by Jeff Strand
Five minutes later, he gave into temptation and ran out for a swig. One gulp turned into two and the next morning he awoke in the middle of the clearing, tangled in his own rope, missing a boot, and clutching the empty bottle.
So much for the whiskey method.
While replenishing his supply at the town′s liquor store, its owner, Clinton, made small talk about their buddy Horace and his oversized Jesus carrot.
Floyd guffawed. He wasn′t about to spill the beans about his (much better) find. Even if he couldn′t catch the live jackalope, he still had a dead one hidden under the tarpaulin in the bed of his pickup, parked just outside the store. So, go ahead...let Ol′ Horace brag about his stupid, overgrown vegetable resembling the son of the Big Guy Upstairs. It didn′t take a genius to figure out which the paying public would be more curious about.
On his way back home, Floyd laughed a little more over Horace and his giant carrot. Then it hit him like a man betting on a fart but drawing mud. He flinched and the smile dropped from his face.
Them jackalopes are nuthin′ but giant bunny rabbits. And what′s the one thing everyone knows bunnies love to eat?
Floyd ripped the steering wheel to the left, making a sharp U-turn in the middle of the busy downtown street. He barely heard the honking of the other vehicles over his own screeching tires.
″Ahhh....shuddup!″ he said, maneuvering the Chevy towards the highway in order to pay his buddy Horace an unannounced visit.
* * *
″Now, Floyd don′t be stupid,″ Horace said. The end of the shotgun′s barrel bent his already crooked nose a little more. He raised his tan, calloused hands high in the air. ″I got plenty of other carrots that you can have. Why don′t we just″
Floyd cocked both hammers on the double barrel.
″Yeah, okay,″ Horace said. ″Jesus is yonder.″ He ticked his head to the right. ″In the barn.″
Floyd nodded. ″First we fetch my truck.″
With arms raised and a shotgun shoved in his back, Horace led the way to Floyd′s vehicle at the end of the winding driveway.
″Floyd, I know these are desperate times for all of us, but stealing ain′t″
″Don′t ya worry, Horace. I′m gonna pay you back. Might even give ya a cut of my profits.″
″Your profits?″
″Oh, hush now. What I got in the back of my pickup is probably worth thousands more than your lil′ carrot man.″
″Ain′t little! And it′s more than a man. It′s Our Savior, The Lord Jesus Chr″
″Spare me your bullshit. You ain′t seen the inside of a church in years.″
″So?″
″So in order to call yerself a good Christian, you kinda have to at least follow the first rule in the Good Book: Thou shall always go to church on Sundays. Or somethin′ like that, ain′t it?″
Horace shrugged.
″Exactly. Now the way you need to look at things is that I ain′t stealin′ your carrot. I′m just gonna take it and invest it.″
″Invest in what?″
″Somethin′ much more profitable, that′s what. Somethin′ I′m willing to split with ya. Let′s say....sixty-forty.″
″Let me guess, you get the sixty?″
″Yep. Cause it′s my discovery. But you help me and your forty cut will probably be more than enough to keep your head afloat for years to come. Even if the EPA condemns our properties as toxic waste dumps.″
″That′s a mighty big promise, Floyd.″
Floyd lowered the shotgun, taking it off his buddy. ″Don′t worry, once ya see what I got in the back of my″
Horace halted, swung around, and belted Floyd across the chin.
Floyd dropped like a sack of potatoes then went straight as a board. ″My back!″
Horace grabbed his knuckles and hopped up and down. ″My arthritis!″
Floyd groaned and rubbed his jaw. ″Then why ya hit me for, stupid?!″
″For shoving a gun in my face.″ Horace reached down to grab the weapon but Floyd pulled it away like a petulant child.
″It ain′t even loaded fer Christ sake!″
″Bullshit!″
″I swear. I double-checked it when I first pulled up.″
Horace lunged for the weapon. ″Gimme that goddamn thing!″
″Just tell me that you′re interested in my offer,″ Floyd said, rolling over on top of the firearm.
