Alice Rabbits

Popcorn and Bloody Fingers

It was a one of kind day today. Samuel Wells was having his evening birthday party. Thirteen small wax candles were lit, glowing atop his mother's homemade chocolate lava cake. His father and mother finished the ritual of singing best wishes for their only son; he felt tender lips kiss his dark brown hair as he reached forward, using all his breath to blow out the life in the flickering flames.

Despite their eagerness, neither family member finished the scrumptious dessert. Officer Becket Briggs, a heavyset man in his late forties barged through the front door, whipping it open so fast, the wood banged harshly against the foyer wall. He panted, hands on his knees, acting like he finished running a five mile marathon. "Detective Wells!" Briggs exclaimed, pausing to gather a lungful of air before continuing. "They found three more bodies! Mr. Peters, Mr. Heart, and Mrs. Shyfields!"

Dave Wells dropped his fork and it clattered onto his plate. "I'll be out in a moment," he growled, motioning for his wife to take Samuel upstairs.

Officer Briggs spared the mother and child a sympathetic glance. "The entire town is in hysterics. All of them are out for blood against the circus. They plan on burning down the tents and killing all the people." He mumbled hurriedly, trying to lower his voice. "They are already heading up the trail."

Dave Wells nodded once in understanding. "We better hurry then." Grabbing his trench coat, he put his arm through the sleeves. "Judy, I think it's time for Samuel to go to bed." He exchanged knowing looks with his beloved wife before he bolted out the door with his partner.

The urgency intoxicating the air caused Sammy to leap from his seat. "What is happening? Dad?" He asked questionably, wrestling his arm from his mother's grip. Her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"It's time for bed, Samuel. Put on your pajamas and be a good boy." Each word was spoken clenched teeth, his mother struggling to contain her steely calmness.

Suddenly, realization dawned on him, slapped him on both cheeks, twice. "The circus," Sam whispered, terror creeping into his voice. All his Alice Rabbit friends were going to die, precious hours spent together wasted because a couple of people were mad about murders none of his friends committed.

Electric sparks jolted throughout his body, starting from his feet and racing up his arms. When he locked gazes with his mother, her pained blues and his remorseful greens, she immediately knew what he intended on doing.

"Don't-" she never finished her sentence. Her son ripped his arm free, breaking from her clutches. He bolted out the door, face pale as a ghost, similar to the rosy color draining from her cheeks.

Time increased, rushing alongside Samuel scrambling down a beaten down trail woven through Mill Woods. The circus tents resided on Mill Hill, two miles outside of town if the average person drove on roads. Half an hour when a group of teenagers meandered along the shortcut.

Brambles tugged violently at his pant legs, ripped holes in his cotton shirt. Stones stabbed his bare-feet, but he continued to run along the trail. His main focus was arriving first before the mob.

Owls hooted while bats twittered, silently observing a young boy navigate solely on moonlight. Peculiar sight they bore witness to. Sammy began to hear chanting, the voices of the enraged, ranting and raving.

"Burn the tents!"

"Death to the Alice Rabbits!"

"Don't let anyone escape!"

Before he could stop his tears, they fell from his face. Death seemed to be inevitable tonight, on his special night. Flushed, his lungs ached, legs screamed as he raced up a gentle slope. He came upon a miniature wooden sign, freshly made.

Slowing down, he stared the bold blue letters. The c's drooped, ghastly compared to their elegant friends. Every letter bulged like bugging eyes at him, silently threatening, daring him to venture forth.

MILL HILL CIRCUS, ENJOY THE ART

Sammy barely paid mind to the atrocious statement. His attention remained alone on the display front of the sign. A man, Mr. Peter's, pointed blandly down the trail, towards the tents. His other hand rested limp at his side. Blood dripped out of his empty sockets, his eyes seemingly plucked. Holes on the side of his head were what remained of ears. Upon closer inspection inside his mouth, no dry piece of tongue occupied up space.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

Staring for several moments, Sammy tried to ignore Mr. Heart hung high above his head, seemingly stripped of clothes and whipped several times. Mrs. Shyfields his equal; long ugly lash marks covered her flabby body, black hair flat against her face.

By now a chorus of voices screamed profanities, most of the Alice Rabbits couldn't talk, those that did never wanted to. Walking closer, he listened to his townspeople become horrid monsters, worse than the Alice Rabbits.

Standing outside the tree line, he watched flames lick at the fabric of tents, burning them to a crisp. Sweat formed on his brow, the heat intense on his face. The fire danced from tent to tent, crackling eagerly, wanting to feast. Shadows flickered about his feet.

Moving shapes circled burning tents, stalking the grounds for stragglers. Torches gripped in some hands, various types of weapons in others. His townspeople were hunting he realized, trying to flush out the rabbits like they were actual animals.

Sammy ignored the heat that could melt flesh off bones, dashing up the grassy hill. He came to halt as he stared down at the bodies sprawled in the grass that reached his knees. Distance wise, he couldn't see them, but now he witnessed the catastrophe. Alice Rabbits burned alive strewn the grass, black and smoking. Amazingly, the masks were unharmed by the fire. Numbly, he recognized many of the actors due to their masks, their bodies blackened. A strong stench of burning flesh invaded his nose.

A girl decked in a rabbit mask burned where she had fallen, crawling for the safety of some crates. She clawed at the air with her hands, violently kicking her legs as she flailed about.

"Why, hello Samuel Wells. Did you come see the show?"

Sammy glanced up, gasping in fright. A giant male clown stared down at him. He smelled like musty prunes and costume make up. Gore stained his brightly polka-dotted clothes. His face was hidden behind a plastic mask that covered only the mouth. The fake smile grinned broadly down at Sammy. Its eyes were like two abyss pits.

He knew this clown. It was Happy the Smiley Clown who smiled no matter how dire the situation.

Whirs of a chainsaw could be overheard wails of the dying. The flames continued to exterminate the long lasting evil.

"Don't worry about my little rabbits, they'll live and die." Happy spoke in a shrill voice, leaning down to lock eyes with Sammy. "Are you worried?"

Sammy gulped and silently shook his head.

The clown giggled. "I know something that can make you feel better. How about some popcorn?"

Sammy looked down, and in his hands was a paper red and white striped box. Grease stains spotted the bottom, the liquid butter seeping through. Filled to the brim were golden popcorn kernels, freshly popped. The bag was warm in hands.

"Oh Samuel Wells, eat and watch the bonfire." Happy encouraged, nudging him quite roughly with his white gloved hands. "Isn't this event wonderful? Now I can get new rabbits!"

His stomach churned, but Sammy found himself taking a handful of the popcorn anyways. He stared into the fire, unthinking and unknowing. When he glanced down, ten blood coated fingers glared up at him, smearing the yellow popcorn with red. It was not butter on the bag, but blood. On one finger glimmered the silver band of his father's wedding ring.

Happy started to cackle.