Bunny Call

by Scott Cawthon

  It was over. He’d been able to fix his mistake after all.

  Bob sank to the floor again. He sat and listened to the snores. He made a mental note to record these sounds before they left Camp Etenia. He might start using them to de-stress.

  “Bob?”

  Bob turned his head so fast he smacked it against the door.

  He heard Wanda shift on the double bed.

  “Where are you?” Wanda asked.

  “Over here.” Bob turned on his penlight and heaved himself to his feet.

  “Why are you up?”

  “I’m not sure.” Bob didn’t shine his light at Wanda to see how his answer went over. He was hoping she was still mostly asleep. Wanda’s brain generally didn’t turn on fully until she’d been awake for a couple hours.

  “Could you aim your light at the bathroom? No need to turn on my light, too. What time is it?” Blankets and sheets rustled. The old box springs under the double mattress squeaked.

  Bob checked his watch again. “It’s 5:28.”

  He aimed his light out in front of Wanda. It lit up enough of the room that he could see she had her sleep mask pushed up on top of her head. She didn’t look his way, which was a good thing because he had no idea how to explain why he was standing in front of the cabin door.

  “Mm. Too early to get up,” she said.

  “Absolutely.”

  Bob heard what sounded like shuffling footsteps outside the cabin door. His breath caught, and he tilted his head to listen. Was it just a pine cone blowing across the porch? Maybe that was it.

  Wanda went into the bathroom and closed the door. No light showed under the door. He heard her doing her thing, but then he heard the shuffling again.

  Sshh, pff, sshh, pff, sshh, pff. It was too rhythmic to be a pine cone. Was Ralpho back?

  Bob pressed back against the door. He couldn’t have said why. Leaning on the door wouldn’t prevent Ralpho from knocking. And if Ralpho knocked while Wanda was awake, the jig was up.

  Wanda came out of the bathroom, her gaze steady on the illuminated path of Bob’s penlight. She didn’t even look at him. “Going back to sleep,” Wanda said. “Coming?”

  “Be right there,” Bob said. I hope, he thought.

  Outside the door, the sound came closer. Sshh, pff, sshh, pff, sshh, pff.

  Bob turned into a statue. He had no idea what he should do.

  Wanda got back in bed. “Light,” she said.

  He flicked off his penlight, and he heard her plump up her pillow. She exhaled in contentment.

  Something thudded softly against the door behind him. The door moved slightly. Bob shoved his back more firmly to the smooth wood.

  Wanda’s snores joined the kids’ snores.

  Next to Bob’s hip, the doorknob jiggled.

  What the heck?

  Bob jumped back from the door and shined his penlight at the knob. He reached a hand out, preparing to grab the knob, fling the door open, and ask Ralpho, or whoever was out there, what he, she, or it thought they were doing. Before he could touch the knob, though, he felt something like a static shock—just a faint charge on the end of his fingertips.

  Bob knew it was a warning. He just knew it.

  Opening the door would be a very bad idea.

  Bob frowned. What? That was ridiculous. He was losing his marbles.

  Yes, someone was outside the door. Someone was trying the knob. But that someone was either Ralpho or another camper. Bob could handle either.

  Or could he?

  A metallic scratching sound came from the door. Bob bent over and listened. Someone was trying to pick the lock.

  Goose bumps erupted on Bob’s bare arms. Ralpho—or someone—was trying to break into the cabin!

  What should he do?

  Bob looked around wildly. He needed … what did he need? A phone? No. No phones here.

  The bell! No, that wouldn’t work. The bell was outside. It was outside, and it was at the bottom of the porch. Bob would have to get past whoever was trying to break in to get to the bell. A lot of good this emergency bell was!

  A weapon. Bob needed a weapon. He swept the cabin with his light. Of course it held no traditional weapons. No guns. No knives. No swords. This was summer camp, not boot camp. Not even a bat—his kids hadn’t signed up for softball.

  His light landed on tennis rackets and fishing poles. Bob swallowed down a hysterical giggle when his brain offered up an image of him fighting off an orange rabbit with a tennis racket in one hand and a fishing pole in the other.

  Bob heard a clink and a click.

  Well, he had to do something!

