Creepy - The Bridge & Rabbit Season

Episode Date: August 21, 2025

The Bridge***Written by: Joseph Yenkavitch and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Rabbit Season***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The Bridge, written by Joseph Yonkevich, and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer.

I'd just taken a few bites of my donut and my usual spot at the coffee corner, sipping hot coffee to wash it down when the memory of Nick and the bridge returned. Nothing I was thinking triggered it. I'd just been staring out at the town Main Street, wet from dying snow banks in a warming march. I wasn't surprised since the same memory had been recurring more frequently lately, bubbling up for no reason. Over the years, I had managed to shove it far back in my mind,

to the point where it became diluted in a jumble of other lifetime recollections. But I never expected it to go away completely. Only a fool would think that. The times I felt the most uncomfortable, though, were when they crept into my dreams. Always the same scenario. Each moment vivid, each action unchanging. I could handle that.

But what made me want to flee from the dream was Nick's face at the moment before he was gone. I kept telling myself that's what would be expected, but it never seemed enough. So, the memory keeps happening. Can't stop it. In a way, I'd become used to it as best as anyone could. This time, though, its re-emergence felt different. Not sure why, considering how many times I've had to deal with it. Always this mental movie would run until the screen went blank, and I'd move on with my life.

Now the image wasn't fading away. I tried watching people outside without parkins, enjoying. my donut and coffee, or concentrating on the customers filling the shop. But the thought stubbornly remain, clearer than ever, and something else. Weakening my previous resolve, I felt a strong desire to go and visit the bridge again. First question, was it still there? Fifteen years isn't that long, but the area where we lived was ripe for development. While the river needed a bridge, That one was very old, even then. I'd never been back, but could still picture it, down to the unevenly placed stones.

It seemed a little silly to be traveling over a thousand miles to do something I never even remotely intended to do. What would it prove? What happened, happened. No reason to relive it and keep coming up with the same answer. I thought of Nick. A bit shorter than me, red hair, and a voice he had a hard time keeping at reasonable decibels. I suppose every kid has a special friend,

and some of those remain throughout life. Nick, fit that bill perfectly. He hung around with other kids. He was that kind of person, friendly, always willing to help with homework, and was a darn good shortstop. He could sweep up a hard hit grounder like a vacuum cleaner, and in one fluid motion take the ball from his glove and rocket it to first base. But we had a bond for some reason.

Maybe it's because we both love science and had laboratories in our cellars. Each of us, I'm sure, had parents in constant fear of something exploding. Or it could be that we both thought the same. When younger, we did stupid things together. You know, firecrackers and mailboxes, snowballs at cars, and that petty theft of candy. Who knew how this happened with kids? One thing's for sure.

He was a braver soul than I. I remember sledding down the hill that had railroad tracks running across the top. The path we slid it down went straight up at a reasonable angle until near the top. Maybe 20 feet below the tracks it took a sharp turn upwards at a stiffer angle. Nick would drag a sled to the top of the slide and slide down with a yell. But every time I went to the top, I'd look down in that sharp descent, and the slight angle to the rest of the path made my stomach turn. I never tried it, always starting from that lower level.

I did get better when we found half an oil tank that had been used for storing heating oil in houses. It made the perfect boat to float down the Cratic River. We dragged the tank and looked like it had been used to mix cement to the river's edge. I ran home and borrowed a few boards my father had left over from some project to be used as paddles. I was hesitant at first. Imagining my parents being told their dead son was found floating five miles down river. But Nick, ever the optimist, talked to me in. into what he called an adventure.

We set out on the river that I remember being colored, yellowish, from the textile mill farther upstream. We left in high spirits, but we didn't get very far. Water began seeping in from the holes we hadn't seen under the crusts of the cement, and we beached the tank a quarter of a mile downstream. It was only going to be a one-way trip anyway, and that little distance felt exciting enough. A lot of our time was spent doing experiments together, trying to be the perfect scientists, maybe make a startling discovery.

We had even tried our hand at rocketry once setting fire to the field, behind our houses. Yeah, we were inseparable, and we were there for each other. That's the important thing. Like the time my family was having some financial troubles. I had been wanting some new equipment from my lab. Naturally, at that time, my allowance had stopped. His family was doing all right. And while I never mentioned what I wanted, he somehow knew and gave me what he'd saved.

