Wendy Cantrell woke with a start.
Had she heard a scream?
She dismissed it as a remnant from a nightmare. She swung her legs off the bed and hopped across the cold hardwood floor to her slippers. She wrapped herself in her robe before walking into the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee and heading out onto her deck. Pete was usually back from his morning walks by now, but sometimes he lost track of time.e
Just as she was sitting down, a jackrabbit scrambled out of the sagebrush. Wendy didn’t hate the jackrabbits like Pete did. In fact, she sort of liked them. They were survivors in a world full of predators, including gun-happy rednecks. But one thing she could agree on was that there was something a little unsettling about their eyes. Staring, unflinching, cold.
But this one was different. It appeared more frantic. Panicked. It stepped one direction, looked quickly side to side, then started in another direction. Then it spotted Wendy on the porch and stopped.
For a brief instant, Wendy had a crazy thought.
Peter?
But before she could make sense of the thought, a coyote bolted out of the brush in a snarl and tore the jackrabbit off the ground in its maw and disappeared back into the wild.
The End
ABOUT RUN, RABBIT. RUN.
From the author:
This was the first flash piece I ever wrote, and I was hooked on the exercise after that.
Let me just say that Pete Cantrell is not me, but he lives pretty close by. And I would’ve probably had him over for drinks a time or two. Something neighborly like that. That is, if you could call where I live a “neighborhood.” My nearest neighbor is about a couple hundreds yards away, and we’re much more likely to see wildlife than people.
And jackrabbits are pretty weird. I did actually have the apocalyptic, loping half-human nightmare that Pete mentions. And I have actually found an arrowhead, although not obsidian (which worked so much better for the story). Otherwise, the connections end there
As to the story, I like the idea that Pete falls into the trap of so many horror story victims: sex, drugs and/or rock and roll. In the old slasher pics, you always knew who was going to get the ax (often quite literally) based on who was… well… having the most fun. But still, A CAUTIONARY TALE, KIDDIES.
Speaking of falling, I also like that Pete falls prey to some sort of spirit for no real reason besides where he happens to live. I don’t think he has ever intentionally run over a rabbit. Maybe he has trespassed on some sort of Indian ground, but certainly not intentionally. But like all prey in the wild, mostly he’s just a victim through no fault of his own.
Oh, and Pete Cantrell is actually a play on Peter Cottontail, just for fun. Have you noticed that I rarely choose names randomly?
Thanks for reading, and if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to email me at
[email protected] And of course, special thanks to my parents, wife and family.
The Death He Expected