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Chandra Renais is a friendly, mild-mannered librarian by day, but on nights, weekends, and the occasional holiday she morphs into an aspiring writer and lunatic-general. She lives in North Carolina and enjoys Skeeball, Halloween, and laughing. "Bugaboo, Electric Blue" is her first published story. |
Beth and the girls goggled, wide-eyed, as the plush rabbit hippity-hopped to the table. From its furry bunched toes to the peaks of its stiffly upright ears, it stood no more than three feet high. With dignified disapproval, the rabbit shook its head at the frog lazily nestled in panda pelt and innards. The girls looked from the blue frog to the lavender rabbit. “Which one’s the bugaboo?” Clara whispered. Beth still suspected it was the giant blue frog with the fangs and claws, but with the arrival of the lavender rabbit, all bets were off. The frog noticed the rabbit and hopped to attention. Tendrils of damp panda stuffing hung from its left fang. “Oh, he is, of course,” the rabbit demurred. “I am long since retired from the trenches.” The rabbit spoke in soothing, plummy tones, and his black button nose twitched with embarrassment. “Oh dear.” Glassy eyes studied Daisy’s corpse and the telltale stuffing lingering on froggy lips. “That is unfortunate,” the rabbit said, shaking its head. “He’s a novice, you see.” The rabbit inclined its head to the girls. “A novice is someone very new to their job, someone who obviously does not yet know how things are done.” He glared, whip-like, at the distraught frog. Beth remained speechless, her brain stuttering. “He ate Daisy," Clara blurted. "Mitch never eats Daisy.” “Ah, but Mitch is an exemplary under-the-bed monster, whereas Quibby here...” The rabbit huffed. “Suffice it to say, I have doubts as to his suitability.” The rabbit turned to the frog, who now looked thoroughly dismayed, its skin paling to a powdery blue. “Quibby, it is one thing to lurk under beds making grumbly noises and glowy eyes. That’s expected. Indeed, done properly, it is to be commended. But chasing the family around the house? Gobbling up a child’s beloved panda bear? Where does it stop? You go too far, Quibby.” The rabbit addressed the table. “Allow me, ladies, to apologize for the terrible inconven... oh my.” The rabbit gasped. “Oh, my goodness, is it really? Could it be? Little Beth, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you in an age. How are you?” Beth sputtered. “Well. Really well. Thank you.” “All grown up now, I see.” “Yeah, I guess so.” “You do remember me?” Beth hesitated. “I think so.” The rabbit sighed. “That is nice to hear. I sometimes wonder if we are not entirely ephemeral, creatures such as Quibby and I. Even the children forget us by light of day. It’s reassuring to know that we are not, perhaps, forever lost to those whom we have served. “Well,” the rabbit went on, shaking off his sad air, “I do apologize. There’s been a terrible mix-up, you see.” From the folds of one plushy ear, it pulled a thin piece of paper and held it before the frog’s boggling eyes. “Do you recognize this, Quibby? It is your invoice, is it not? Does it not say, ahem, ‘Please to be delivered, one bugaboo, electric blue, no claws please, to Apartment 4026B, Peachtree Park, Annalee Street, Atlanta, Georgia, USA. B, Quibby, B! And are we not now standing in Apartment D?” The frog shrugged, a sight Beth was sure she would find funny later. “We are indeed standing in Apartment D! There is no demand for an under-the-bed bugaboo at this residence. There is, however, a boy down the stairs named Daniel Huffman, who no doubt has spent the night, poor child, wondering why has he no monster under his bed. “And further, seeing the disgrace you’ve made of yourself here, I wonder if I shouldn’t send you back to HQ for reassessment...” “Excuse me,” Beth said. “Yes, dear?” “This Quibby, he’s supposed to go to Daniel downstairs?” “Yes, indeed. Are you acquainted with the boy? Bit of a rascal, I hear.” “Oh, he is. He really, really is. Knowing Daniel the way I do and having now met Quibby, I can tell you, I think they’d be perfect for each other.” The frog perked up. “Hmm,” the rabbit said. “Quibby does have a certain vivacity that we suspected would complement young Daniel’s personality. And we are rarely mistaken about such things.” “Yeah. So, things didn’t go well here. But Quibby wasn’t supposed to be here, that was a mistake. Anybody can get an address wrong. Maybe you could give him a shot with Daniel? See how that works out?” “My dear Beth, we monsters-under-the-bed must be ever ready to tailor our frights to each new assignment. We must be adaptable to all occasions and all patrons of our services. However, Quibby is new to the trade and has much to learn. Perhaps you’re right.” The frog slobbered happily. “Off with you, then,” the rabbit said. “Under the bed and through the portal. It’s much too late tonight, and the child will undoubtedly be asleep. And we’ve bothered these poor people enough for one evening.” The bugaboo, electric blue, shuffled off to the bedroom. The rabbit swept into a low bow. “Again, ladies, my apologies to you all.” He turned to follow the frog. “Oh. Wait,” Beth cried. “Mr. Winchester?” The rabbit wheeled to face her with a look of pure delight. “Dear Beth, you do remember me. I confess, I suspected you were merely being polite. You were always such a polite child. I remember you well. ‘Oh, please, Mr. Winchester, stop growling. Please, Mr. Winchester, don’t hurt me.’ And the occasional offering of a sacrificial cookie left on the floor near the bed. Ahh.” The rabbit nodded. “Good times.” “Mr. Winchester, I do remember you. You look different.” “As do you, dear. Years change us all.” “I guess so. But if I remember correctly, you had teeth. Lots of big, scary teeth.” “Ah. Well, I still do. Somewhere.” The rabbit smiled. “Bit unwieldy for everyday use, though.” “I suppose so. Mr. Winchester?” “Yes?” “I think I’ve missed you.” Tears filled the rabbit’s eyes. “That does warm an old bugaboo’s heart.” With a fastidious glance at his furry chest, he added, “Or an approximation thereof.” From the folds of his ear he brandished a small square of linen, a handkerchief, and dabbed at his eyes. “It has indeed been a pleasure to see you, dear Beth. I fear that I may not have the pleasure again. Be well and be happy, and the next time you hear a low grumble in the darkness and wonder what it could have been, spare, if you can, a fond thought for me.” Mr. Winchester tucked the handkerchief back into his ear and cleared his throat. “Now, I regret I must take my leave of you.” The rabbit hopped down the hall. Beth jumped off the table and followed. The bedroom door was ajar, and she pushed it open. The dust ruffle at the near corner rustled. Beth said the familiar words, the bedtime liturgy she’d once forgotten. “Good-night, Mr. Winchester.” She felt briefly nostalgic, remembering the nights of her childhood. Claws like ivory knives lunged out, shredding the dust ruffle. From beneath the bed a lavender blaze rushed her like a solar flare. Beth shrieked and fell flat on her butt. From the mess in the corner, she grabbed a tennis racket and whacked the bugaboo bunny on the head. Mr. Winchester chuckled, staggering into the shadows. “Good times,” he said. “Good-bye, Beth.” With that, he slipped into the darkness, and from beneath the bed, Beth heard the muffled sound of a softly closing door.  Copyright © 2006 Chandra Renais << 1 | 2 | 3 >> |
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