The Rabbit Man, page 1
The Rabbit Man
A Collection of Short Terrors & Flash Fiction
T.R. Slauf
Copyright © 2024 T.R. Slauf
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7349177-9-6
Cover design by: Ink Wolf Designs
Illistrations by: Miss Vie Book Designs
Editing by: Black Quill Editing
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Poison
Horse Play
Obsession
The Rabbit Man
Mr. Tibbles
Vanished
Little Piggy
Hound of the Moon
Sickly Sweet
About The Author
Books By This Author
Dear Reader,
The stories you are about to read are creepy, terrifying, and fanciful, and they are all intertwined. Taking place in the same universe there are Easter eggs and references to each other scattered throughout the pages. Some are blatant, some are not.
Can you find them all?
-T.R. Slauf
It is estimated there are 40.3 million victims of human trafficking globally, making up a 150 billion-dollar industry.
Of those 40.3 million: 81% are trapped into forced labor (which can include sex work); 25% are children, and 75% are female.
Mexico, the Philippines, and America are ranked highest in global destination of human trafficking. It is estimated 18,000 – 20,000 victims are trafficked into America annually.
The average age of sexually victimized teenagers is 12 – 14 years of age. Most victims are runaway females who were previously abused.
More than 300,000 young people in America are considered at risk for sexual exploitation.
Human Trafficking Hotline: call 1-888-373-7888, text 233733
**Statistics taken form Polaris; Freedom Happens Now (Polarisproject.org) and DoSomething.org
Poison
1986
Wind screeched through the town, whipping sand around the empty streets. Heat radiated up from the cracked concrete, riddled with dried-up weeds.
Mark looked over the abandoned downtown strip from his office window. The only ones left were either too stubborn or too old to move. His town wasn’t dying, it was already dead. Mark pulled the wire glasses from his wrinkled face, wiping them on his shirt tail. Where had it all gone wrong?
He’d poured his heart and soul into building this town from the ground up. Built his first business on the downtown strip with his own two hands. Later he helped countless others do the same. Markets, hardware stores, salons, boutiques, schools, and townhouses grew across his flourishing town. Young families came to live there, breathing life into the desert oasis. Mark had fallen in love with a wonderful woman named Susan and they’d had a daughter of their own. He’d had never been happier.
Mark invested in new businesses, and a traveling circus that came to visit them at least once every summer. His town became so prosperous that they were the first town in Oklahoma to buy one of those fancy new automatic carwashes all the way from Detroit. Then the accident happened.
Susan was doing maintenance on the carwash when it was turned on. Her loose overall strap got caught in one of the gears. It all happened so fast that she didn’t have time to break free. The employees didn’t have time to turn the carwash off. Mark’s life was shattered in an instant.
Mark had grieved for his lost love, but he had not let it consume him, he couldn’t. He turned his attentions to caring for his daughter, who was only seven at the time, and to taking care of his town, his family. Mark would be forever grateful to his people, who saw him and his daughter through their darkest days.
Eventually, he returned to business, but something had happened to his town. People began disappearing, businesses closed, and families moved away. It was as if his town was poisoned, slowly rotting from the inside out. He tried for years to fix it, to cut away the rotting flesh, but there was always more fear, more rot to cut away.
Mark pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Looking down at his hands he sighed. His joints were swollen and twisted, his face creased and weathered with age. His every movement ached, and he was tired through to his old bones and into his weary soul.
He checked his wristwatch; it was half past eight. If he left now he would be there before lunch. Mark went to his desk phone and dialed the familiar number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lucy. I’ve decided to do it.”
“You sure, Dad?”
“I’ve already packed up my suitcase. I’ll be there before noon.”
“Why don’t I come and get you? I’m not sure I want you driving all that way alone.”
“One last drive, then I’ll hang up the keys after I move in with you and Dan.” Mark could hear his daughter’s disapproval through the phone.
“What about all your stuff; don’t you want help moving?”
“I’m old, Luc, and I’m tired. I don’t need much that you and Dan don’t already have. I’ve got my slippers and my meds packed and I’m wearin’ my underwears.” Mark laughed at his own joke.
His daughter clicked her tongue on the other end. “I still don’t like the idea of you driving by yourself.”
“Tell you what, if I’m not there by noon, you can call the cops on me. Remember Charlie’s son? He’s a state trooper now; you can call him.”
Lucy heaved a heavy sigh. Mark could see her rubbing the bridge of her nose with her eyes squeezed shut like she always did when she disapproved of his antics.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Mark said.
“Fine. Just be safe.”
“I will. Oh, and, Lucy-Lu? You’d better have a peanut and honey sandwich waitin’ for me.”
Lucy’s laugh rang through the receiver. Mark hung up with a bright smile across his haggard face.