Horace dove on top of him. ″I am! But I wanna be the one holdin′ the gun. Don′t trust ya with it. So gimme!″
″Owww! My back! Watch yer boney knees, ya sumbitch!!″
As the two men struggled a loud crack echoed from within the darkness beyond the tree line. It sounded like a large branch snapping in half.
With Horace planking Floyd, the old timers turned in the direction of the noise and froze.
″That wouldn′t happen to be yer imbecile grandson playin′ in the woods, would it?″
″Nope. After you arrived, he ran in his room with his toolbox and a mess of other stuff under his arm.″
″Plannin′ on buildin′ somethin′ is he?″
Horace shrugged.
″Ya know,″ Floyd said, ″he always was the creative type. Even before the accident I remember him″
There came another loud crack from the woods that made the men lurch away.
Then one of the larger trees fell.
It crashed across the driveway, blocking access to Floyd′s Chevy. From where the tree once stood, something gigantic rushed out of the shadows and leapt into the air, momentarily blocking the bright light of the full moon.
The thing landed in the distance at the rear of Floyd′s truck.
Both men sat up and craned their wrinkled, turkey necks to see over the fallen tree.
A huge black mass of inky void erased the back half of the Chevy. The thing moved around the bed of the pickup and stopped on the opposite side.
″What. The. Hell?″ Horace said.
As if on cue, the dark blob, backlit by the moon, slowly stretched upwards and gave Horace his answer. Floyd gulped, already knowing what it was.
The jackalope.
″That there′s why I needed your Jesus carrot, Horace.″
Rising, the thing towered over the pickup. Long and thick, twisted antlers adorned its pate. Muscular arms stretched out from its sides. Sharp, gigantic talons glinted in the moonlight. A pair of glowing, red eyes burned like hot coals in the darkness. Then two, long and enormous ears grew erect, standing atop its skull and bookending the entanglement of antlers.
Tilting its head from side to side, the beast stared into the back of the truck. With a lightning fast swipe of its hand, it ripped away the tarpaulin and leaned down. A moment later its head lowered and shoulders slumped. Its whole body deflated.
Even in the darkness, Floyd could easily read the sorrow the beast felt. He also realized that he didn′t need Horace′s carrot anymore. He had unknowingly been driving around with the proper bait the entire time.
″What′s it lookin′ at, Floyd?″ Horace asked, his eyes glued on the beast. ″What ya got back there?″
Not feeling too particularly proud at the moment, Floyd exhaled and whispered, ″Either its mate or kin.″
The creature whipped its head at the men and sucked in the cold, night air. Its entire body puffed up to twice its size. A guttural growl broke the silence. Its eyes seemed to glow even brighterin pure, unadulterated rage.
″Oh, Geez. What ya go and do now, Floyd?″
″Nothin′. I found it like that. It was already dead. I swear.″ Floyd didn′t feel the need to add that he also desecrated its final resting place by digging it up.
The beast swung down and smashed the side of the truck bed, caving it in. The back window and taillights blew out and the rear tire exploded from the impact. The truck bounced and rocked then sank.
″Hey, now! C′mon!″ Floyd said, whimpering a little. Was it really necessary to go and smash his Chevy like that?
The jackalope leapt into the air, clearing the truck and half the driveway, and landed on top of the fallen tree. It sat perched on the trunk with its gigantic fuzzy feet (that might have looked kind of cute if not for the massive, hooked talons that dug an inch deep into the tree trunk).
Both men, too petrified to move, kept their eyes on the beast.
″Shoot it, Floyd,″ Horace whispered from the corner of his mouth in case the thing could read lips.
″Told ya it ain′t loaded.″
″Ya dummy! What′s the use of having a gun if ain′t loaded?″
″Didn′t load it on account I was gonna stick it in your face.″
″Well...thanks, I guess. But given the present circumstance, I kinda wish you weren′t so thoughtful.″
″Well, at least I can use it as a club. More than what you got to bring to the fight, now ain′t it?″
Horace had to agree. His bulging orbs shifted back and forth for his own weapon. A few yards beside him lay a flimsy leaf rake and a small pile of dead leaves. Once again, Delmont must have got distracted by a colorful bug or funny-shaped twig and forgot to complete the simple chore of raking the yard earlier that day. But this time Horace was grateful for his grandson′s simplicity because if he had completed the task, he would′ve put everything up. And there wouldn′t be a weapon right now, located a few feet away, in the form of the wooden rake handle.
