Bunnicula by Deborah Howe

Author:Deborah Howe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

“Come on, come on, you’re wasting time. Just jump up here.”

I surveyed the scene carefully. I knew I would have to get a running start since there was just a tiny spot left for me and I would never be able to fit into it if I pulled myself up slowly. Apparently, I was taking too long for Chester’s liking.

“Will you get up here?” he hissed.

Okay, if that’s what you want. I ran and jumped onto the chair, landing with a great kerplop.

“Chester, where are you?” I cried. I couldn’t see anything but the back of the chair. I’d forgotten to turn myself around.

“I’m here, you great oaf!”

I turned my head. “What are you doing on the floor?” I asked.

“You knocked me off the chair. Now just stay put. I’m coming back up.”

I moved to the back of the chair, and Chester landed on the front.

“Now, let’s see,” he said, “we both have to see the book. You come over here, and I’ll move this way.”

I don’t know if you’ve ever watched a cat try to decide where to sit, but it involves a lot of circling around, sitting, getting up again, circling some more, thinking about it, lying down, standing up, bathing a paw or tail and . . . circling! A dog, on the other hand, sits. “This looks like a good spot,” a dog will say to himself. He will then lower his body to the spot in question and is usually so secure in his decision that he will fall asleep immediately.

Chester took what felt like twenty minutes to settle himself in, and just as I was drifting off, the kicks started. “Come on, Harold, quit hogging the seat. And wake up. What were you trying to do? Take a little cat nap? Ha ha ha.”

I yawned.

“Now,” said Chester, turning to the book, “let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“What exactly is on your mind?” I asked.

“This book and that rabbit,” Chester replied. “Now tell me, Harold, have you noticed anything funny about that rabbit?”

“No,” I said, “but I’ve certainly noticed a lot of funny things about you recently.”

“Think about it. That rabbit sleeps all day.”

“So do I. So do you.”

“Furthermore, he’s got funny little sharp teeth.”

“So do I. So do you.”

“Furthermore, he gets in and out of his cage by himself. What kind of rabbit can do that?”

“A smart one,” I said. “I could do it.”

“We’re not talking about you, Harold. We’re talking about the rabbit. Now, where did they find him?”

“At the movies.”

“Yes, but what movie?”

“Dracula,” I said, “so?”

“So,” he said quickly, “remember the note around his neck? What language was it in?”

“An obscure dialect of the Carpathian mountain region,” I answered smugly. He didn’t know everything.

“Ah ha!” Chester said, “but what area of the Carpathian mountain region?”

Area? What’s an area? I looked at him blankly.

“Transylvania!” he cried triumphantly. “And that proves my point.”

“What point? What are we talking about?”

“And don’t forget the white tomato! That’s most important of all!”

“But, what . . .”

“This book,” said Chester, disregarding me, “tells us just what we need to know.

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