Mark shuffled into his bedroom. He took one last look around, the peony curtains Susan put up her first day there still hung over the windows, faded from years of sun and covered in dust from years of neglect. His suitcase lay waiting for him atop the matching peony bedspread.
Taking his suitcase, Mark walked down to the front door. Donning his hat and coat, he left, not bothering to lock the door behind him. What little he left behind could be stolen, or the bank could take it all; hell, it could all rot to the ground, he was too tired to care anymore.
Mark put his suitcase in the back seat of his car and drove to the gas station. The numbers ticked by lazily as the gas slugged in to fill his tank. Leaning against the cold steel frame, Mark regarded the carwash. It’d received many updates over the years, but it was still familiar.
His Susan loved all things mechanical, and this contraption was a fascination of hers. When the others would scoff and scold that such things were not ladylike, Susan simply turned up her nose and tightened her overall strap—she only ever had one fastened at a time. Thinking of his Susan, her curly hair pulled back with a red bandanna tied around her head, and grease smeared across her face, a smile spread across Mark’s wrinkled face.
He never did find out who turned the machine on while she was working on it. He wanted to tell them it was all right, he knew it was just an accident. Now it seemed he would never get the chance.
He placed the nozzle back in its holder, got in his car, and then pulled up to the carwash. He hadn’t used it since the accident and now it seemed a shame to him he’d avoided the machine his wife so adored.
Putting the car in neutral, Mark settled back in his seat. The sprayers started beating against the steel of his car, painting the windshield with colorful soaps. The brushes spun. Mark jumped.
He thought he’d seen a face. It was gone before he could make it out. Dismissing it as a trick of the eye, he went back to enjoying the spectacle.
Through all the racket of spinning brushes and water spraying, he heard something curious.
“Impossible …” Mark muttered, sitting upright in his seat.
Circus music.
But not just any circus, the circus that used to visit the town.
The further into the wash he went, the louder the music became.
Something metallic scraped along the side of his car.
The noise traveled from the trunk, across the rear door, and up to the driver’s side. Mark leaned in close. A splash of water cleared away the soap from the side window. Mark’s heart caught in his throat when he saw her.
Susan.
His Susan.
Her beautiful face was ragged and twisted, her cheeks hollowed, and blood smeared across her mangled body. Mark wanted to scream, to cry out in horror, but he couldn’t breathe. His skin went cold.
The sounds of the carwash faded into the abyss and the circus music grew louder. Laughter joined the eery tempo. It was maniacal and uncontrolled, echoing through Mark’s ears. He didn’t know where it was coming from, nor did he care to search. His eyes were fixed on Susan. Her once bright and loving eyes were dulled and menacing. What happened to his beloved?
<
The laughter shifted; it was no longer echoing around Mark. Turning his head to the right, he saw it. The source of the maniacal laughter sat in his passenger seat, watching him.
The horrible paint-streaked face was the last thing Mark saw as his heart stopped.
2009
“We are not lost,” Mercia said for the tenth time.
“How would you know since you won’t let me check the map?” Tracy said, anxiety thick in her voice.
“Why do you need a map when we have a perfectly good GPS?”
“It’s clearly not perfect since we are in the middle of nowhere stranded in a ghost town.”
“It’s a shortcut,” Merica reassured her.
“It’s creepy!” Tracy yelled.
Rolling her eyes, Mercia pulled the car into an old gas station. She watched in annoyance while Tracy unfolded her map, burying her face inside the massive folds of paper. Mercia would never understand her girlfriend’s aversion to technology.
“Now if I can just figure out where we are …” Tracy muttered to herself.
“Earth.”
“No shit,” Tracy said.
Mercia laughed.
“I meant where specifically on earth,” Tracy scowled.
“The North American continent, Oklahoma.” Mercia leaned across the steering wheel, looking across the vacant parking lot.
“That’s surprisingly not helpful. Here, Route Fifty-five. Wait no, that’s not right …”
“Hey, look. Over there.” Mercia pointed to the carwash; it was neglected and dusty just like the rest of the town.
“What?” Tracy looked up from the map.
“I thought I saw someone.”
“But this whole town is deserted. We haven’t seen anyone, not even a car,” Tracy furrowed her brow.
“There!” Mercia pointed.
The lights in the carwash flickered, illuminating the shadow of a man moving around inside.
“I’ll go ask him for directions.” Mercia undid her seat belt and opened the car door.
“No!” Tracy grabbed her arm. “Don’t you know anything? You don’t go investigating strange noises, and you do not go looking for shadows in creepy ghost towns!”
“Wow. You’ve got to stop watching horror movies.”
“Mer, I’m serious. Don’t get out of the car.” Tracy knitted her brows together, the way she always did when overthinking something.
Mercia smiled to herself, she loved her little worry wort. But this was ridiculous. “Stay here.” She pulled her arm free and sprung from the car. “Be right back!”
Mercia strolled to the entrance of the carwash while Tracy yelled for her to come back.
