A Bunny Horror Story in Time for Easter

The Vampiric Rabbit

Easter is many things for many people. For today, I’m going to stay mostly secular (a little pagan) and stick with the bunny! I’ve been horrified and inspired by public domain horror and slasher stories films such as the ones involving Winnie the Pooh and Popeye. I decided I wanted to do a slightly darker version of the Velveteen Rabbit, one of my all time favorite childhood stories.

William Nicholson illustration from the Velveteen Rabbit.

Please enjoy this strange, bunny-inspired horror fiction!

The Vampiric Rabbit

(written in the style of The Velveteen Rabbit)

Illustration by William Nicholson from the Velveteen Rabbit.

The Rabbit had lived in many toy cupboards and on many more nursery floors throughout the centuries, some opulent, some quaint, all safe and secure where he was snuggled at the top of the food chain. Most of the toys in his latest nursery kept their distance, pretending they were superior but really, they were afraid of this unearthly creature made of cheap, velveteen fabric posing as a child’s toy. The mechanical toys, the model boat, and the jointed wooden lion attempted to make the Rabbit feel insignificant and commonplace, but they were nothing but dust to him, all of them except for one, the wise old Skin Horse.

The Rabbit preferred solitude on most days, but he was compelled to get to know this peculiar horse. The toy had clearly been around as long as he had, maybe longer. Just like the Rabbit, this was not the Horse’s first nursery. He had lived with many children in many lifetimes. The Horse’s lifespan covered centuries, but he looked brand new as if he had just been purchased and given to the Boy. His perfect brown coat should have been bald in patches, the seams on the beast’s belly should have shown but they were perfectly hidden, just as his mane and tail were still full and shiny. He was very wise and understood that the other toys were only toys, just as he knew that the Rabbit was not just another toy. The Horse was like the Rabbit. It was very rare when the Rabbit came into contact with another immortal. Very rare indeed.

Unfortunately, the Rabbit soon learned that his new immortal companion was obsessed with the strange and ludicrous idea of nursery magic. The Horse wanted to become mortal, be truly alive in this world. He wanted to become Real.

“What is so great about being REAL?” the Rabbit spat one day. “What can it offer us that we don’t already have?”

“Real is everything, Rabbit,” the Horse replied. “It allows you to walk this Earth and go wherever you would like when you would like. It’s a thing that happens to you once a child has loved you for a very long time.”

“I already walk this Earth and go where I like,” the Rabbit countered.

“I’ve yet to see you walk,” the Horse pointed out. “Just wiggle around.”

“You will see me walk.”

“I need to be free of this toy body, this prison. Need to run through the valley as fast as I can.”

“I’ve been real before. It hurts,” the Rabbit whispered.

“I don’t mind getting hurt as long as I can be free,” the Horse sighed.

“Well, I do. For the brief time I was real, everything was trying to take a bite out of me, make me dinner. I was always running, always hiding, always hungry, always cold. Yes, I was free, but I was miserable. Then, one night, all of that was gone. I was reborn into what I am now. I never want to be ‘real’ again.”

“But at what cost? How do you stay the way that you are?”

Rabbit flashed to a memory of the night he had been bitten by another rabbit. She had nearly drained him of every ounce of his blood. He had felt betrayed as she sucked the lifeforce from his neck. Just before he faded completely, she ripped her fangs from his flesh. Gore dripping from her chin, she tore open her own wrist with her fangs. Blood gushed from her wound, and she forced him to drink. After moments, she wasn’t forcing him anymore. He was gorging himself on her blood, clawing at her arm until she finally hissed in his ear, “time to sleep.” She lowered him gently to the ground as he passed out, her words acting like a spell. The following morning, he had awoken in a nursery just as he was now, toylike. Most days, he was a stuffed rabbit, a plaything living a protected life in a nursery of a small child. But on a few nights a year, he transformed into his true self. On those nights, he fed.

“I am a child’s plaything until I am not,” the Rabbit answered.

“You are something very hungry,” the Horse whispered.

“Only twice a year,” the Rabbit responded icily.

“Something evil.”

“If I am evil, what are you?” the Rabbit lashed out. “What keeps you alive?”

I won’t let you hurt the Boy.”

The Rabbit laughed. “And what can you do to stop that?”

The Rabbit never had any issues making the child of a nursery fall in love with him. He had glamor powers that most living creatures could not resist. The Boy of this nursery was no different. Once the Boy’s hands touched his fur, they became inseparable. That night and the rest of the nights afterwards, the Boy took the Rabbit to bed with him. The Rabbit usually didn’t enjoy this nocturnal bonding with a child. The child always rolled over him and made it hard to breath and sleep. However, this boy was different than the others. This boy made him tunnels with the sheets, creating burrows like he used to live in with his family before his transformation. This boy was very clever and told him marvelous stories while clasping his hands around him all night long. This boy’s grubby little hands were always on him. Thank goodness, the Rabbit was blessed with immortality, or his fur and outfit would have been ruined.

Spring came, and the Boy took Rabbit everywhere with him—on wheelbarrow rides, to picnics, and even to fairy huts. No matter how covered in mud and gunk the Rabbit got, the Boy would insist on sleeping with him at night. Rabbit wouldn’t admit it to the Horse, but he liked that the Boy never tired of him. He had stopped using his glamor powers on the child weeks ago. The Boy genuinely wanted to be with him all the time, and the Rabbit was starting to feel the same about the Boy.