  Grabbing one of the ladder-back chairs tucked around the table, Bob tilted it and shoved it under the doorknob.

  Just in time.

  The door started to open, but it caught against the chair. Bob stared at the chair and the door, and he held his breath.

  Something thumped against the door, and the door moved inward an inch, shoving the chair across the smooth wood floor. Bob jammed the chair harder under the knob and held it in place. This stopped the door’s movement. But by now, it was open two inches. Breathing fast, Bob shined his light into the gap. He leaned over to get a better look.

  The tip of a furry orange paw tried to slide through the opening.

  Bob jumped back. At the same time, he hissed, “Go away! I said I wanted to cancel the Bunny Call.”

  Ralpho didn’t seem to care what Bob wanted. He moved his paw back and forth in the door opening for several seconds. Bob prodded at Ralpho’s paw with his penlight, wanting to push the paw back out through the door. But Ralpho tried to grab the penlight! Bob snatched the light back, then he hit Ralpho’s paw with it. The paw wiggled a little but didn’t leave the opening, so Bob punched Ralpho’s paw as hard as he could with his fist.

  Pain shot through Bob’s knuckles, and he saw something dark and moist appear on the orange paw. Before Bob could figure out what he was looking at, though, the paw retreated from the two-inch space.

  Bob took a deep breath and let it out. Okay. Maybe Ralpho would go away now. Bob checked the time. It was 5:36. Surely Ralpho would give up and go visit other cabins with standing Bunny Calls. Bob wondered if he could go back to bed. His eyes felt like they were full of broken glass. How would he take part in camp activities for a full day on no sleep?

  A whump sounded from under the picture window. Bob whirled in that direction. Ralpho wouldn’t try to come through a window, would he? Bob quickly aimed his penlight at the large rectangular glass-covered opening above the table and chairs. He sucked in his breath when his light caught the shadow of a large misshapen head.

  “Oh no, no, no,” Bob whispered as he leaped over to the window. It was locked, wasn’t it?

  The window started to open.

  No, apparently it wasn’t locked. Or it was locked and Ralpho had managed to unlock it. Or locks were irrelevant to Ralpho, just as irrelevant as Bob’s request that Ralpho go away.

  The window opened farther, and an orange paw reached through. Then an ear.

  Why don’t you just stand here and watch? That’s a good plan, Bob.

  Bob’s sarcastic self-talk made a point. He needed to move, so he did. But as he lunged for one of the tennis rackets leaning against the wall, he cut himself some slack. It was, after all, reasonable to be dumbfounded in the presence of a furry orange intruder.

  Both of Ralpho’s ears and most of an arm were through the window by the time Bob started beating on the ears and arm with the tennis racket. Careful to avoid missing the rabbit and hitting the window, Bob’s defensive thwacks were relatively quiet. His family’s snores didn’t stop.

  Neither did Ralpho. Apparently impervious to the blows, Ralpho kept reaching into the cabin.

  “Get out!” Bob whispered.

  Ralpho didn’t respond.

  Bob looked at Ralpho’s paw, which was just a few inches from Bob’s chest. The paw was covered in blood.

  What?! Blood?!

  B
ob stopped pounding with the tennis racket. He shined his light on Ralpho, whose head was now coming farther into the cabin. Bob stared into Ralpho’s disquieting eyes. “Are you okay?” Bob asked.

  Ralpho stared back at Bob, but he didn’t speak.

  Wasn’t this just a guy in a freaky rabbit suit? Ralpho wasn’t real, was he?

  Ralpho’s head slid a little farther inside the cabin.

  Whatever Ralpho was, Bob couldn’t let him in. So Bob shifted his grip on the tennis racket. Instead of hitting Ralpho more, he used the racket to shove at Ralpho’s encroaching head. Grunting, he pushed against Ralpho with all his might. For a few seconds, Ralpho pushed back. It was like a bizarre tug-of-war in reverse. But Bob thought about his sleeping family, and that gave him the extra oomph he needed.

  Ralpho fell back out of the cabin. Bob quickly but quietly closed and locked the window. Realizing he was breathing loudly, he took a few seconds to get control of himself. Blowing out a long muted breath, he was pleased when he no longer sounded like a train engine.

  How could Ralpho be bleeding?

