Tom wasn’t sure how he got home. He’d have to check the Wellington police reports at work again. Just to be sure. But his carpet felt good this morning.
Carpet? He had hard wood floors. How was he laying ..?
Tom sat up. It was dark and he was in the middle of a pasture somewhere. Damn he must have drank … and where were his pants!? How does someone make it to the middle of field with their shoes and underwear on but no pants?
“Wanna pet my rabbit Tom?” he heard a whispering voice float over the native Kansas grasses. “It’s soft.”
Looking around, he didn’t see anything. It was like the prairie was talking to him. Hopefully it was just beer he drank last night and not something else. NyQuil?
Staggering to his feet, Tom tried to catch his bearings. Where the hell was he? There had to be lights somewhere or a road or something.
“Wanna pet my rabbit Tom? Rabbits eat lettuce Tom,” the voice hissed over the tall grasses.
That was it. Tom was out of there. He bolted in the direction he thought was north. Whatever the hell was talking to him wasn’t good. And if it wasn’t there, then he needed help anyway.
The weeds rushed past as he ran. There was light north of him. It was a subtle glow on the horizon. Wichita, it must be Wichita. That would mean that he was …
“Tom, wanna pet my rabbit Tom?”
Ahead … there was something. Something in the grass …
A cat! A huge cat was peering at him through the weeds. Its eyes glowed like green orbs in the darkness, but he could see its outline against the subtle halo of the city to the north.
Not waiting to find out what the cat wanted, Tom turned and ran. His heart pounded and legs ached from the grasses cutting at his skin. The thing must have been a mountain lion. Yeah, that was it. A mountain lion. There were a few of them in Kansas.
“Rabbits eat lettuce Tom,” the voice hissed over the grass.
The NyQuil was really doing a job on him. He could swear the cat was talking to him, it had …
He fell. Just like in the damn movies!
Looking back, he could see what had tripped him. It was a huge pile of dead rabbits. Stacked one on top of the other, some of the white bunnies were missing ears or their head, others were mangled beyond recognition. A grotesque pyramid of dead rabbits like a twisted tribute to a Kansas pharaoh.
“Wanna pet my rabbit Tom?” the voice asked.
Looking over his shoulder, Tom could see the cat, its black fur striped in violet, sitting only inches from his face. Its huge maw was like that of shark; row after row of long and deadly fangs decorated its mouth.
“Rabbits eat lettuce,” it said, saliva dripping from its maw. “Wanna know what I eat Tom?”
Tom’s heart stopped.
Tom didn’t make it to work that morning.