″Think I might of found something if you′re ready to scrap,″ Horace said.
″Yeah?″
″Yeah. Only thing is you have to distract him so I can get it.″
″Please tell me you gotta gun or machete planted out here somewhere.″
″Nope. But I gotta rake.″
″A rake?″
″Yep.″
″What good′s a rake against something like that?!″
″About as good as an unloaded gun.″
Floyd turned and shot him a look. ″How many times do I have to tell ya″
The Jackalope suddenly rose on the log, quickly recapturing Floyd and Horace′s attention. The creature threw its arms out, stretching them high in the air. The men braced themselves for a mighty roar but, instead, got...
A series of fast clicks from a tongue (after all, it was still a rabbit and rabbits can′t roar).
What intimidation it couldn′t provide with a scary, deafening howl, it more than made up with the bloodthirsty glare it gave the men and the way it stretched its whiskered lips back to reveal sharp and gnarly incisors. It clacked the ivory weapons together, proudly showing them off. Then, like a dozen mini-switchblades retracting, the talons on its feet let go of its grasp on the log.
And the thing took a step forward. Toward the men.
Floyd felt the fear rising in his belly, making its way up his throat. He had lived over eight decades dreading this day.
Eighty-one years is a loooong time, He thought. Most ain′t so lucky.
″Ah, screw this. I′m too old to give a shit about dyin′,″ Floyd said. ″Let′s have us some rabbit stew.″ He struggled to his feet, his joints popping loudly.
That was Horace′s cue. He dropped flat and rolled across the lawn toward the rake.
Gripping the shotgun by its dual barrel like a baseball bat, Floyd raised it behind him and watched the mighty behemoth approach. ″Bottom of the ninth...″
Completely dizzy and disoriented from all the rolling, Horace overshot the rake by a few yards. He rushed back for the weapon, swaying and shambling like a drunken Frankenstein′s monster.
As the beast approached, Floyd waved the bat and shook his hips, planting his feet firmly on the ground. ″Bases loaded...″
″I′m comin′, buddy!″ Horace said, snatching up the rake. ″Save some for me!″
The jackalope swung before Floyd could. Its huge hand swiped at him, knocking him off his feet and the gun from his hand. He flew across the yard and slammed against a tree.
″My back!″ Floyd groaned, sliding down the trunk to the ground.
″My leg!″ Horace yelped, falling to the lawn. He had tried to make two jagged weapons by snapping the rake′s thin wooden handle over his raised thigh. There was a cracking sound, all right, but not from the handle!
The creature turned to Floyd, who was sitting slumped at the base of the tree. Of the two men, he was the one guilty of desecrating the grave. Floyd shuddered over the fact that the beast seemed to be smiling at him, a wicked grin highlighting those ivory incisors again.
Like a bull ready to charge, the jackalope lowered its head and aimed its thicket of antlers at Floyd. It had every intention of shish kabobbing the old timer and ripping off his tastiest bits, a piece at time, for consumption.
Horace rose and hobbled to the monster with the unbroken rakethe metal, wispy end flopping and clanking loudly, giving away any attempt at a stealthy approach. Still, he was able to jam the round, wooden end into the beast′s backside.
The thing reared up. And kicked back.
A huge padded foot thumped Horace, the impact sending him flying backward across the lawn. When he landed, any deadly impact between his skull and the ground was cushioned by a small pile of leaves in the grass. Thanks again to Delmont.
The jackalope spun back to Floyd.
It lowered its head.
And charged.
Seeing the beast barreling toward him, Floyd squeezed his eyes shut and accepted certain death.
But before he could be impaled, a pair of beefy hands came from around one side of the tree trunk and yanked him out of the way.
Floyd heard the crash and felt the leaves, knocked loose from the jackalope′s impact, cascading upon him.
″Hey, Floyd.″ a voice said, casually.
Opening his eyes, Floyd saw Delmont standing over him.