  If Ralpho was a guy in a suit, why would he be willing to get injured to pull off a prank?

  Up until now, Bob’s logical brain had been trying to tell him that the effort he was expending to keep Ralpho out of the cabin was beyond preposterous. Whoever was wearing or running Ralpho was being persistent, yes. But it was probably just part of some outrageous joke Camp Etenia’s staff played on anyone with the audacity to try and stop the Bunny Call. Bob’s sense of urgency, his conviction that he was battling a truly dangerous foe, was more than likely all in his head.

  But a bleeding Ralpho put a serious crimp in Bob’s theory. What if Ralpho really did want to get inside the cabin and hurt Bob and his family?

  Maybe Bob was losing his mind.

  But then again, maybe not.

  The window on the left side of the cabin started to slide open.

  Bob moaned. He’d forgotten Wanda had opened that window.

  Bob charged over to the window. Just as Ralpho’s bleeding orange paw began reaching through the opening, Bob slapped the window closed, catching the intruding paw. The paw bled more heavily, and it moved, reaching. Bob snatched up the tackle box sitting under the window and slammed the paw with the box. The contents of the box clattered, and the noise made Bob pause. The paw curled back toward the window, and Bob opened the window just enough to thrust the paw back outside with the end of the tackle box. He pushed the window closed and locked it.

  Bob shined his penlight around the cabin again. What would Ralpho do next?

  Come on, think, Bob admonished himself.

  Thinking, though, was a bad idea. If he thought, he’d have to face the fact that it really was Ralpho, a very determined Ralpho willing to bleed to reach his goal, trying to get in the cabin. What else could he want? Bob certainly did not want to think about that. Right now every one of his instincts was telling him to keep Ralpho out at any cost.

  This had gone beyond trying to stop Ralpho from scaring his wife and kids. This was about stopping Ralpho, period. Bob couldn’t have explained what was going on, even if someone had put a gun to his head and demanded he explain himself, but he just knew that there would be horrible consequences if Ralpho got inside the cabin.

  Bob tilted his head and listened. He realized he had no idea where Ralpho was. Was Ralpho still outside this window or had he moved on to a different one?

  Bob held perfectly still again and listened some more. At first he heard nothing. He checked his watch. It was 5:43.

  “Seventeen minutes to go,” Bob whispered.

  And one more window Ralpho could get through. Why was Bob just standing there?

  Outside, the rhythmic shuffling moved past the cabin door. Sshh, pff, sshh, pff, sshh, pff. The sound was moving away from Bob. Ralpho was heading toward the other window, the one right next to the double bed where Wanda slept.

  Bob knew he had to be sure the next window was locked, but he was rooted to the floor. Sshh, pff, sshh, pff, sshh, pff. Ralpho was almost to the edge of the front porch, about to turn the corner.

  Bob moved.

  He ran through the cabin as lightly as he could, passing his sleeping wife and daughter. Just as he reached the window, it started to move. Bob grabbed the edge of the window and tried to close it.

  Ralpho kept trying to open it.

  Bob stuffed his penlight in his pocket and used both hands to force the window closed. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even and shallow. He didn’t let himself grunt or groan in exertion. He just pushed the window closed while Ralpho pushed the window open.

  Stalemate.

  How long did Bob stand there straining to close the window? It felt like hours, maybe days. Bob’s muscles began to spasm. It felt like his biceps were filled with liquid fire spreading upward into his shoulders. He wanted to scream in pain and frustration.

  Outside, faint predawn light was pushing away the blackness. Bob could make out Ralpho’s gargantuan head and ears. Bob was just inches from his adversary. Only window glass separated them—window glass and Bob’s determination to protect his family. Bob closed his eyes and gave his effort everything he had.

  Suddenly, the window slid shut. The SNICK of it latching into place seemed impossibly loud.

  Wanda stirred, but she didn’t wake up.

  Weakly, Bob locked the window. Then he dropped his arms and shook them out. They felt like they’d turned into a pair of Cindy’s flimsy jump ropes.

  Stepping away from the beds, Bob wiped at the sweat covering his face. He felt a ludicrous sense of accomplishment.

  A bump and a clatter came from underneath the cabin. Ralpho had moved on.

