The Amazing and Somewhat Wondrous Adventures of Nicholas Groundhog

by Robert Ladd

  ***

  At 7:30, Nicholas kissed his wife good-by and left for the meeting. Outside he joined a small group of Council Members making their way to Gray-Rock. Very little was said by any of them. They were still in shock over the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  The governing body of the woods was The General Council of Animals, which met twice per year, and on special occasions as warranted, to discuss matters of forestland security and such. Each group of animals elected two representatives, who voted on their behalf. To ensure the democratic process, however, a “Best Behavior” rule was put into effect. This meant that the larger animals were not allowed to intimidate the smaller animals with growls or dramatic displays of teeth and claws. It was a very good system; one that had worked for as long as anyone could remember.

  By the time Nicholas and his group arrived, most of the other members were there. A fire was blazing, and the animals gathered close around it, discussing the situation in hushed and nervous tones.

  “I heard his throat was torn open.” One animal said to another.

  “And his eyes gouged out.”

  “No….”

  “And his tail removed.”

  “No…”

  “Yes. I saw him. It was horrible.”

  “But who could have done it?”

  “It wasn’t one of us.”

  “I agree. But if not one of us, then who? And why?”

  Which were actually the two questions on everyone’s mind: Who and Why?

  At eight o’clock sharp, Sebastian Lynx appeared atop the speaker’s platform. He was the President of the Council. Instantly the other animals grew silent, as all eyes turned to their leader.

  “My fellow animals,” Sebastian began, with a voice that was somehow larger than he was. “Last night we lost a noble and dear member of our community. Last night we lost a kind and gentle companion. Last night we lost a friend.”

  Sebastian moved his eyes slowly over the animals beneath him, his face regal in the flickering firelight.

  “Tammeus Bear gave his life to a cause for which we can only speculate. He had no known enemies. He was kind to strangers, generous with friends, patient with children. He respected all life, large and small, four-legged or two.”

  Several animals murmured their agreement, and nearly all nodded their heads.

  “My words here tonight,” Sebastian continued, “are not our friend’s eulogy. That will come later when we properly lay him to rest. My words tonight are meant to serve as a warning.”

  The great lynx measured his words carefully.

  “Whoever you are, wherever you run, whatever you do, we will find you. Make no mistake; if those who perpetrated this crime are among us tonight, we will bring you to justice. If they are not among us, let the word go forth from this night and from this place that we will not rest until they have answered for this unprovoked and heinous assault on a fellow animal.”

  The feline’s words rang with authority and conviction. “Though you may not feel it as yet, the noose of retribution is already tightening around your neck.”

  There were no shouted questions or frenzied cries for revenge. The animals in the Land East of the Rivers were a proud and civilized lot. The time for questions and answers and plans and justice would come later. They knew that. Now was simply the time for their leader to show courage under fire.

  Sebastian’s voice softened a bit but remained strong. “Go home. Go home to your loved ones. Go home to the safety and security of your houses and dens and burrows and nests. But go home safe in the knowledge that this crime will not go unpunished.” Sebastian lifted his head and paused, his eyes aflame with strength and courage. “Long live, Tammeus Bear.”

  As if in a single voice, the animals answered, “Long Live, Tammeus Bear.”

  And with that, Sebastian left Gray Rock. The fire was extinguished and one by one the other animals melted away into the darkness.

  All but Nicholas. For some reason Nicholas felt rooted to the spot. The single thought that kept turning over in his head was this: as far as anyone knew, no animal had ever been murdered in the land East-of-the-Rivers. There was the story of a wolf who, mad with some sort of disease, attacked a herd of deer, but no living animal could verify it. There were a handful of accidental deaths, but that was to be expected in the wild. The most recent of which, was Lyndell Squirrel, who suffered from sleep-walking, took an unexpected midnight stroll from his nest and fell twenty feet to the ground. He might have survived the fall had he not landed on a thorn bush. It was all quite sad.

  But with the death of Tammeus Bear, everything changed. Someone intentionally took the life of a fellow citizen. Sebastian didn’t allude to it directly, but it was common gossip that whoever killed the great bear was not of the forest. It was something outside the land East-of-the-Rivers. Something evil. Something strange. Something powerful.

  “Excuse me, Nicholas,” Jeremy Rabbit said. “But would you mind if we walked together for a while. I’m afraid we’re the last two here.”

  Nicholas awoke from his thoughts.

  “Oh, yes, certainly, Jeremy. There’s safety in numbers.”

