by Jeff Strand
***
He dreamed, lying in his bed that night with the experiences of the day still rattling around inside his head. He stood on a sloping grassy hill somewhere outside of town without a single manmade building around, only miles of blond waving grass. The air smelled sweet, woodsy, and there was a gentle breeze. The clouds puffed themselves up overhead, and sunbeams rained down intensely.
Thomas perched atop the hill, wearing only his boxer shorts, his arms outstretched as if to receive a hug. His eyes were closed in a meditative way, yet he could see everything around him, as if from outside his body.
At the bottom of the hill he saw a large rabbit, hopping in the grass and gradually making its way toward the top. The rabbit had fiery red eyes that cut through the air like laser beams, and horns sprouted from its head like twisted tree roots. It was a horrible abomination, a twisted mockery of nature. Thomas even sensed some kind of intelligence behind its eyes. That was the worst part that it was almost human in its perverseness.
As it neared the top of the hill, Thomas stretched his arms wider as if he wanted the small beast to jump into them. Suddenly the animal parted its jaws and displayed a set of teeth like a nest of wriggling white worms. With a horrible keening sound, it leaped at him, teeth gnashing.
He screamed, and awoke screaming, gazing into the darkness of his bedroom. He stopped when he recognized the walls and sports posters of his room. The desk, his old computer, his TV and X-Box, piles of dirty laundry. The window that looked out on the backyard, which was open for some reason, letting in the breeze. He was certain he had closed it earlier.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, feeling the cool sweat on his back. As he wondered about the nightmare he remembered the bloodstained sofa of Miss Shirley′s murder. The old woman was dead.
Voices from the living room filtered into the darkness. He could hear his mom laughing with some of her friends. Drinking, playing cards. What they did every Thursday night. He was a little shocked saddened, reallythat she hadn′t come to check on him after his screaming. She probably hadn′t even heard him. He really felt like the invisible man sometimes.
He got up to close the window but paused halfway, surveying the backyard. A line of overgrown oleanders and shrubs separated their house from the neighboring ones. As he scanned them, he did a double take. Had he seen that? Was it...?
Yes. There. A pair of beady red eyes peering intensely at his window from the bushes. He tried to imagine them into leaves, flowers, or branches, but they remained. Gooseflesh blossomed all over him, and he squeaked through his fear-constricted lungs.
″Go away... Get outa here!″
The eyes lingered a moment longer, then blinked, turned, and vanished.
Finally he managed to draw a breath.
***
The next day it happened again. This time the victim was a homeless man in the area who most people knew simply as ″Luis.″
Rumors and jokes of Miss Shirley′s murder were still circulating about some alleged ″ax-man″ prowling the streets. Thomas and Ray heard about it from Dennis, the only white boy at Booker T. Washington High School, a frail-looking youth with buckteeth wearing a Ludicrous t-shirt. They were standing in the hall between classes. ″Where′d you hear about it?″ Ray asked.
Dennis showed more of his oversized fronts. ″Lemme tell yah sumthin, Chopstick, ′cause you ain′t heard nuthin yet. Ol′ Luis, they found him behind the drive-thru liquor store over on the corner of Grant and Martin Luther. He was found like this.″ he stretched his arms out, ″lying by the dumpster lookin′ like Jesus or sumthin. His head was cut off and his guts was ripped out and his skin was pricked all over, like vampire teeth or sumthin.″
The two of them made sounds of disgust, and Thomas felt the paralyzing dread returning.
″Man, this is crazy,″ Ray was saying. ″What we supposed to do, with some psycho on the loose? Ain′t the cops ′pposed to catch ′im? If they don′t, man, I′m a get me a strap. Let the punk try something on me, get two to da dome.″ The boy made a pistol with his thumb and forefingers, feigning gunshots.
Dennis laughed, but Thomas could tell this kind of talk made him nervous. Made Thomas nervous, too. There were enough people packing heat in this town already; this whole killer thing would only stir things up more. Poor people walked a very tight rope, and if they get pushed off it they usually went crazy real fast.
