The Rabbit Man, page 12
Climbing high among the branches, he twisted his body and pushed off. His claws tore at the adjacent tree. It wasn’t pretty and he’d smacked his jaw on the trunk, but he’d done it. He tried it again and again.
For what felt like hours he climbed and leaped between the branches and ran circles across the forest floor. Losing all trace of time he pushed himself harder and harder, his breath was labored but his body didn’t fatigue.
“Charles,” Hecate beckoned to him, “my hound, how are you enjoying the body I have created?”
He rested before her, lowering his snout to the ground. “It is amazing! How can I ever repay you for such a gift?”
Hecate and her three bodies buzzed. “I am happy you have asked, for a prime opportunity to prove yourself worthy has arisen. Are you up for the task my hound?”
“Anything!”
“I am pleased to see you are so eager.” She smiled at him. The body on the left laughed and the body on the right sneered. “Your first prey will be isolated, far easier than the others. Remember, Charles my hound, no one can see you except your prey.”
“Got it. Which direction are they in? Should I start running now?”
She shook her head. “You are in companion with the keeper of the gods' magic, you have no need to travel in such a way.” With a flick of her wrist, purple smoke engulfed them again.
The same suffocating pressure engulfed him, then it was over. He stood alone on a road, shrouded in shadows. The light of the full moon above him was plenty to guide his new sight. He paused to admire its beauty, he always loved to gaze at its splendor and dream of a new life, happiness. Now it seemed he’d found both.
Sniff them out … Hecate’s voice whispered in his mind.
Tearing his eyes from the silver light, he sniffed the air. Something sticky sweet filled his nose, it was overpowering and familiar. Where had he smelled that before? Beneath that were hints of liquor and human sweat. And blood.
Hecate said he would be an avenger, this person must have spilled innocent blood and it was Charles’ job to bring them to justice. He followed the trail down the road. The scent grew thicker and thicker. It jutted off and away from the main road on a small dirt trail. At the end of it sat a rickety old trailer and an ice cream truck.
That was it. The sticky sweet smell was ice cream. His ears picked up the sound of heavy boots against the dry earth and something heavy being dragged. The scent of blood grew stronger. Charles howled at the moon.
Raising his hackles, he sprinted around the back of the trailer. A man in a brightly colored striped shirt and a name tag in the shape of an ice cream cone had blood on his hands and splattered across his face. He surveyed his surrounding until he found the body a few paces away. It looked like a teenager whose throat had been slit. That wasn’t all, he recognized the obvious signs of abuse the body endured in its final hours. Eye swollen shut, lip split and bleeding, a leg twisted backward, and a sticky white substance caught in their hair and torn clothes.
The body was disheveled, dirty, and coated in blood. He couldn’t make out any discernible features. He only saw that it was a human of slender build, shorter than he had been as a human, but just as gangly.
A growl tore from his throat and he lunged at the man. He knocked the man backward as if he were nothing more than a sack of straw. His fangs tore through the flesh with alarming ease. Warm blood gurgled into his mouth. He drank greedily.
Holding the man down with his paws, he bit and tore at the flesh. Tearing him to shreds, Charles feasted. All thoughts of justice and vengeance vanished. Ripping, eating; the blood was all-consuming. His fur was matted with congealed crimson. Bones snapped in his jaw.
Hecate and her three bodies materialized beside him. A grin stretched across her three faces. “You have taken well to the task my hound,” she said. “But you have inadvertently violated the first rule. None should see you.”
His head whipped around searching for the next prey. He didn’t see one.
“Allow me to help you.” She pointed to the teenager on the ground.
He studied the body. He’d too quickly dismissed the teenager. Small bubbles of blood formed at the corners of their mouths and their eyes stared directly at him. They weren’t dead—not yet.
“That one has seen you,” she said.
“They’re dying,” he replied. “The wound on their neck, they won’t last much longer … Even if they lived, would they want to after what they endured?”
“Are you asking me, or yourself?” she countered “It matters not if that one dies from the wounds already inflicted or at your claws. No human can lay eyes upon you and live.”
“They’re going to die anyway, I’ll just end it quickly for them.” He pushed a claw into the teenager’s chest. He felt the heart rate accelerate and then stop. He didn’t kill them; he ended their suffering.
Hecate watched him, no emotion on any of her three faces. She was stoic and watchful. “You have done well this night,” she said at last. “There is no need to clean up, you left only marks of an animal attack. We may return to our dwelling, for now.”
For the next three days, Charles slept in a stone room with a large straw bed and a freshwater spring. It was comfortable and peaceful, more than he’d ever known in his human life. By the light of the moon, he hunted. Hecate guided his claws to the dregs of the streets and lechers of the back roads. Each time she praised his work, pleased with his mastery of his body.
On the fourth night, she led him to a rundown complex in a rundown part of a rundown town. Despite the late hour, the lights poured out from some windows, and humans bustled inside the building. His acute hearing picked up sounds of a heavy music beat, people talking and engaging in recreational drugs, children crying, a low breath of slumber, and sexual acts.
