Rabbit Bob

Always watching.

They’d been married for two days, having dated an entire year before he’d asked her to marry him. He thought she’d been right for him, he thought everything would be all right. It wasn’t. She hadn’t been the one who accepted him for who he was… for his… idiosyncrasies, and now she was dead because she lied. Because she said she loved him no matter what.

She thought it was sweet that he’d showed up to their first date with the stuffed rabbit. Unfortunately, she also thought it was for her. He laughed and after a couple of poor attempts at humorously explaining away the bunny’s presence at their dinner table, he told her simply it was the only thing he had left of his traumatic childhood and he carried it everywhere with him, even to bed. She laughed, but she didn’t leave like every other date he’d ever had in his entire life. He left it at that – at a habit he couldn’t break, deciding not to mention that Rabbit Bob was the reason behind his traumatic childhood.

He’d received the rabbit as an Easter gift when he was 3. He’d named it Bob because that was what people named stuffed Easter bunnies. Bob, George, Harry, Norman… there were a few times he’d thought maybe he should’ve named the rabbit George. Maybe then things would have turned out better for him. Then he would think that was stupid. Bob’s didn’t kill people any more than George’s did. Rabbits on the other hand were evil. Especially rabbits named Bob.

Rabbit Bob was an adorable little stuffed rabbit with a soft white coat, a yellow belly, with ears that stood straight up and a light pink nose. He had no hind legs, shaped more like a bowling pin that a rabbit toy, but he had little stubby arms that were outstretched and ready for hugs from a toddler. It was the eyes though that bugged him – even back then. They were hot pink with black pupils, and no matter which direction you walked, Rabbit Bob’s eyes followed. Toys shouldn’t make you feel like you’re being watched and Rabbit Bob never stopped watching.

He used to talk to Rabbit Bob every night, promising a place in his bed forever if the bunny promised in return not to kill him. He assumed the terms were fair enough to Rabbit Bob because the bunny never did sleep on the floor, and he was still on the breathing side of life. He couldn’t say the same about most everyone else he knew. He’d tried to tell them about the killer rabbit, warn them, but nobody listened. They should have listened.

Rabbit Bob’s eyes weren’t the only clue that he wasn’t a typical toy. The moving thing was a pretty good “Hey, that ain’t normal” kinda thing. It wasn’t that he’d ever actually seen Rabbit Bob move. He hadn’t, but the bunny tended to show up in different parts of the house. He’d leave Rabbit Bob in the bedroom while the family went out to dinner and then come back to find him in the den. It wasn’t much, and in the beginning, he honestly believed he’d moved him and just forgotten about it or maybe the dog was playing with him. After a year of playing “Where the hell is Rabbit Bob?” he decided to pay closer attention. Once, while his parents were out of town, he intentionally put him in the kitchen and then took the dog for a walk. By the time he was finished, Rabbit Bob was in the hallway. Nobody else had been in the house. That was when he realized Rabbit Bob was no typical toy. Rabbit Bob was magic – not the rainbows, leprechauns, and fairies kind of magic… the evil kind. Rabbit Bob was straight from the pit of hell.

When the dog died, his Mama said it was because of old age. He wasn’t sure he believed her since the dog, whose name was Trevor, had been carrying around Rabbit Bob earlier that day. He was pretty sure Rabbit Bob didn’t like being a dog toy so he took care of that little problem himself. His Mama told him he was being ridiculous. She said Rabbit Bob was just a stupid toy. Two years later, after listening to him continuously complaining about the bunny being evil, she decided it was time to get rid of it. She tossed him in the trashcan… and then that night’s spaghetti dinner went in on top of poor Rabbit Bob. She died the next day. She tripped over an empty spaghetti sauce jar – the very one she threw on top of Rabbit Bob when he was in the trashcan. He’d found Rabbit Bob the next day, clean as a whistle, in his room on the foot of his bed. His dad didn’t fare much better. He died in a stair climbing accident, taking Rabbit Bob on a final trip to the garbage dump. Rabbit Bob ruined his childhood, and when he met her, and she didn’t walk out on him that first night, he felt… complete. Like the past was wiped away. He’d honestly believed that he, his new wife, and Rabbit Bob would live out the remainder of their lives together in happiness. That was before he’d told her Rabbit Bob would be joining them on their honeymoon. She didn’t like that one little bit.

He’d told his wife this, trying to explain to her why Rabbit Bob had to go with them on their cruise through the Bahamas. She didn’t listen. Instead, his brand new wife clapped and told him what a wonderful ghost story it was. She lifted Rabbit Bob from his spot in the suitcase and looked at him, petting his ratty faux fur with sympathy, and then she tossed the stuffed bunny into a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his bedroom, saying. “It’s time to put away childish things.” She threw the toy too hard, and Rabbit Bob hit the wall, bouncing into the hamper beside the pile of dirty clothes. “Two points!” she’d cried out, laughing as she dumped all his clothes on top of Rabbit Bob… laughing as if it didn’t matter. But it had mattered. It mattered a lot.

He screamed at her, grabbing her arms and shaking her hard. He had to make her understand, he had to make her stop laughing. “It’s not funny! So you can stop laughing… like, now!” he told her. “At least put a pillow over your mouth so he won’t hear you!” She covered her mouth, muffling her guffaws, but it wasn’t enough, and it was way too late.

He’d told her not to mess with Rabbit Bob. Too bad she didn’t listen.

He looked at the bunny lying face down in the dirty clothes hamper, and then to his wife, lying face down in the carpet. Her neck was broken, her bloody fingers curled into claws. He grabbed the vodka off of the nightstand and poured it over the scratches in his shoulders before grabbing Bob off the plaid duvet and giving him a once over. “I really liked her! She could have made us happy!” he screamed, but Rabbit Bob didn’t answer. He just stared at him with those evil, pink eyes.