He called it alone, but I knew he'd never ask for it back. Plenty of other times we shared things. Funny, though, now looking back, it seemed more one-sided in his favor. I did help him fix it. his bike a few times, helped him with his math. I guess we weren't keeping score and knew if the knee arose, one of us would be there. Maybe I was the type of person who was a bit unsure of myself, but I did feel Nick held me up. No wonder the memory keeps coming back. It's just, I don't know. They seem so insistent. Not the remembrance of something.

you can't change so that the natural arc of your life goes on. People die and while they remember the person, life takes over and you build from there. When I got back home from the coffee corner, my wife had left a note that she was out shopping, and our daughter, Carly, hadn't returned from school. The end of my day off. I slumped into my chair and turned on the TV, but never had any intention of watching anything. It's more about background noise. Audible wallpaper, someone once called it.

To seep into my thoughts and keep the others away. But it wasn't working too well. The memory like someone constantly calling overpowered everything. I got up and poured myself a scotch. I drank it down and poured another finger before sitting back down. I was beginning to get angry. Why had the memory piled on so intense? Unlike all the other intrusions, I said out loud.

I'm sorry it happened, but it's time to put it to rest. But I knew that wasn't going to happen. I could picture him, young Nick, sitting in the chair, just staring with a look that wasn't his usual jovial so. It was a look I'd gotten from my parents when I kept saying something that wasn't true. I flung the glass at the chair, regretted it immediately. Scotch streaked over the leather. I quickly cleaned it up. Nancy didn't need to see that.

I thought about how I'd break it to her, that I needed to go back to my hometown in the bridge. I'd mentioned the story to her and brought up the dreams a few times, but decided she didn't need to be burdened with it. I figured the best thing was to say it all. I was sure she'd go along with me leaving for a day or two. It wouldn't be a big problem at work. She did understand.

I must have looked shaken because she put her hand on my cheek and kissed me lightly. Briefly, all the turmoil subsided. And I felt I could finally erase this from my mind. Not Nick. not what happened completely but the weight that was getting heavier and heavier

a weight I didn't think should be there I decided to fly into Boston and get a rental the flight was pleasant enough but I spent most of the time scotch in hand running everything through my mind once

out of the corner of my eye I caught someone looking my way from the seat across the aisle My scotch shook and the ice tinkled as I felt certain that when I turned, I'd see Nick watching me with the same expression from my dreams. It wasn't that. The man's seatmate had closed their shade and he was looking past me at the sky outside. And yet Nick was here. I guess only in my mind.

But I could feel the presence. From that moment at the coffee corner, he never left. I down the rest of my scotch and laid my head against the backrest. If Nick was going to keep invading, let him. But I was going to show the evidence. I remembered exactly when we came up with the idea of creating our own historical memory. You know, like those you hear about when a new building goes up. In the corner, they place a hollow block or something.

and in it placed artifacts from that time. A time capsule. That's it. We decided we have one for ourselves about the years we grew up, in and about ourselves. It took a bit of planning to decide on what to place in it. It wouldn't be big, so we were limited in size and amount. I decided on a comic, a tape,

which I listed all the things Nick and I did together, some coins, and a picture of the two of us standing by our labs. I guess I wanted Nick to know how much he meant to me. Nick had similar ideas, adding something about his parents. We each placed the names of girls we were stuck on. The next decision was about where to put our little time capsule. Dinking a hole didn't seem prudent,

since things were always being dug up for homes or whatever. Anyway, nature tends to grow. and the spot would become unrecognizable over time. We needed something permanent. I was the one who suggested the bridge. It may have been old even then, but for us, with its large stones in sheer bulk, it represented stability.

Once our box was properly sealed, we headed to the bridge. It was late spring, and the river was running a bit while. We knew the center of the bridge. Just near what they call a capstone in the middle was the perfect spot. Along the side of the bridge ran a wide pipe that could be easily traversed while holding onto the stones.

As usual, I was a bit apprehensive but following behind Nick and seeing how easily he moved across, I followed. We had seen an opening before in the rocks when Nick got there. He found he could move stones a bit more, which gave the sample room. With much ceremony, we slid the box in, and placed stones Nick had smartly brought so that it couldn't be seen. We admired our handiwork, and thought posterity would thank us, and I insisted that we shake hands to show our solidarity. Best friends, I said, and really meant it. I started to slide back toward the end of the bridge, as I said. The river was running wild from the runoff of a bloated lake.

