the ditch, or swerving head-on into another vehicle, or rolling over his body and the remaining antler puncturing a tire and sending them end over end.
This guy in the middle of the road was a deathtrap.
Someone else could die.
Since the man′s legs were already facing the ditch, we each grabbed a leg and pulled, and it was like pulling... well, it was like pulling a large, bloodied animal across the asphalt. He must have weighed two hundred pounds and his fur created friction. His blood trail appeared black.
When Leslie fell onto her ass, it wasn′t because she had slipped or had lost her hold. The man′s leg had disconnected at the knee somewhere within the bunny suit. She dropped the limp appendage, bit her fist and ran to the truck.
It was then the field livened.
Small crunches.
Field grass brushing aside.
Leslie screaming.
It proved difficult moving the man in the bunny suit alone, but soon he was in gravel and less prone to get hit a second time.
Something assailed Leslie in the truck.
The dead man smiled like the moon.
Leslie stopped screaming and held her throat. At first it looked as though she were holding back another retch, but as she staggered closer, trails of red escaped from between her grasp and a second creature the size of a cat jumped dow
n from the passenger seat of the truck and scuttled into the field.
Small crunches.
Field grass brushing aside.
Leslie no longer screaming.
Lurching forward, she let go a moment and blood shot out of her neck and splotched the ground. Three wounds punctured her throat like bullet holes. Blood seeped from her chest from six others, three on each side. Something sharp had punctured her stomach and breasts. Small claw or bite marks pitted her face. All of this was revealed as she stepped closer to the cellphone light and collapsed, flat onto her face. A shaky hand rose and slapped the ground.
Something stirred in the field behind her.
Beady eyes reflected like red pearls from what light the cellphone offered, first one set, and then another, and another. Moving the phone back and forth revealed a dozen glowing eyes like embers gathered together. They stared at Leslie as a pack, at both of us, ready to pounce. The sound of a hundred more. One approached, its clown-like mouth dabbed in blood lipstick. It touched noses with their dead mascot on the side of the road, and the man′s eyes opened, this man in the bunny suit. His smile widened.
The joke was on us.
THE EASTER JACKALOPE
JACK HORNE
While hunting eggs the Easter bunny left,
I heard a sound that caused my blood to chill,
behind a bush, the speaker gruffly growled,
″He went that way, I say, beyond the hill.″
I knew at once I′d found a Jackalope,
and, trembling, backed away, my muscles weak;
I prayed the fiend would stay behind the bush,
but once again, I heard the monster speak.
″I said the Jackalope aint here,″ it swore,
and then a fearsome face appeared in view;
The sight of antlers nearly stopped my heart,
and faint with fear, I wondered what to do.
The rabbit head was huge, its features wild,
the menace from its glare so strong I froze,
and then I spotted Easter eggs and said,
″I wonder, would you care for those?″
I feared its sabre teeth would gnaw my throat,
its eyes so fierce I thought my end was nigh,
but then it snatched the eggs and sped away;
collapsing on the plain, I heaved a sigh.
And so, my friend, beware at Eastertime:
The Jackalope is fond of Easter eggs;
I hope the Easter bunny can out run
the terror with the antelope′s hind legs...
TANGLE CROWNED DEVIL
DAVID J. WEST
DEEP IN THE AGES before old men repeated the stories they were told as children about dying fires, the cannibal demon Átahsaia haunted the canyon lands above Pariah Crossing. These lands were his and the red man knew not to disturb him...but the white man didn′t.
* * *
A black scorpion crawled ponderously up Porter′s arm. His bowie sheared the stinger without knocking the creature off balance. He slid the blade back in its sheath silent as sleeping death.
He flicked the crippled creature away and continued watching the rustlers camp from just below the spine of a shadowy crag. He wouldn′t take the chance that even the dim web of stars might outline him.
Port was being extra-cautious as of late, quite a number of folks had been taking shots at him lately and he hadn′t yet been able to identify them all. The likelihood that it was the rustlers themselves watching their back trail was the most likely explanation, but if that were the case why were they being so careless now?
When the moon dipped behind clouds, he felt his way down the jagged granite boulders and stalked toward the fading orange glow of the campfire. The floor of pine needles concealed his approach and the rustlers slept soundly. Even the watchman, a half-breed Lakota, called Red Cap was resting against a tree, dozing.
The horses nickered at Porter′s approach. He grunted softly to them and they quieted, still shying away. The scent of the predator was strong even with the cool wind whipping through the pines.
A horse neighed, waking Red Cap who peered blindly into the palpable darkness. The smoky dying fire gave stark shape to the night, each tree seemed a slender column of rough tiger striped orange and black.
Port knew that old Red Cap saw nothing but might feel his presence and wake the others, he had to move fast.
Red Cap glanced toward his companions, likely taking false comfort in their nearness. The tree he sat under ran sap across his homespun blanket. The stickiness threatened to trap his hands. He rubbed them furiously against his pants so they wouldn′t mar his Sharps rifle.