  Bob pulled his penlight from his pocket and aimed it at the floor. The trapdoor!

  Bob ran over to the trapdoor and stood on it. He immediately felt like an imbecile. His weight alone wasn’t going to be enough to keep the trapdoor closed, at least not if he was standing. Ralpho could easily throw Bob off-balance by opening it. Would sitting on the trapdoor work?

  Bob sat down on the door. He listened to the bumps under the floor, growing ever closer. The closer they came, the more Bob thought about how big Ralpho was. Bob wasn’t a tiny guy, but he was pretty sure whoever was in the Ralpho suit was strong enough to dislodge Bob from a trapdoor. And then what?

  What could he do now? He looked around, grasping for a solution. His gaze landed on the chest of drawers.

  Jumping up and running to the chest, he gave it a tentative shove. It was heavy, but it slid easily. The only problem was that the sliding sound was noisy. Cindy’s snores paused for a second and then restarted.

  Bob’s gaze darted around the cabin. Think, think, think.

  He spotted the quilt lying folded up on the end of the trundle bed. He mentally thanked Cindy for playing with it. If she hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

  Grabbing the quilt, he lay it on the ground.

  Another bump and a scuffle from under the cabin. Ralpho was almost to the trapdoor.

  Bob tilted the chest toward him, so it leaned on its side. He let it all the way down to the floor on top of the quilt. Then he bent over, grabbed the edge of the quilt, and started dragging the chest toward the trapdoor as fast as he could.

  The trapdoor started to open.

  Bob jumped on the door. It closed with a SNAP that made Bob wince. But the snoring around him continued.

  He leaned back over and grabbed the quilt’s edges, hauling the chest toward him as fast as he could. The trapdoor started to rise under his feet again. Quickly, he backed off of it and pulled the chest onto the door. Then he turned the chest onto its back, and he sat on it. The chest started to buck, and Bob felt like he was on some silent malevolent amusement park ride. Was the combined weight of Bob and the chest of drawers going to be enough?

  The chest bucked again, and Bob was nearly thrown off. He gripped both sides of the chest and hung on. Bob had never ridden a bull or a
mechanical bull, and he wondered if it was like this. His head kept getting yanked around, and he’d have whiplash soon if Ralpho didn’t stop.

  But Ralpho did stop.

  Scuffling sounds under the cabin moved away from the trapdoor and toward the outside wall. Bob slumped on the chest.

  Now, was it over?

  Bob checked his watch. It was 5:56. Four minutes. Just four minutes. Bob listened closely to the swishing and tapping sounds under the cabin. Ralpho was almost out from under the building.

  His whole family was still snoring, but Wanda shifted in the bed. Any of the kids could wake up soon, and Bob didn’t want to leave the chest lying in the middle of the floor. After another few seconds of listening, Bob convinced himself Ralpho was no longer under the cabin, so he quickly pulled the chest back to the wall and righted it. He then made a halfhearted attempt to fold the quilt and dropped it on the end of the bed.

  Then Bob thought about Ralpho’s bleeding paws. Did any blood get inside the cabin? Like on the tennis racket or the tackle box?

  Bob decided he didn’t want to look. Instead, he trotted to the fridge and pulled off some paper towels from the roll Wanda had put on top. He quickly wiped down both the tennis racket and tackle box; plus, he wiped down all the windows and the floor beneath each one.

  Now, wanting very much to climb into bed himself, Bob waited. His instincts were telling him he had to stay alert.

  But why?

  The cabin was secure. Ralpho was retreating.

  A sudden RAP drubbed against the back of the cabin.

  The back of the cabin? What was Ralpho doing there?

  Nothing was back there.

  No. Wait. The loft window! Bob’s stomach and heart switched places. He’d forgotten all about the loft window!

  Clamping his penlight in his teeth, Bob climbed the ladder up to the loft as fast as he could, even though every step raised his dread meter higher. He really didn’t want to climb up to the loft at all. If Ralpho was up there, Bob didn’t know if he could handle it.

  But he had to. After all, his boys were also in the loft.

  When Bob’s head reached the top of the ladder, he hesitated. Then he took a deep, shaky breath. He shined his light at the window on the far wall as he peered up into the loft.