I shouldn't have been looking down, but when I did, I saw a large log trailed by long spidery branches coming right at the bridge. I had a good hold when it hit. A shutter ran through the pipe we stood on. At first, Nick seemed fine. His hand on a protruding stone. I had my hand on one too. in that moment

all I can remember is seeing a strange look on his face as he fell into the water and yes that's it I can picture him looking up at me as he disappeared beneath the dark water as he was pulled under the bridge

that look on his face never changed I could barely move and it seemed to take forever to get land. I rushed home crying, yelling about what had happened. People searched all day for him and when they did find him, he was dead, tangled in the branches of the tree that had hit the bridge. So, Nick? That's it. You can go now. I'll always remember you because you were a great friend. So please, let me live out there.

the rest of my life with my family. I hailed the stewardess and asked her for another scotch. I felt pretty good, as though I had presented my case quite well, and was sure a jury wouldn't take long to come back with a verdict of not guilty. I even wondered if it was necessary to visit the bridge at all. The scotch tasted flat, as though I'd been given colored water. I called the stewardess back, but she held up the bottle she'd used and said it was the same one she poured my other drinks. I thanked her and I felt my previous euphoria dissipate.

Nick was in the empty seat beside me. No one could see him. I couldn't see him. But I knew he was there. I had no more evidence to give and waited for the plane to land. I picked up the rental and headed out for the hour drive. I did my best to tamp down any thoughts of Nick. I hadn't been back here in years. I let memories creep in. Still, it wasn't much of a homecoming. The usual excitement of seeing places that invoked youthful times remain dormant. As much as I didn't want to not think about him, Nick was too heavy a presence to ignore.

I drove on letting the outside snowless world pass by unnoticed. Passing through town, I drove down South Street. Under the train overpass, onto the Caroline, my old street. Far ahead past my old home, I could see the bridge. Behind it the dead factory buildings we had rummaged through were gone. A large field in their place. As I got closer, I could see a yellow sign on one wall of the bridge. I pulled up in front and got out.

Looking around, I could see much had changed in the neighborhood. Developers weren't wasting much time. I walked up to the sign and read it. In bold letters, it advised the public that the bridge would be torn down on a date about two weeks ahead, and that people should plan new routes. To tell you the truth, I was just fine with it. I went around the sign and down the small embankment,

so I could look at the river on the side of the bridge. I was glad to see the long pipe still hugged its side and could make out the spot that held our capsule, glancing around. I saw that there was no one wandering in backyards or in the field ahead. There wasn't any snow left, but the lake was still gushing out plenty of water, keeping the river high. The pipe was dry, though. I stared at it in the spot with our box. I hadn't planned on inching my way out there.

But I sensed Nick again, and I knew I had to go out there and finish all this. Just staring across the pipe, I easily envisioned both of us standing there. Testing the footing for any slipperiness, I stepped on to the metal pipe. I gripped the cool stones and kept my face toward them as I inched along. Water rushed below, slapping against the side of the bridge. I finally looked down. The dark flow made me hesitate for a moment. And I questioned going any further.

But I sense Nick, stronger than ever. Not some memory, but that he stood on the pipe ahead of me. Carefully I moved on and stopped at the middle. My hand on the spot that held the box. I tugged at the loose stones. and they came out easily. The box was still there, but the metal was now almost completely rusty.

The sides and the top mostly gone. Contents are mushy. The two coins we'd include it sat in the pulp. I managed to pull out a piece of a photo of us, but it just showed a little of the lab. The tape was a goner. I pulled the mess out, pocketing the coins, and dropped the rest into the river.

An air rush of water against the bridge sent up a spray, cold water hitting me like a slap. My hand clutched the stone harder as I raised my other one. I was sure I heard a sneer. I glanced up at the top of the bridge and over to my left expecting to see someone. But no one was there. Then all my thoughts left,

my head clearing away everything, so that only one thought remained. Maybe my mind projected it. But clear as day, I saw both of us standing there on the pipe all those years ago, clearer than all the memories I've dredged up over the years trying to understand Nick's never letting go of me. Nick turned to me, after the box was sealed in, and he affectionately patted the stones. Yes, I remembered that before, and I could have. I couldn't see why I needed to see it again.

And again, the same tree and the shutter coursing through the bridge and along the pipe. I could feel it now, even as a memory. And my hand tightened on the stone even harder. Nick's face didn't feel like a memory anymore. He stood there. Certainly a concoction of my mind. and I saw his arm that didn't grasp a stone rising. My hand on a good curl of rock felt secure as the pipe shook.