“Hello?” Mercia approached the entrance of the carwash. She heard carnival music coming from inside; it was so loud she wondered how she hadn’t heard it from the car. Carnival music was an odd choice for a carwash, but it wasn’t her establishment so she didn’t let it bother her.
A man stood alone in the middle of the carwash, looking at the ground. His left shirt sleeve was rolled up to reveal a missing forearm.
“Could you help me; do you by chance know the best way to get back to the highway? I’m trying to get to—” The man raised his head.
Mercia gasped.
White and blue paint ran down the man’s face, mixing with blood that oozed from a cut above his brow down to his left nostril. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it; his eyes were wide and full of excitement.
“Sir?” Marcia held up a tentative hand. “I’m a nurse, I have a first-aid kit in my car. I can help you.”
A grin stretched across his dirty face. The music played louder. The man laughed wildly, revealing a bloodied mouth. And no teeth. His laughter sprayed bloody saliva across the concrete. The man limped forward. His laughter echoed through Mercia’s head, drowning out the carnival music.
More figures appeared in the carwash. Their broken and bloody bodies emerged from the shadows. An old man, his face contorted in terror. A young woman, half her body mangled and shredded. A man with his eyes gouged out. Countless others swarmed behind the laughing man.
Mercia stood, rooted to the ground. She couldn’t force herself to move as she watched the herd come for her. She thought she would die there, too afraid to run from the horror.
“Mer?” Tracy’s voice wafted through Mercia’s head. Then her screams pierced the deafening music, breaking Mercia from her trance.
Tracy stood three meters behind Mercia, gripping her canister of mace in a trembling hand.
“Run!” Mercia yelled.
Sprinting forward, she gripped Tracy’s free hand. Together they ran back to the car. Slamming her door shut, Mercia twisted the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. She slammed her foot into the gas pedal.
Spraying stones and dirt behind them, they fled the carwash in a cloud of dust.
1948
Oscar limped across the barren field. The noise of hammers pounding steal and men shouting filled the hot air. The factory accident that ruined his leg also took his left arm clean up to the elbow. He wasn’t much use in setting up the tents and mini rides for his circus but he made himself useful in other ways.
An ornate sign was erected over what was to be the entrance: ZION’s Traveling Freaks & Friends Circus. Right now it didn’t look like much, but at night it would be lit up with dozens of bulbs making the yellow and red paint glow. He navigated up to the ring leader’s tailor. Travis was an oily man who was used to scamming people to survive, but Oscar didn’t mind, he’d learned long ago how to handle Travis.
“Oscar. Where’ve you been ma’boy?” Travis’ voice projected easily from years of running the shows. “Gimping around the town again?”
“I put up all our posters, one in each market and the banks, the others scattered around real nice like. Then I paid my respects to them business owners that sponsored us.”
“And how are those bastard fat cats?”
“Delighted. We should have a full house tomorrow.”
“Fantastic. You know just the words I like to hear, Oscar.”
“And—” Oscar said.
Travis’ sharp eyes snapped up, the feigned warmth vanishing from his face.
“And we’ve been offered more money,” Oscar finished his thought.
“Go on.” Travis quirked one of his thin eyebrows.
“A ribbon cutting, two days from now. Nothing fancy, just three of us dressed up smiling and greeting the town’s folks.”
“What are they ‘grand opening?’”
“A carwash.” Oscar laughed at the look on Travis’ face; he loved pulling a fast one on the arrogant prick. “The fattest fat cat in town bought his wife one of them fancy automatic car washes; she’s a bit of a grease wrench and their little three-year-old loves the circus. He offered a decent wad o’ cash, so I didn’t ask any more questions.”
“An automatic carwash?”
“Yeah, you remember, we saw one of them back at the Detroit auto show in forty-six.”
“Hmmm.” Travis nodded his head in recognition. “This is a very odd town.”
“Could be worse.” Oscar shrugged. “We could be back in Kansas where they tried to tar n’ feather Roy and Sam.”
“Always looking on the bright side.”
“It keeps me pretty.”
“If this is your pretty face, then I’d hate to see what your ugly mug used to look like,” Travis said.
“A right sort better than yours does,” Oscar quipped.
With a bellowing laugh, Travis waved him off.
Oscar left the shade of the trailer and stepped into the heat. The sun was setting over the barren Oklahoma plains. The carnies had the tents all set up and were working on assembling the rides. The freaks and performers were decorating their tents and setting up the seating.
Roy and Sam snuck kisses between work and the performers danced and sang while they worked. The contortionists walked on all fours, the strong men set up the stage for the dwarves, and one of the newbies carried an umbrella to shade the reptile man from the sun. This was one of the many things about the circus Oscar loved. After living with the degenerates and outcasts of society, they became family, accepting you no matter what. Although, he had to admit some of the new carnies and pass-throughs were pricks.
