Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers: A Horror Anthology

by Matt Shaw

  The blue shadows swirled and took form.

  Tommy.

  The fingers of his left hand were tangled in a head of dark hair.

  “No…,” Marlow stumbled backwards.

  “You finally came,” he said. He twirled his wrist. Jenna’s blue eyes spun into view.

  “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. This isn’t happening.”

  Tommy stepped forward.

  She lost her footing. Her rump plopped into the mushy soil.

  “These were my secrets,” Tommy said continuing his approach.

  Marlow placed her hand down trying to scramble away from him. Something sharp spilt the flesh of her palm.

  “Each one precious...” Anger slithered into his voice, his brown eyes morphed into pure onyx orbs. Hatred radiated from him, a tangible ghost reaching out.

  She raised her arm. Dark fluid dripped from her pale hand.

  Her gaze landed on the bone fragment poking from the ruined earth.

  Oh my God.

  All around her, skeletal remains began to rise.

  His secrets.

  Jenna’s head landed beside her with a soft thud. The blue eyes she’d known all her life turned black and drooled from the skull.

  Marlow screamed, scrambled backwards, and stood.

  Tommy struck his best Jesus Christ pose, arms outstretched, chin tilted to the sky.

  “This place welcomed me with open arms. It calls out to those who will listen.”

  Taking two more steps forward he backed her into a tree.

  “Jenna…said something about a voice…”

  He grinned.

  “What did you do?”

  “She didn’t even scream. She just laid there and cried.”

  “And what you did to those children? You’re a monster.”

  He grabbed Marlow by the jaw. “Now you’re starting to get it.”

  She wanted to spit in his eyes. She wanted to lash out. He leaned in close and brought his tongue from her chin over her lips, flinging it off the tip of her nose.

  She trembled.

  He let go and backed away.

  The skeletal wasteland vanished. The blue world returned to normal. Sunlight rained through the trees.

  “Where are you going?” she said.

  He walked on.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “We’ll be waiting,” he said.

  Then, he disappeared.

  Marlow watched as the little bunny came hopping along.

  Sliding down the tree, she sat on the ground, and placed her face in her hands.

  I can’t tell what’s real anymore.

  She felt something small and cold on her exposed ankle.

  The little bunny rubbed its wet nose against her and bit her.

  “Ah!”

  The rabbit hurried off toward the path.

  Marlow looked at the blood running from her ankle to the ground.

  Dream or otherwise, she was through here. She was finished with that damn rabbit and these ghosts, and this damn fucked up fairytale…or nightmare..

  She climbed to her feet and ran.

  Ghost children lined either side of the path, Marlow felt like one of them, drifting through this horrible dream.

  She passed Missy Hewitt and her stuffed Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, she passed Bobby McGillicuddy and his best friend Nathaniel York, and Maggie Joyce, and the Shaw twins, Kylie and Kelsey, and three children she didn’t recognize. Tommy stood grinning against a Maple tree. He gave her a weak wave as she rushed by.

  Jenna waited at the exit, wearing the white dress with the lace-like, full-length sleeves they’d found her in that Easter morning. The blood stains still present from the cuffs to her elbows and in splotches from waist to hem. Her blue eyes intact.

  Marlow stopped and tried to catch her breath.

  Marlow raised her chin. “What is all of this?”

  “Do you remember that day we came out here?”

  “So what? What’s that to do with any of this?”

  “It wasn’t my first time in this place.”

  “I saw her body. Missy Hewitt’s.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should have said something sooner.” Jenna dropped her gaze. “I never stopped seeing her. Or him.”

  “That day I brought you with me…I was trying to be brave. He had hanged himself the night before in his cell, remember? It was all over the news.”

  Marlow did.

  “I knew, somehow, I knew…he’d be here,” Jenna continued.

  Marlow wanted to hold her.

  “I needed you, your strength, to face him, but when I got to the clearing it wasn’t him…” Jenna brought her black gaze up to meet Marlow’s. “It was all of them.”

  Marlow’s blood froze in her veins.

  The little bunny bounced its way to Jenna’s side.

  “I didn’t say anything. They told me not to.”

  “Who?” Marlow said.

  Jenna bent and picked up the bunny. Marlow wanted to warn her, but the rabbit nuzzled to Jenna’s bosom.

  “I tried to protect you, I really did, but here you are.”

  “Jenna, I still don’t understand…”

  Jenna, with the bunny cradled like a baby, stepped aside.

  “Will I see you again?” Marlow said.

  “Sooner than you think.”

  Jenna faded back into the trees until she was gone.

  *

  Marlow opened her eyes. She lay on the ground by the road. Glancing to her right, she saw Brenner’s Woods. She tried to gaze through the trees for any signs of them. The children, Tommy, Jenna, the bunny.

  She was alone.

  And it was that hollow feeling that followed her home.

  She was numb. She knew she should feel something, but she didn’t. She walked into her house. Her mother worked late and wouldn’t be home until midnight. She went into her room, walked to her dresser, and picked up the photo of her and Jenna.