″Catch you fools later,″ Dennis said. He looked worried as he vanished into the sea of passing students.
Ray turned to him. ″I was just playin′. I ain′t really gonna get no strap. Probably shoot my own Nikes off.″
Thomas laughed. ″Yeah, I know. But that is crazy about Luis. Makes me want stay out of the streets.″
″Word.″
″Can we still meet up after school?″
″I′m down.″
″Cool, see you then.″
″Peace.″
***
No dreams, but the eyes were back, and this was the fourth and fifth time that he′d seen them. He stood for a long time at his bedroom window, staring out into the dark, with the cool air blowing in. Moonlight shone down on the backyard, illuminating the patch of shrubs and oleanders at the far end, where the red beady eyes watched him back.
He wondered if they belonged to the ax-murder. Not a pleasant idea; the thought made his whole body cringe. But if it was true then it meant the ax man was really some kind of ax-animal, because the eyes in the oleanders undoubtedly belonged to a beast.
Thomas sighed, shutting the window. He felt disgruntled. He knew he had to go outside to prove himself, but he didn′t really want to. He wanted to crawl back in bed. Finally he forced himself to swipe the pocket knife off his dresser and head outside.
The house was silent and dark; slats of moonlight darted in through various windows. His mom wasn′t up like she usually was but had actually passed out early: the last two nights she had stayed up, partying with friends. A man they called Big George was passed out on the sofa in the living room. He′d been staying with them these past several days. Thomas could see his boots by the coffee table.
He went through the kitchen to the back door, took a deep breath and opened it. Stepping into the moonlit night was like stepping into another world. The air felt strange and everything was glowing with pale spectral light. In the distance, he could hear sirens and the deep thudding bass of a car stereo.
The oleanders rustled as he came within two feet of the foliage. The eyes, this close, were like burning hot embers. He could see the shadowy outline of the creature they belonged to, not a man, no, certainly not, but some kind of animal, a jackrabbit or a skunk, maybe even a raccoon. The animal was also disfigured or deformed in some way.
When he tried to speak, it came out a wheeze. He cleared his throat. ″Get out of here,″ he whispered, shooing with his hands. ″Come on, get lost. What are you? What do you want?″
He began shooing more vigorously and the beast darted forward, emerging into the yard. Thomas lurched back, tripped, and landed on his butt. He had a full view of it now: three feet tall not counting the horns, with a fat furry body of light brown hair. Eyes like lava, flopping ears and Jesus what was up with those horns?, like elk horns, twisting from its head, sharp and gleaming.
Rabbits weren′t supposed to have horns, he was pretty damn sure of that.
He wanted to yell at it, to chase it off, he did have his pocket knife after all, but his fear prevented him. The animal hopped several feet to his left, glaring at him. Then it made a horrible eep and dropped its jaws. Pointed teeth in the moonlight, glistening. Was this the killer? Had this crazy animal killed Miss Shirley and Luis? He saw images of their bloody, mutilated bodies and became even more overwhelmed by fear.
The rabbit-thing hopped closer.
Thomas managed a small plea. ″Leave me alone!″ he hissed.
The beast eeped back at him, stabbing him with its eyes, then did an unexpected thing, it spoke. It actually spoke to hi
m.
″I be the jackalope / You ain′t gotta hope / When you step to me / You betta geta rope / Cuz I′m so dope″
The beast lunged forward, snarling at him, spitting drool from its razor-sharp teeth. Thomas flinched and closed his eyes, sure he′d be ripped to shreds at any moment. He prayed to Jesus, even though he wasn′t really a believer, and he told his mama he loved her, even though he wasn′t really sure he did, and he even told his father the same thing, wherever the man might be (he′d never actually met him), but when he opened his eyes, the rabbit-thing was gone. He let himself breathe, chest heaving, and scanned the yard. It was empty.
″Holy crap,″ he exhaled, dropping his head back on the ground. He stayed for a long time staring up at the moon before going back inside.
***
Thomas was walking to school when Ray′s lanky form came bounding up to him; the boy looked freaked: pale, tired, somehow thinner.
