Bunnicula Strikes Again! Read Online Free PDF Page A

do that—and although the conclusion he would draw would be based more on a hunch than hard, cold fact, it would prove to be correct. Just as the consequences would prove to be nearly catastrophic.

[ FOUR ]

A Rabbit’s Tears
    I DID not sleep well that night. Toby tossed and turned, and I, tethered to the end of his bed by inertia, allowed myself to be rolled this way and that until shortly before dawn when he sat up and whispered in the dark, “Harold, are you awake?” Not waiting for an answer, he climbed out from under his covers and wrapped himself around me in a full body hug.
    â€œI had bad dreams, boy,” he said in a hushed tone. “Did I tell you what movie we saw last night when we went to the last show at the theater?
Dracula.
Not the new one we saw the time we found Bunnicula, but the old one with Bela Lugosi. It wasn’t even in color and the special effects were totally lame. I didn’t think it was scary at all when I was watching it, but, boy,Harold, it sure was scary in my dreams.”
    I looked him in the eye and panted to let him know I understood.
    â€œAw, you understand, don’t you, boy?” he said. Works every time.
    â€œI’ll tell you one thing, Harold,” he said, yawning. “You’d better stay out of Mom and Dad’s way today. They’re pretty bummed out about this theater thing, losing the battle and all. You know what’s going to happen on Tuesday? Boom! They’re coming in with a wrecking ball and down it goes!”
    He yawned again. “Well, I’m going to try to get some more sleep. What are you going to do?”
    He ruffled the hair on the top of my head, then crawled back under the covers, and before I’d had time to find out if his question was multiple choice or essay, he was sound asleep.
    Looking out the window, I could see that the sky was beginning to grow light. Bunnicula, whose sleeping and waking hours were at odds with everyone else’s in the house, would be going to sleep soon for the day, and that meant it was time for his old buddy Harold to sing him a lullaby.
    As quietly as I could, I removed myself fromToby’s bed, stretched out my aching muscles, and lumbered down the stairs.
    On first encountering the familiar scene in the living room, I felt immensely reassured. Bunnicula was in his cage, Chester was curled up in his armchair, Howie lay sprawled under the coffee table. Each was in his proper place. Serenity was spread over the room like cream cheese on a bagel.
    Now for those of you who haven’t read my first book,
Bunnicula,
the idea of my singing a lullaby to my little furry friend in the language of his native land (a remote area of the Carpathian Mountains region) may strike you as peculiar. For those of you who have read the book, the idea probably strikes you as just as peculiar, but at least you’ve been warned. You see, soon after Bunnicula’s arrival in our home, I discovered that this particular lullaby soothes him, and so I have sung it to him regularly ever since. Roughly translated, it goes something like this:
    The sheep are in the meadow,
    The goats are on the roof,
    In the parlor are the peasants,
    In the pudding is the proof.
    Dance on the straw
    And laugh at the moon
    Night is heavy on your eyes
    And morning will come soon.
    So sleep, little baby,
    There’s nothing you should fear,
    With garlic at the window
    And your mama
always
near.
    Admittedly, it sounds better in the original. I only regret that I cannot record the melody here, for there is a wistful melancholia about it that would touch you, I’m certain, as it touches me when I croon it in my throaty baritone. And I know it touches Bunnicula as it carries him off to dream-land. On this occasion, however, I noted a new response on Bunnicula’s part—one that struck me as curious and, under the circumstances, somewhat alarming.
    â€œDo rabbits cry?” I asked Chester after Bunnicula