  Jenna’s crystal blue eyes were pure black.

  Marlow dropped the portrait. The frame hit the floor and shattered.

  The voice slithered through her mind.

  We need you, Marlow…we’re so lonely… it can be our secret….

  “No, leave me alone.”

  She knelt down, picked up the photograph, shaking it free of the shattered glass, and gasped.

  Her eyes now matched the pitch black of Jenna’s.

  The pattering of feet drew her attention to the door.

  The little bunny waited.

  THE END

  Bio

  Glenn Rolfe is an author, singer, songwriter and all around fun loving guy from the haunted woods of New England. He has studied Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University, and continues his education in the world of horror by devouring the novels of Stephen King and Richard Laymon. He and his wife, Meghan, have three children, Ruby, Ramona, and Axl. He is grateful to be loved despite his weirdness.

  He is the author the novellas, Abram's Bridge, Boom Town, and Things We Fear, the short fiction collection, Slush, and the novels, The Haunted Halls and Blood and Rain.

  His first novella collection, Where Nightmares Begin, will be released in March, 2016.

  He is hard at work on many more. Stay tuned!

  Twitter: @Grolfehorror

  Website: https://www.glennrolfe.com

  Run Rabbit, Run

  By

  Michael Bray

  Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

  -John 12-23-25

  He looked at himself in the mirror and pulled at the neck of the rabbit suit. It was tight and hugged the crest of his gut like a second skin. His face peered out of the circular opening in the outfit, huge ears dangling down at either side of his head. His eyes, cold and dark, glared at himself. He pushed his teeth forward from
his lips and gnawed on imaginary carrots, twitching his nose.

  Yes.

  The suit was hot and itchy, but the children would love it. Just as he loved them.

  Suddenly, the crotch of the suit was even tighter. In the reflection on the mirror, he could see the desk and his clergy clothes draped over the chair, his old well-thumbed bible behind it. He had long ago stopped believing in the words it contained or the message it tried to convey. He had seen the truth of the world and it was a bitter, horrible place. Also, on the table were the dozen Easter eggs, all in their respective packages advertising the companies who turned over millions every year. Huge machines which churned out products for the greedy populace to consume. He grimaced and realised just how empty he was. How tired and jaded with the world he had become. There was no hope for redemption, no cure for the greed and selfishness which had corrupted every generation. He was almost fifty and had seen more depressing events and listened to more depraved confessions than any man should ever have to endure. People, he realised were the problem with the world, and no amount of guidance would ever change things. People never listened to the clergy. They see them as kind, polite people who don’t know anything of the darker side of human nature.

  He glared at the robes draped over the chair and realised how much of a sham he felt wearing them. A fraud, an anonymous face in a world built on hatred.

  No more.

  He would make a statement. He would show the world the error of their ways, he would show them that Easter wasn’t just about gluttonising on processed chocolate and filling the pockets of the industries that supplied them. He would show the true meaning of Easter. For once, he was sure people would listen.

  TWO DAYS EARLIER

  “You really don’t have to do that, Mr Rose.”

  Gerald hadn’t been listening. He smiled at the woman and tried to find the thread of the conversation. “I really would like to. The church is more than happy to help the children at this time of year.”

  The short podgy woman going by the name of Glenda formed a smile on her tiny featured face and wrung her hands. “It’s kind of you, of course, Mr Rose, but we couldn’t possibly afford-”

  “Nonsense,” Rose said, smiling and holding up a bony hand, the blue ghosts of veins visible under the skin. “I want to do this. This community has welcomed me since I joined it last year. This will be my pleasure.”

  Glenda smiled. “It’s so nice to have such a caring, thoughtful individual join our community, especially where the children are concerned. More tea?”

  She gestured to the teapot, but Rose shook his head. “Not for me, thank you.”

  Glenda nodded and poured herself a fresh cup.

  “If you don’t mind,” Rose said, smiling at Glenda as she put spoon after spoonful of sugar in her cup, “I’d like to deliver them personally.”

  “That’s most kind, reverend Rose, but I’m sure one of the boys can take them.”

  “I insist. It’s a good way to teach the next generation the values of the church and the true meaning of Easter.”

  “I understand, Reverend, although, I have to admit, I’m partial to the occasional piece of chocolate egg.”

  More than a piece, you big fat cunt.

  The words almost spilled from his mouth, but he stopped them at the throat. Instead, he gave her a thin smile and tried to douse the flames of rage inside him. “As I said, Glenda, I would be more than happy to take them.”

  “Thank you reverend, thank you so much. I’m sure the children will be most thrilled with the gesture.”

  “How many are on the ward at present?”

  “Twelve,” Glenda said as she slurped her tea.

  “Twelve,” Rose repeated. He flicked his tongue against the back of his teeth then gave her his full attention. “Very good. Twelve it is. On Sunday, I shall deliver the twelve eggs to the hospital.”

  “Excellent, you are so kind.”