″You look like hell,″ Thomas said.
Ray glanced at him. ″You one to talk, fool. Look like you seen a ghost.″
″I think I did.″
Ray stared harder. ″Yo, I got something to tell you, man. You can′t make fun of me, though. And I don′t want Leo to know, either.″
Thomas nodded. ″What′s up?″
″I think I seen the killer last night.″
Thomas′s muscles flared up with a cold, biting chill. He felt numb, even to the pollutant smells of the surrounding neighborhood. He said, cautiously, ″What′d you see?″
Ray slugged him once in the arm. ″Promise you won′t say nuthin′?″
″Ow! Yes, I promise.″ He rubbed his bicep.
Ray took a deep breath. ″Last night I heard this scratching on my window, right. And so I woke up and went to check on it. Thought maybe it was 2pac my stupid cat wanting to get in, but what I saw in the glass, man, that wasn′t no cat.″
″I think I know what you saw,″ Thomas said, ″but go on, tell me.″
″It was this big jacked-up rabbit, bigger than a small dog and covered in fur. It had horrible red eyes, like a demon, and it was sitting on my windowsill, peering into my room. Had these great horns, and I know rabbits don′t have horns, but these were devil horns. I told it to get ghost or I′d bust a cap in its ass. Then it showed me its mouth full of killing teeth. You know how Miss Shirley and Luis was ripped up and had weird marks, like bite marks, on their bodies?″
Thomas nodded, shuddering.
″It′s them teeth that done it, I think. Finally I hit the window with the back of my hand, and it barked at me and hopped away.″
″I saw the exact same thing last night.″
Ray lifted his brows. ″Word?″
″Yep. I′ve seen it a few times, actually. But I didn′t tell anyone because I didn′t want to sound crazy.″
Ray gave him a hard glare, almost comedic coming from a boy who couldn′t weigh more than a hundred pounds. ″You′d better not be messing with me, Thomas.″
″It′s legit,″ Thomas said. ″I′ve seen the same little demon rabbit thing. And I think you′re right, I think it is the killer. And last night, you′ll never believe this, but it spoke to me.″
″No, I believe you,″ Ray said, pulling a manila folder out of his backpack. He handed it over to Thomas. ″Check that out.″
Thomas opened the folder. Inside was a computer printout of an article from the Wikipedia website on something called a Jackalope. As soon as he looked at the picture in the upper right hand corner, showing a deformed jackrabbit with deer-like horns, he knew this was the creature he′d seen last night.
″Holy crap. These exist?″
″Supposedly,″ Ray said. ″White people think so. But it′s like a myth, like a Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster.″
″Well it ain′t a myth no more.″
Thomas read the entire article as they continued toward the school. It said that jackalopes were a mix of jackrabbits and antelopes and were rumored to live in the Midwest, in places such as Wyomingwherever that was. Farmers and ranchers had told stories about seeing them in their fields, killer horned rabbits that sometimes attacked livestock, and they were even reported to be able to mimic human speech. Some theories went so far as to call them alien beings from a distant planet.
″This is crazy,″ Thomas said, handing the folder back. ″Totally some white people shit.″
″But one thing′s for sure.″
″What′s that?″
″I think the jackalope I saw last night wanted to kill me.″
Thomas had been afraid he′d say that. He felt certain it′d wanted him dead too, and it had had the opportunity but for some reason it let him be. Almost like it was toying with him.
As they reached the iron gates of the high school, he said, ″I think you′re right, Ray.″
″So what does it mean?″
″Means we need to watch each other′s asses.″
Ray nodded weakly and they merged into the throng of students.
***
The third victim was known as ″Little Doo,″ a neighborhood gangbanger who was only sixteen years old. Little Doo had dropped out of high school and lived in a halfway house, from which he was usually on the run. Most kids stayed away from him because he was nothing but trouble. Not even Leo hung around with him.
Several state troopers found his body by the train tracks in the early morning hours. He′d been decapitated, his neck sawed clean in half, and his innards had been liberated. The bite marks were again present, and now this information had been leaked into the media, and the local news reporters ran stories about a serial killer they dubbed ″The Biter″ who ate his victims.