My other arm hung beside me as Nick's free arm rose towards me. I now felt the fear I had at that moment. Up things off balance even though I knew then I had firmly clutched a stone. In that moment. We both stood a foot apart And that So when Nick's face tightened in a worry And yes

Now I could see his body in an awkward angle And his arm rising parallel to the pipe Reaching for me Why hadn't I remembered that before His hand got closer to me I could see his eyes wide Fingers stretched tight And

my free hand rose swiftly. I feel the fear even more now as our hands momentarily were inches apart. But mine was moving swiftly, driven by fear, passing his hand until mine clutched like a bird's talent onto a rock beside my other hand. My face pressed against the cold stone. My breathing and gasps. I turned. I must have.

because that's when I saw the look on Nick's face. The look I'd always remembered seeing. I had thought before it was a strange look, but of course it wasn't. His face had twisted into an expression that was a question. Why? It asked. And that same puzzled look remained as his foot slid off the pipe, and he fell back first into the water.

As I watched his mindful creation disappear into the muddy river, it hollowed out all the finest thoughts I've had about how he was my best friend, the one I'd always be there for. Creepy Presents Rabbit Season, written by known of consequence and narrated by need to fort. My parents are always making comments on my inquisitive nature, as they put it, happy that I I'm so curious about the world. At least that's what they say, but I often wonder how much they mean that. I'm noticing more and more that adults don't always mean what they say. I don't understand why, but I imagine I'll come to get it when I'm older.

One of the things Dad loves to share with me are the cartoons from when he was a kid. His favorites were the ones about the coyote chasing after the roadrunner. For me, it's the ones with the gray rabbit and the black duck. It kind of reminds me of when I'm with my friend Danny. He thinks he's always right, but most of the time he's not. Go figure, I'm the rabbit in that situation. Always outsmarting Danny. Really, it's not that hard to do.

I think it's because of my mom that I like rabbits so much. She likes to spend time outside a lot and often makes us go camping. Dad doesn't like camping, but goes to make Mom happy. Dad does a lot of things just to make Mom happy. At least, that's what he claims, but I'm not supposed to mention that to her. The first camping trip I can remember, there'd been so many rabbits around. I chased after them, desperately wanting to know how their fur felt. I never managed to catch one, so I still don't know.

Mom says rabbit fur is so much softer than a dog's. When she was my age, she had pet rabbits. I'm not allowed to have a pet because Dad is allergic. I wonder if that's one of those things he says that he doesn't mean. I love going camping. I'm old enough now that I'm allowed to wander off from camp as long as I don't go too far. Though what I think is too far is different than what Dad does. To him, the fridge is too far from the couch sometimes, usually when he's watching sports.

I don't care for those games, and neither does Mom. Getting Dad to go camping during football season is nearly impossible. That's why Mom and I are camping alone this weekend. Like I always do when we start setting up camp, I search the ground for rocks or sticks near where we're setting up the tents. This trip is extra special because I have a brand new tent. The last one got ruined in a storm. The wind was blowing so hard that a branch fell off a tree and tore right through the top. While I'm tossing small rocks and sticks away, I notice a small pile of black pebble-sized things at the edge of the grass line.

I get really excited because they look like rabbit pellets, and I tell mom, Oh, sweetie, those aren't rabbit pellets. Those are deer droppings. I find it's so strange that an animal that much bigger has such similar droppings. But it gets my mind going. Are deer what rabbits become when they get older? I mean, look at the difference in size between me and my parents. I lose that train of thought once I've declared the area clear.

After we get the tent set up, I grab the little. mom's sleeping bag to help her get her stuff inside. As I grab it, my hand touches something hard and it begins to shake. It's so unexpected that I drop it in surprise. Mom is quick to pick it up and pulls out this bright pink stick that's the source of the rapid movement. I ask what it is. It's just a massager, sweetie. It's to work out the tension in my body.

I've got more questions, but Mom just tells me not to minimize it. mention anything to dad about her wand. There's a lot of things I'm not supposed to tell either of them. Once I have everything set up how I want it in my tent, Mom and I have sandwiches for lunch. We don't have anything planned for this trip like we sometimes do, which is music to my ears. I do like the things Mom plans out,

like that care tour we did a few months ago, but nothing planned means I can wander around and explore as much as I want. Without dad around, Mom always has that smelly bag with the green stuff inside. When she starts listening to her headphones and smokes, I can go off as far as my legs can take me. As that stinky but familiar smell invades the area, I wave by to Mom before taking to the trees. Half the time, she doesn't bother to wave back. But she does this time, a big grin on her face as she blows out smoke. She coughs a lot when she does that, making me wonder why she does it in the first place.