  Rose smiled, looking at the flabby excuse for a human and wondering how she was still alive. He imagined her arteries filled with grease, clogged up and trying to push blood around her obese frame. He realised just what a waste of flesh she was. The very picture of greed and gluttony.

  “Reverend?”

  He blinked and focused on her, letting the thoughts drift away into the back of his mind. “Sorry, I was somewhere else then.”

  “I was asking what time would you be attending the hospital on Sunday? So I can inform them.”

  “After morning service. Around lunchtime.”

  “Very good, I’ll let them know.”

  Rose stood up, his sore knees groaning under protest. Age was catching up to him, there was no denying it.

  “Slice of cake before you go?” Glenda asked, motioning to the silver tray.

  “No thank you. Not for me.” Rose said, sure it wouldn’t go to waste. He didn’t think his seat would be cold before Glenda was shovelling it down her gullet.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” She said, her mouth puckering into what he supposed was a pout.

  “I am. I really must be going. Thank you, Glenda. I’m sure this will be a gesture the children will never forget.”

  *

  The shopping centre was busy. It was the school holidays, and as a result, children were being dragged around the shops by short tempered mothers who longed for them to return to their classrooms. Rose didn’t like crowds. He hated having to be so close to people, to disease and illness, to people who might cough or breathe on him. He was wearing his normal clothes, not wanting to be stopped by strangers or be on the receiving end of strange looks from people surprised to see a reverend outside the confines of his church. The trousers he was wearing were rubbing his inner thighs, and combined with the sweat was making walking uncomfortable. He had also been having trouble with his bowels of late. Sometimes he would break wind and defecate at the same time without any pre-warning. His stomach growled and churned as he walked the chocolate aisle, placing mass-manufactured chocolate eggs into his basket at random, making a mental tally of numbers. Towards the end of the aisle was a small boy. Rose looked at him as he browsed the collection of chocolate delights. Rose moved closer, one wheel of his shopping trolley squeaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy and was delighted to see there was no sign of any adult supervision. He brought his squeaky trolley to a halt in front of the oblivious child.

  “Lots of choice, isn’t there?” Rose said, unable to take his eyes off the child’s delicate features.

  The child blinked and turned to face him, hair soft and blonde, eyes blue. “I thought the Easter bunny brought them,” he said.

  Rose smiled. “How old are you?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven,” Rose repeated.

  He followed the child’s gaze to the array of eggs as his stomach churned and the front of his trousers grew tight. “Where is your mother or father?”

  “Buying stuff. They said I could come and look at the eggs.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ben.”

  “Do you know the real meaning of Easter, Ben?” do you know it’s about more than chocolate eggs and gluttony?”

  Ben glanced at Rose then backed away, sensing all was not right.

  “Do you know that the real meaning of Easter is to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ and that the idea of giving eggs wasn’t always about chocolate. No, the first Easter eggs were decorated chicken eggs. The idea was that the shell represented the tomb, the embryo inside the life that would be born and break out and live again.”

  There was more he wanted to say to the boy, but his stomach was cramping and gurgling. It let go, and he broke wind with a sharp snap. He grunted and his eyes rolled back. He could feel the warmth down there and knew it had happened again. He couldn’t smell it yet, but knew it was only a matter of time. He sighed, then pushed his trolley on, wet cheeks sliding together as he went to pay for his goods.

  *

  He looked at himself in the mi
rror and pulled at the neck of the rabbit suit. It was tight and hugged the crest of his gut like a second skin. His face peered out of the circular opening in the outfit, huge ears dangling down at either side of his head. His eyes, cold and dark, glared at himself. He pushed his teeth forward from his lips and gnawed on imaginary carrots, twitching his nose.

  Yes.

  The suit was hot and itchy, but the children would love it. Just as he loved them.

  Suddenly, the crotch of the suit was even tighter. In the reflection on the mirror, he could see the desk and his clergy clothes draped over the chair, his old well-thumbed bible behind it. He had long ago stopped believing in the words it contained or the message it tried to convey. He had seen the truth of the world and it was a bitter, horrible place. Also, on the table were the dozen Easter eggs, all in their respective packages of the companies who turned over millions every year. Huge machines which churned out products for the greedy populace to consume. He grimaced and realised just how empty he was. How tired and jaded with the world he had become. There was no hope for redemption, no cure for the greed and selfishness which had corrupted every generation. He was almost fifty and had seen more depressing events and listened to more depraved confessions that any man should ever have to endure. People, he realised were the problem with the world, and no amount of guidance would ever change things. People never listened to the clergy. They see them as kind, polite people who don’t know anything of the darker side of human nature.

  He glared at the robes draped over the chair and realised how much of a sham he felt wearing them. A fraud, an anonymous face in a world built on hatred.

  No more.

  He would make a statement. He would show the world the error of their ways, he would show them that Easter wasn’t just about gluttonising on processed chocolate and filling the pockets of the industries that surprised them. He would show the true meaning of Easter. For once, he was sure people would listen. ALL REPEATED FROM EARLIER?

  There was a knock at the door, and he broke his gaze to answer.