  Shoulder to shoulder the two friends began the long walk home, each talking very little as they mulled over in their heads the developments of the day. Nicholas was the first to break the uneasy silence.

  “Who do you think could have done it?” he asked.

  “Not who, but what,” Jeremy offered.

  Again they both went quiet.

  Jeremy cleared his throat. “Years ago, my father told me the story of the headless rabbit. Have you heard of it?”

  Nicholas said he hadn’t, and secretly hoped the conversation would end there. It didn’t.

  “He was foraging for food near Gray-Rock,” Jeremy said. “When somehow or the other, a giant boulder fell on him, slicing off his head as clean as a whistle.”

  Nicholas winced at the thought. Imagine! Being decapitated while eating!

  “Now,” Jeremy continued, his voice growing low and whispery. “On cloudless nights when the moon is full and the air deathly quiet, the headless rabbit can be seen searching the hillsides for its missing noggin.” He paused to see if Nicholas was getting the full effect of his story. He was. Nicholas’ eyes were almost as large as an owl’s. “Not that I’ve ever seen him myself,” Jeremy admitted, “but almost all my cousins have.”

  Which would have been a lot of eye witnesses, as rabbits have quite large families. Much larger than groundhogs.

  Nicholas was almost grateful when he and Jeremy came to a fork in the path.

  “Well,” Nicholas said, “I go this way.”

  “And I go the other,” Jeremy said. “Good night, Nicholas. Be careful.”

  The two parted company, and almost immediately Nicholas wished they had stayed together a while longer. The woods suddenly seemed larger, thicker and darker than he imagined them before. He whistled for a few moments, which made him feel better if not safer. Nicholas was a very good whistler. But soon his mouth grew dry and his whistling suffered to the point where he quit doing it all together.

  “Think of something pleasant,” he counseled himself. “Keep your mind off the woods and on something nice.”

  He tried thinking of food, but that only made him hungry. He tried thinking of lemonade, but that only made him thirsty. He tried to thinking of Emma, but that made him sad. (Sad that she was probably worrying at the very moment about his safety.) His plan wasn’t working. The more he tried not to think about the woods, the more he thought about the woods. And what could be in them.

  Suddenly he sensed movement to his right, a few feet from the path he was on. Nicholas stopped and stared.

  Nothing.

  Groundhogs have fairly good eyesight, but usually they are doing their looking during the day, not after nine o’clock at night.

  “It’s just your imagination,” Nicholas told himself.

  Ten yards
later, a twig snapped. This time it was to his left. Nicholas halted and held his breath. “Hello?” he called, trying to sound cheerful but doing a very bad job of it. Another twig snapped, and leaves rustled. “Hello, there,” Nicholas stammered. “Nice night for a walk, don’t you think?”

  Suddenly something grunted in the dark, only this time Nicholas could not tell which side it came from, but it no longer really mattered; he’d heard enough. Instead of saying hello again, he took off like a shot!

  Despite their short legs and awkward appearance, groundhogs are amazingly swift runners. Unfortunately they tire rather quickly, and so twenty seconds later Nicholas had slowed to his waddling-pace. A short time later, he was walking again.

  Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear, he kept thinking. Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear…

  And then, as if things weren’t bad enough already, he heard the sound of something behind him. Something running behind him. Worse yet something gaining on him! Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark figure (the headless rabbit?) in the middle of the path coming straight at him. Nicholas emitted a high-pitched squeal, which is what all groundhogs do when frightened. Instead of collapsing with fear, he reached deep inside himself, calling upon the last remaining strength and accelerated to his waddling-pace again. He crested a small hill and there! The first emergency tunnel to his burrow.

  Turning for one last look, he discovered that it wasn’t the headless rabbit chasing him. It was something much worse. The thing chasing him had eyes of red, with yellow teeth and breath so foul he could smell it from ten feet away.

  Almost there! Almost safe! Almost home! Just…a…few…more…feet!

  The thing behind him leaped! But a moment too late.

  Nicholas dove headlong into the narrow opening, tumbling head over paws a few feet before stopping. He spun around to face his attacker, coiled and ready. But no attack came. Whatever was chasing him was too large to follow. Nicholas stood his ground, however, heart thumping, pulse racing, eyes bulging. If groundhogs could sweat he would have been soaked. Seconds ticked by like hours. And though he never saw the thing itself, he heard its voice.

  ”Nicholas-s-s-s-s” it whispered.

  After which night in the land East-of-the-Rivers went silent again. Whatever was outside his burrow was gone.