That was how most folks found out about Doo′s death. If not for the broadcasts, he might have passed out of existence totally unnoticed. No one really gave a damn about him. To the rest of the world, boys like Little Doo were just ghosts without a name.
***
A week passed with no more murders, no more jackalope sightings, no more dreams for Thomas. He and Ray mentioned the creature now in private, so nobody else would overhear them. They′d even begun joking that maybe they were crazy, that maybe they′d imagined seeing the thing. But these jokes were halfhearted: deep inside, they both knew the truth.
The news broadcasts continued to run warnings and bulletins on ″The Biter,″ but so far it had been limited to warnings only. But the whole city remained on edge, and at night sirens rang out as cops patrolled the area.
***
Leo passed the cigarette in the alley beneath an overcast sky. Piles of gray-black clouds mounted higher on the horizon. A large storm was coming.
″What′s the matter with you punks lately?″ Leo said. ″You been actin′ all scared.″
Ray took the cigarette and inhaled, staring off toward the end of the alley. Thomas stuck his hands in his empty pockets, felt around on the fabric lining. That morning he′d awoken to the very disturbing sight of his mama passed out on the kitchen floor, a brandy bottle by her head, a cigarette still burning between her fingers. For a split second, he′d thought she was dead. He′d thought the jackalope had gotten her.
Ray forwarded the cigarette. As Thomas smoked, he surveyed the graffiti-stained brick walls, the lengths of chainlink fence, the trash-strewn clumps of ferns, vines, and shrubs. He was looking for the jackalope. Had he ever really seen it? Was it all just a bad dream?
″Come on,″ Leo said. ″Now you guys ain′t sayin′ nothin′. Out with it, Chopstick, before I mess you up.″
Ray′s panicked, troubled eyes glanced at Thomas for support. He looked like he was about to cry.
Thomas shoved the cigarette at Leo. ″Leave him alone,″ he said. ″We′ve just been a little freaked with The Biter on the loose.″
Leo snatched the smoke and glared at them. He puffed out his chest, his shadow falling across the concrete. ″Man,″ he sneered. ″I ought to beat both your asses right now, just for being a pair of sissies.″
″Go to H
ell,″ Thomas replied. His muscles tightened with fear, but he kept his resolve.
Leo mashed the cigarette butt between gnarled teeth, then flicked it away. His eyes lost all trace of friendliness.
″What′d you say, punk?″
″You heard me.″
Out of nowhere a right cross connected with Thomas′s cheek, sending a shower of stars through his vision. He felt lightheaded. He tasted blood as he went down, dropping to his knee on the concrete.
Leo′s foot came next; not so much a kick as a push and Thomas flopped over on his back. He stared up at the mushy clouds, thinking that they looked very strange today; otherworldly; and were those jackrabbit ears he saw?
″Leave off him, fool!″ Ray shrieked.
There was the sound of a scuffle, then suddenly Leo′s face appeared directly in Thomas′s view. The older boy had his lips scrunched up like a savage pitbull. He spit down at Thomas, the saliva pooling in his eye sockets.
″I′m through with both you chumps,″ he said. ″You′d better learn to watch y′alls backs in the ′hood.″
Leo′s ugly mug finally withdrew to the sound of departing footsteps.
Tomas lifted himself to a seated position, rubbing his left cheek bone. It was swollen like a bee had stung it. He wiped blood from the inside of his mouth, wincing as he touched the tender skin.
Asshole, he thought. He stared after Leo who was walking down the alley. Then he saw it: movement to the left of the boy, past the chainlink fence where the back of a building attached to an overgrown, weed-infested yard.
Thomas recognized the movement immediately. He turned toward Ray, who stood beside him with his hands on his knees, spitting blood. When the boy looked up, he displayed a winner of a black eye. He was crying slightly.
″I hate that fool,″ he said.
Thomas struggled to his feet. ″Check it out,″ he said, pointing toward Leo.