″Close one, huh?″
Stunned, Floyd simply nodded.
Both men turned to the commotion at the base of the tree.
The jackalope had its antlers stuck in the trunk. Fluffy feet ripped at the earth and taloned hands clawed at the bark in an attempt to free itself.
Delmont dragged Floyd further away to a relatively safe distance then gingerly patted his head with his large hand. ″Now it′s time to get that rabbit.″
″No, Delmont! You′ll get yourself killed. Just run. Go! Get outta here!″
Delmont did as he was told, disappearing back into the shadows at the side of the house.
Floyd climbed to his feet and tried to straighten from a hunched position. His spine cracked its objection, forcing him to stay stooped. Hissing from the stabbing back pain, Floyd waddled his way over to Horace and helped him up. He grabbed his arm and threw it over his shoulder to help steady his hobbling buddy.
Kicking up a cloud of dust and shredded bark, the jackalope finally pulled free. It whirled around toward the men and lowered its head for another attack.
Horace and Floyd glanced around and saw they were standing in the middle of the open lawn. There was no place to hide. Their tickets were about to get punched.
″Been real, buddy,″ Floyd said.
″Sure has, Floyd.″
″Didn′t mean to ruin your night like this, ya know?″
Horace shrugged.
″Delmont got someone to help look after him?″ Floyd said.
″Yep. Gotta cousin in Texas. He′ll be fine without me.″
The beast growled and arched back, ready to spring.
From out of the darkness came a loud, grating noise. It sounded exactly like one of those tin ratchet noisemakers handed out as party favors. The annoying sound did its job and drew all attention to the side of the house, where, from out of the shadows stepped a large pale shape.
Both men and beast squinted to make out the thing.
It looked like one of those Chinese parade dragons, but just the head. Horace noticed one of his bed sheets stretched taut across some sort of armature that formed the structure of the face. Rabbit eyes, a nose, and buckteeth were drawn on the fabric
with black shoe polish. Mounted smack dab in the middle of its forehead were a set of twisted tree branches like a large pair of antlers. The whole getup resembled a homemade Halloween costume of a jackalope that a child might make. And sure enough, there were Delmont′s thick legs sticking out from below the faux beast, propelling it forward.
The real jackalope growled at the obnoxiously loud and approaching creature.
Once the jackalope lowered its head to ram its threat, the sound stopped and tin noisemaker dropped out from under the costume.
Arching back, the jackalope was milliseconds from charging with a deadly barrage of antlers, incisors, and claws.
Then the face of Delmont′s getup blew outwards in a deafening boom and the top of the real jackalope′s head exploded in a pink mist full of skull and antler fragments.
Floyd and Horace jumped from the unexpected blast, their withered tickers now drumming even faster than they ever thought possible.
After the pump of a shotgun, another blast blew additional pieces off the jackalope′s head.
The near headless beast reared up in reflex then collapsed, its limp body crashing to the ground.
Delmont threw off his costume and reloaded the shotgun with another pump, aiming the weapon at the prone beast and waiting for it to move.
It didn′t.
Once the ringing in their ears subsided, a pale Floyd turned to a shocked Horace.
″Don′t...don′t get me wrong,″ Floyd whispered, ″But what′s with the costume? Couldn′t he have fetched the gun and shot it just as easily without that whole getup?″
Horace shrugged. ″Like you said. The boy′s creative.″
Floyd sat wondering how the boy could′ve prepared like that for the beast. How could he have known? Then he remembered how Delmont stared over his shoulder earlier when they were on the porch. He′d seen it then...
Floyd shook his head and smiled, knowing that he′d personally make sure that Delmont drank for free the next time they all met at Pooter′s Bar.
* * *
Although any evidence of a genuine jackalope had been blown off the larger beast′s head by the shotgun, Floyd still had the smaller corpse in the back of his smashed truck. He sold the near headless one for a pretty penny to the university for research and the determination of whether the mutation was caused by toxic waste or the Lord′s sense of humor. The smaller one was stuffed and mounted (with every step documented on video to prove its authenticity). Floyd transformed his barn into a den of oddities and showcased the beast, charging an admission price for a gander.