As summer drew closer, the Rabbit knew the time was growing near when he would transform into his true self and feed on his Boy. He must feed on the night of the summer solstice, or he would be gone forever. However, killing this Boy was going to be harder than all the rest. Rabbit had drained the blood of many, many, many children, never really given any of them a second thought, even the babies. He never cared for how they flung him around, squealed in his ears, and squeezed him. He enjoyed making their bodies still and their voices quiet. Drinking them dry had always felt very satisfying. Feeding on them had always felt natural. As the Boy wrapped his arm around his neck, the Rabbit locked eyes with the Skin Horse who kept a constant watch on him. He wondered if that old horse could really stop him from feeding on the Boy. Part of him hoped he could. Deep down, if he still had one, his heart ached at the idea of hurting this child.

That night he awoke with a start. He was wet with the Boy’s sweat. The Boy was thrashing and mumbling feverishly in his sleep. A strange white aura surrounded him and wisps from it were flying across the room toward the… Skin Horse.

The wisps were entering the Horse’s glowing eyes, and the Rabbit realized quickly that the Horse was in fact stealing his meal. The Rabbit could do nothing about it, not until the solstice. He could only watch as the Horse finished draining what he wanted from the Boy. After what felt like hours, the Boy slumped. He was still breathing but it was shallow and raspy. His arm went limp, and the Rabbit rolled away from his small body.

The Horse’s black beady eyes pierced the Rabbit, and he smirked. “I told you I wouldn’t let you hurt him.”

“What are you?” the Rabbit stammered.

“A powerful fairy who was exiled into this toy horse by a child not unlike your boy. I must feed on this child’s magic to return to my Real form.”

“Find your own meal. This one’s mine,” the Rabbit snarled.

“I’ve been trapped in this nursery with this boy much longer than you, Rabbit.”

The Rabbit watched helplessly as the Boy became sicker and sicker and the Skin Horse became stronger and stronger. There were only a few days before the summer solstice, but Rabbit feared the Boy would not survive long enough for him to feed. There was nothing Rabbit could do to save the Boy but maybe he could still save himself. If the Boy could survive until that night, the Rabbit might be able to drain him before the Skin Horse beat him to it. It was the only way the Rabbit wouldn’t perish.

The next morning, the Doctor and the Nana rolled the Boy and the Rabbit out onto the balcony. They were planning to take the Boy to the seaside for the week.

“Hurrah!” thought the Rabbit. There were sandcastles, tiny crabs, and waves at the seaside. There would be no Skin Horse by the sea, only a boy and his vampiric rabbit. The Boy would be all his. Just at his moment of triumph, Nana spotted the Rabbit wrapped in the Boy’s blankets.

“How about this old bunny? Can he go to the seaside?” she asked the Doctor.

“That?” The Doctor shook his head. “Not a chance! It’s covered in germs. It must be burned. Just get him a new one.”

That is how the Rabbit found himself in a worn sack filled with other old toys and books at the end of the garden by the fowl’s house. This is where they would make the bonfire and burn the Rabbit. Fire was one of the things he was not impervious to. The sack had been left untied, so he wriggled a bit and fell out of the bag onto the damp grass. The moon was rising, only a day away from the summer solstice. He had been so close. Why did he have to appear in the same nursery as that horrible Skin Horse? Now, he was going to burn at sunrise.

He spotted a few white rabbits nibbling on lettuce in the garden. He envied the real rabbits for the first time in a century as they hopped freely from plant to plant. He found himself wishing he could join them, flee this place, start fresh. Hooves plodding through the garden startled the real rabbits, sending them dashing off into the night. Oh yes, how the Rabbit wished to be like them at this moment.

He watched as a beautiful white horse with a flowing black mane walked toward him, stepping carefully through the rows of potato and pea plants. Its eyes flashed the color of moonlight as it lowered its head and nuzzled the Rabbit.

“The Boy’s dead then?” the Rabbit asked.

“It was an unfortunate necessity for me to escape my prison.”

The Rabbit felt his heart break a bit, realizing just how much more he cared for this child than he had for any of the others. He felt rage flow through his little body, and a small tear wet his fabric as it rolled off his face and hit the ground.

“Get out of here!” the Rabbit shouted.

“You’d really rather remain here, as you are and perish, than become Real and live?”

A sprout began to grow from the ground where the Rabbit’s tear had landed. A black flower like no other in the garden grew swiftly from the ground. The leaves were a deep purple and the center glowed like moonlight, matching the Skin Horse’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare use any of your nursery magic on me,” the Rabbit growled, glaring at the flower.

“It’s not my choice.” The Skin Horse touched his nose to one of the petals. “I’m a nursery fairy but this magic comes from the child.”

“I don’t want anything from the Boy, not anymore.” The Rabbit attempted to move away from the flower.

“It’s too late. He already gave it to you. With his last breath that Boy asked for you. He loved you more than anyone or anything.”

“I didn’t love him,” the Rabbit spoke fearfully, knowing his words were false.

“If that were true, this wouldn’t be happening. Trust me, I know better than most. The last time I tried to feed on a child, I truly loved her. That love gave her the power to stop me, and her nursery magic imprisoned me in that toy. Your love for the Boy gave him the power to make this happen.”

The glow from the center of the flower blazed onto the Vampiric Rabbit. He felt centuries of power flow out of him as his velveteen fabric became flesh and his cold blood warmed. He was a real rabbit again, one who would surely die a horrible death out in the woods by the claws or teeth of some fearsome beast. He would never be able to hurt a child again. He felt his heart race when he heard an owl hooting in the trees above. Instinct took over, and he dashed through the garden, running for his life.

He was a Real Rabbit again, at home with the other rabbits.