“In there.” Hecate stood in the shadows at his side. “This shall be your final test. If you successfully complete this mission, I will no longer need to accompany you this closely.”
He whimpered.
“Do not worry, I have other ways of being with you during your missions. Now go, find the one who deserves your claws, and always remember, no one can see you my hound.”
Moving closer to the building he sniffed and listened. Separating each sound and scent he tracked the activities to each room. He located the sleepers in three rooms between the third and second floors. Drug users were on each level, some were simply awake and enjoying each other’s company. The worst offenders … which was the worst? Was there only one?
She gave him no direct orders. This was a test. He had to decide which were the offenders. He had sole decision over who was to live and die that night.
Baring his fangs he tasted the cool air on his tongue. He climbed up the building, sniffing out the third floor. He was going to start at the top and work his way down. He found a den of dealers in the northeast corner between three rooms; they held two women captive. He tore through their flesh.
Next, he found a woman beating her children in the adjacent room. He killed her without pause. On the second and first floors, he found users neglecting their starving children, abusive spouses and parents. He killed them all, pausing only to relish the taste of blood flooding his mouth upon the first bite.
Leaving the building, he sat next to Hecate and started to clean his muzzle, content in a job well done. She stared at the building.
Silence stretched between them before she broke it, “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“Are you so sure?”
He stopped cleaning his muzzle and stared at her.
“What is the one rule for your missions?” She asked. “No one can see you.”
“They didn’t.” He said, confusion flooding him.
“But they did. There are still those inside who breathe life. Inside the building you ravaged, inside the rooms you slaughtered in.”
“Only sleeping children, or victims who were intoxicated against their will.”
Her face revealed no expression, no sign of wavering from her stance.
“They couldn’t see me; they get to live.”
“Are you positive?” she said at last. “Children pretend to sleep. You can have waking recollections of what happens around you. Intoxication does not eliminate sight nor guarantee memory loss. I will repeat my previous question. Are you sure?”
“No …” he admitted.
“Then why do they still live?”
He struggled with his words before answering, “They are undeserving of death. If there is any chance the innocents will not remember I want to take that chance.”
She exhaled hard. The body on the left screamed in silence and the body on the right laughed hysterically. “No,” she said.
“No? I don’t want to kill the victims.”
“Then you haven’t learned your mission. Go back and kill them. Kill them all.”
“I won’t. I can’t!”
“Me to parón epivállo ti thélisí mou se esás, esás.” Purple light illuminated her amulet, spreading out and down to her hands.
His body felt heavy. He pushed against the invisible force, his limbs trembling with exertion. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. His body fell to the ground.
His thoughts suddenly became clear. His inner voice was muted and sluggish. He was aware of what was happening, felt it all happen, but had no control of it. Fresh blood matted his fur. Screams echoed in the fog of his brain. It occurred to him that the raw carnage at the tip of his claws, the flesh between his teeth, was euphoric. Without his inner voice complicating his actions, he loved every second of it despite who the victim was. He liked it better that way.
He slaughtered not only those left behind in the rooms he’d previously visited but every living creature in the building. Returning to Hecate, he panted fiercely, claws digging into the dirt, his hackles raised in anticipation. He wanted more and she knew it.
All three of her bodies laughed. She sent him to another location similar to the first. He ran inside without hesitation. Tearing apart abusers and victims alike he’d never felt so free. He slaughtered with abandon.
The following night he’d done the same, and the night after that. Hecate stopped accompanying him on his missions, instead communicating with him through telepathy. After a month he stopped speaking the human language altogether. After four months he forgot his name and human life. All he knew was Hecate, her orders, and the blood.
Sometimes after his missions, he paused. Staring up at the moon. He didn’t know why, but it enamored him. He watched it night after night, howling up at it in mourning. Mourning what, he didn’t know.
Sickly Sweet
Metallic upbeat melody ran into his ears and the sticky scent of sugared cream filled his nose. Afternoon heat filled his van, making beads of perspiration form over his skin. The occasional warm breeze offered little relief. Erin didn’t mind though. Hearing the children laughing at the park made it worthwhile.
Parking the van at the curb, he opened the side window. He saw one of the local neighborhood playgrounds and his heart swelled. Children laughed and played without a care in the world, so full of life and innocence. Their parents hovered together on benches talking amongst themselves. This made enduring every possible discomfort in the summer heat worth it. He would do anything to preserve this time, make the joy on their faces a little bit brighter.
“Ice cream!” he hollered from the van window. “Get your ice cream here! I got popsicles! I got rocket pops! I got fudge-sicles! I got soft serve!” He knew everyone had already heard the song of his truck and were making their way over, allowance money in hand. But he liked to holler across the park too. It made him feel like a carnival host like his granddad had been.
In seconds a line of children and parents queued up outside his van window. He passed out frozen treats and piled cream high atop sugar cones. He took time to chat with some of the familiar faces. One child in particular, a little girl, Marie-Ann, loved to play and had a personality bigger than any he’d seen. He reached for her regular request, a strawberry pop.