A soft sound in the needles was all the warning Red Cap had before looking up in time to see Port′s snub-nosed Navy colt revolver trained on the his chest.
″Put it down. Quietly,″ whispered Porter harsh as a steel trap. His long wild hair and beard made him look every bit the maniacal gunslinger come feared lawman. For good or evil, people knew him when they saw him. Legend had it that he had shot well over a hundred men, some called him the Destroying Angel.
″Porter, I didn′t want any part of this. Honest,″ Red Cap said, putting down the rifle and rolling away from the tree. ″Two-Toes, he said...″
″On your belly.″
Port bound the Red Cap′s hands with stout rope and then put the man′s own dirty sock in his mouth to gag him. Porter then walked to the sleeping men and nudged the closest one with his boot. As the man rolled over angry, Port stuck the snub nosed barrel in his face.
″Shhh. Don′t need to wake your friends up just yet.″
Port repeated the process until three of the five rustlers were bound up like corn husk dolls. He kicked the last two awake. They yawned and exchanged horrified looks as they beheld the infamous gunman.
″Porter, you son of a —,″
″Save the sweet talk for the judge, Two-Toes,″ said Porter, tossing a length of rope at Two-Toes Turley, the leader of the gang. ″One of you tie up the other. And if it ain′t a top notch, I′ll be making you walk.″
That prospect alone was enough to make the two men fight each other over who got to bind who. Once they finished Porter bound the last one and double checked the other.
″My hands, I can′t feel 'em,″ whined Saw-Tooth Roberts.
″That′s alright, you don′t need 'em to ride anyway,″ said Porter, picking Saw-Tooth up by his belt and flinging him sideways upon a waiting horse.
With dawn′s early light, Porter led the five rustlers and their herd of horses back out the box canyon and northwest toward Fort Kanab. A way out across the vale Port thought he saw a small light brown creature standing on its hind end watching them. It had antlers. He shook his head guessing a shrub must have been beside the creature granting it a tangled crown. He kept riding on, but it was a strange sight.
It wasn′t yet noon when a boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen came riding from the east at a furious pace.
He was calling for Porter before he even hit earshot. ″Mr. Rockwell! Mr. Rockwell! I found you! Right where Mr. Lee said you′d be.″
″Easy son, give that horse a breather before she keel′s over on you. What′s got you so riled?″
The boy nodded and got off his horse, stroking the panting creature′s neck. The affection he had for the animal was plain. ″Mr. Rockwell, sir, I′m John Worrell, Hezekiah Deacon′s nephew. My uncle has rich claim of a mining camp on the other side of Lee′s ferry. We′re down a box canyon that he discovered.″
Porter listened and took a swig of Valley Tan whiskey from his dusters side pocket. ″So?″
″We need help, something is a murdering at night.″
″Claim jumpers? Ute′s?″ Porter took another swig.
The boy shook his head vigorously. ″No sir. My Uncle could handle other men.″
Porter squinted at the boy against the sunlight. ″What are you saying?″
″It′s a monster sir. Kills with its mouth and an
tlers.″
The rustlers bound and uncomfortable as they were, chuckled at the boy.
The boy glared at the rustlers. ″You tell them to keep their traps shut...sir. I′m sorry, but this thing is real. It may sound like a story but tain't.″
″Monster huh? How big? Big as a man?″ asked Port. Holding his hand up to gauge height. ″This high?″ The boy shook his head. ″This high?″
″No, it′s a lot bigger.″
″This high?″
″No, bigger.″
Porter grinned, ″Lot bigger huh?″ He took another swig of his whiskey. ″What are you all mining in this canyon your Uncle discovered? Pyrite? Mercury? Guano?″
″You don′t believe me do you? Uncle says you′re the only one that can help us. He said you′ve dealt with monsters before.″
″Maybe I have, but I got a bounty I aim to collect on these rustlers. It′s gonna pay twenty dollars a head. I don′t have time for something that your Pa ought a shoot himself. Probably just a bear or panther.″
″No it isn′t. Its killed good men,″ protested the boy wiping away a tear. ″My Uncle said.″
″My uncle said, my uncle said, look kid. I haven′t got time. I′m riding to Fort Kanab.″
″Uncle Hezekiah said you might say that. Said you might not remember him from the old days back in California, back in Murderer′s Bar, but he remembers you. Said he knew what would motivate you.″ The kid reached into his saddlebag.
Porter, ever wary, kept a free hand near his gun.
The kid pulled something small enough to be concealed in his hand out of the saddlebag and tossed it to Porter. It glittered, capturing sunlight across its face. The rustlers saw it too, nudging each other in excitement.
Porter caught it and his eyes grew wide. A gold nugget bigger than any he had ever seen, even in the days of the gold rush no one had found one this big.