Since it's one of those things I'm not supposed to mention to Dad, I don't ask too many questions. Really, the less I know, the better. One of the things I do on my way into the woods is to find a good stick. There's a lot to think about when looking for one. A good stick needs to be strong. somewhat straight and feel good in your hands. One second, it could be a walking stick. The next, a sword, sometimes even a gun.

You are really only limited to your imagination. In a span of a day, a stick can be as many as a hundred different things, mostly weapons of some kind. Right now, the stick in my hands is a shotgun. You see? I'm hunting rabbits. The things I'm hunting for are constantly changing. In no time at all, I go from looking for rabbits to being stalked by an invisible predator in the trees to

to sword fighting with a one-handed pirate. After the span of five minutes, I'm a wizard on the hunt for a rare ingredient for a spell I want to cast. It's a freezing spell. I want to use on the rabbits in the forest, so I can finally touch one. Just like that, I'm back to hunting. rabbits. It's not like I get bored and just move on to the next thing. Thoughts are always just randomly popping into my head and instead of fighting against them, I just go with it. Danny thinks I should write some of it down because it would make interesting stories. I don't because

most of it wouldn't make sense to other people, and I'm not good with words. Writing makes me think about school and I hate school. They try to teach you things and make you do hard stuff. All I want to do is play outside and have fun. At least I'm not like dad who always has his butt glued to the couch. I mean, video games are fun when it's raining or too hot outside. The last thing I want is to have a big belly like him. As far as school goes, the only subjects I like our gym, which I'm told doesn't count in science. And not all science, but when they teach us things about animals in nature, I always pay attention. I hate math and English. Reading is pretty boring, too, and history makes me sleepy. Maybe when I grow up, I'll be a park ranger. I already know

a lot of the plants I need to avoid, and a bunch of the animals, too. For a while, Mom was teaching me about snakes, bears, and other woodland creatures to avoid. I hadn't wanted to, but she said I needed to know these things if I wanted to be allowed to wander off on my own. Now that I think of it, she pretty much stopped teaching me when she started smoking that green stuff. While dodging energy blasts from the unseen predator, my foot catches on a tree root, and I go tumbling. I hadn't realized I was on a hill until that moment because I roll far and farther down. By the time I come to a stop, I must have rolled like a mile. Not that I really know how far that is. The first thing I do is look around for my stick. It's a really good stick.

One of the best I've had in a while, and I'd hate to lose it just because I fell. The problem is, I lost hold of it almost as soon as I fell and I don't see it anywhere. Man, Finally noticing I've got dirt and leaves covering me, I brush myself off. Mom is going to be pretty mad if I come back to camp this dirty. Well, there's only so much I can do. That's what I get for wearing a white shirt under my open flannel. At least the flannel and jeans are dark enough to hide most of the dirt. I learned a long time ago not to wear shorts when exploring the forest.

Jeans at least protect your legs from getting scratched up. I don't think I've ever had a scab. I haven't picked that. Mom's always getting on me about that, too, saying I'm going to get an infection one day. I don't know what an infection is, but I know it requires going to the doctor, and I hate that. It always hurts going to the doctor. It doesn't look like I took such a big tumble, and I don't notice any new tears or holes in my clothes. Mom probably wouldn't notice until she does my laundry.

She's always kind of out of it when she smokes, and I really don't understand why. The last time I came back early from exploring without dad around, I tried asking mom for something to eat. At first, it was like she couldn't tell I was there, but when she finally did, nothing she said made any sense. It didn't help that she started laughing for no reason. While I was glad she was in a good mood, it was still a little scary. I thought to tell Dad about it when we got back home, but I didn't.

Mom would have gotten really mad, and it would probably be the end of my exploring. Mom tends to take things away from me when she's mad. The way down I came doesn't look all that steep, but getting back up doesn't look easy either. I'd have an easier time if I had my stick, but I should give up hope of finding it. As Dad would say, it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack. That's another one of those things I don't understand. Why would you be looking for a needle in a haystack? Wouldn't it be easier to get a new needle?