“How’s your break going?” Erin asked.
“Good! But also not good,” she said, changed her mind. “Timmy got a pet but I’m not allowed to hold it.”
“Oh, that’s no fun. What type of pet?”
“A little piggy. It’s this big!” She held up her hands to roughly the size of a pocket pet.
“Oh? Do you mean a guinea pig?” He laughed.
“That’s what I said. I’m not allowed to hold it. I just stare at it in the cage, which is stupid. But Mom and Dad are making Timmy teach me how to bike.”
“I remember when I first learned how to bike. I skinned my knees a lot.”
“My knees are fine.”
“I’m sure they are. Here’s your pop. Did you want to take one back for Timmy?”
“No. Thanks!” She took the pop and ran off.
The next kid held up a small fist of nickels and dimes.
Erin knew this child. He lived at the end of the neighborhood, not technically a resident of the community but close enough to walk to the park. His house was shabby and run down. Erin often heard yelling coming from inside when he drove by.
“S’cus me, mister,” the little boy said, “how’s much can I get for this?”
“You can get anything you want.” He pointed to two dimes and a nickel, leaving the boy over half his change.
“Really? Anything!” His eyes grew wide.
“Yup. What’ll it be? Rocket pop, fudge-sicle, soft serve?”
“I want a rocket pop!”
“You got it.” Smiling, he handed the treat to the child and watched him sit on a bench. “Mrs. Tulley!” he called out to a young woman in a yellow sundress, her face slick with sweat and flushed with heat. “What are you doing out here? It must be eighty-five degrees out, you should be inside.”
Smiling, she cradled her stomach and waddled over to him. “Hello, Erin. I’m fine. I just needed to get out for a walk. This baby is pushing on my ribs so hard; I couldn’t sit still another minute.”
“How far along are you now?”
“Thirty-two weeks.”
“Oh, my goodness. Here, take a fruit pop. It’ll cool you off a bit. And I have a clean towel in the back, I’ll put some ice in it for you. Looks like you and baby could use it. And put that money away, this is on the house.”
“Thank you, Erin. Honestly, I don’t know what the neighborhood would do without you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Tulley. Now get yourself back home and under a fan.”
She waved goodbye and waddled down the sidewalk.
The line outside his van dissipated but Erin didn’t leave immediately. He took time to wipe down the window and re-organize his supplies. He always tried to wait fifteen minutes in a crowded spot like this.
“Brody!”
He looked up at the shouting. A woman with a stern face in a uniform came running up to the little boy who didn’t have enough money for ice cream. Erin watched her, apprehension growing in his chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted. “You were supposed to wait at home while I was at work. Can you imagine how terrible I felt when I came back to an empty house? Can you? Why would you do that to your mother? Are you trying to hurt me?”
“No, Momma,” he whispered.
“I do everything for you. I gave you life and a roof over your head and this is how you pay me back? You are ungrateful! You hate me don’t you?”
“No!”
“Then why do you disobey me? You were to stay home, now I have to waste all my time running around these rich snobs looking for you. I won’t have time to make my meal now. I’m assuming you didn’t do any of the cooking. What about the laundry? Did you do anything, you lazy little thief?”
“I ain’t a thief!”
“Oh, then how come you live in my house rent free? And where did you get that?” She pointed to the rocket pop.
“I got it from the ice cream man.”
“How did you pay for it?”
“I had change in my piggy bank.”
“Change left over from the money you got for Christmas? The money your aunt and uncle gave you for free? That’s stealing! Besides change isn’t enough to buy that. You had to have stolen it.”
“I didn’t, honest!”
“Come here, you little brat!” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him violently from the bench.
Erin left his van. “Ma’am? This is your child?”
“Who are you to ask?” she barked.
“I’m the ice cream man. I couldn’t help but overhear. Your son did pay me for the rocket pop.” Erin told her.
“Hmpf. Like I would listen to anything a grown man who sells candy from a van would say. Come along, Brody, we are going home!” She dragged the boy so violently that he dropped his rocket pop in the dirt.
Tears welled in his eyes as a look of defeat and terror filled his face.
Erin watched them go, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides.
Whispers filled the park upon their departure. He asked a few of the parents what they knew of the family and according to the gossip, the mother was a single parent and an alcoholic. She had a string of boyfriends coming in and out of the house. Whenever she was sober, she would scream at the child, and the neighbors often heard breaking glass from inside. Some had called the cops on her in the past. Brody sometimes went to live with his aunt and uncle for a spell but he always ended up back with his mom.
Erin probed for information on the aunt and uncle. The gossip was less complete but he was able to ascertain they lived close by and had no children. They came by every Christmas and birthday and seemed like decent folk.
The rest of the day Erin stewed. At every park and neighborhood he stopped in, he saw little Brody. Tears filled his eyes at the cruelty of it all. It wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do at all.
When he was finished for the day Erin left his truck parked at his home, swapping it out for his sedan. He found Brody’s house and waited down the road. Around midnight a car pulled out of the driveway. He followed it.