Making my way back in the direction of camp, I keep an eye out for a new stick. So far, the only thing I found would make a good pistol or dagger. Maybe one of those really small shotguns they use in crime movies that Dad likes. As I take aim on the corrupt cop that's responsible for my brother's death, something that happened in the last movie I watched with Dad, I hear a strange chittering noise. Looking around, I see a very large fallen over tree that would be fun to climb, but the noise seems to be coming from the other side of it. This doesn't sound like the noise of a typical woodland creature, but at the same time, it sounds familiar.

Approaching the falling tree slowly, I gripped the stick as if it really was a gun. Normally the sound of animals doesn't scare me, but for some reason, this noise does. Not enough to keep me from investigating, but enough that I'm being cautious. The thought of the doctor's painful poking and prodding is all the motivation I need. Seriously, that guy is almost as bad as the dentist. My mind races with all kinds of possibilities as I approach the trunk that's nearly as tall as I am. With my free hand, I reach out to the bark and find it both rough and brittle. The tree has been this way for a while.

If I were to try and climb it, I think it would break under my weight. Trying not to make too much noise, I move further up the tree to where the trunk thins out so I can see over. But there are a lot of branches this way. By the time I get to a point where I can see, I'm so well hidden that even my mom wouldn't be able to see me here. At least the trunk is stronger over there. I'd to climb up to see anything, and I'm crouched as low as I can get. The downside to being this well hidden is that I can't see very much on the other side.

It takes me a minute to spot anything on the ground, and the only reason I do is because, what's there moves. Rabbit fur blends so well with the forest floor, but now that I can see them, I can make them out well. There's a bunch of them, all gathered around something larger. That first, I don't understand what I'm seeing.

It has fur that much is clear. It looks to be the same colors as all the rabbits surrounding it. Whatever it is, It's at least five times the size of the rabbits, if not more. The other thing I know for sure is that it's the source of the chittering sound. The more I look at it, the more features I can make out. They're the eyes, those big ears, the little chibunk-like face, and... Oh, wait a minute.

It's a rabbit. A really big rabbit, but a rabbit. This is the largest rabbit I've ever seen. I didn't even know they could get that big. It also appears to be eating something, which is why that noise sounded oddly familiar. It's what rabbits sound like when they're eating something crunchy, like root vegetables.

I don't know if rabbits really eat carrots like that one does in Dad's cartoons, but whatever this thing is eating isn't a carrot. The coloring's all wrong for a carrot, but the shape isn't far off. It's really big just like the thing eating it, but I don't think one has to do with the other. There's also a rather strong stench to the area that is all wrong for the forest. I smelled something like it a few times before.

It's when Dad is grumbling about the HOA and needs to do the work in the front yard. And not the usual mowing, but something with a small garden bed. The tiny bushes there are always done. dying, but that's probably because Dad never remembers to water them. Whenever he's messing with it, he usually uses this fertilizer that looks like blue crystals and stinks like chemicals. That's kind of like what this very large rabbit smells like, either the rabbit or what it's eating.

This is probably the first time I've seen rabbits but don't want to touch them. That big one is probably about half my size, and I hate to think what those teeth do to me. Mom says that rabbits don't typically bite, but when they do, it really hurts. That and wild ones can have something called rabies. I don't know what that is, but I get the feeling it's something very bad. It doesn't take long for the massive rabbit to finish eating whatever it's chomping on. I half expect the other rabbits to give it another one, but they don't. Instead, the big one begins to violently shake like that wand mom has. The little rabbit starts scurrying around,

not trying to get away from whatever is happening to the big one, but to cover it in some kind of blankets. I wouldn't think something with fur would need a blanket since it's not that cold, but the big guy does look like he's fallen asleep now that it stopped shaking. The blanket they begin to cover the big guy in is, Weird little strips. It's a white-gray color that makes me think of the stuff a caterpillar crawls into before becoming a butterfly.

After a few minutes, they've got it completely covered and start dragging it into the farthest cluster of branches on the tree I'm in. Thankfully, it's far away from me, but I can't see what they're doing at this point. Before too long, all the normal-sized rabbits scamper off, disappearing into the forest. I give it a couple minutes to make sure the rabbits aren't coming back before I come out of hiding. As I do, I trip over one of the branches at my feet and nearly tumble to the ground again.

I managed to catch myself on one of the thicker branches. Good thing it holds because there's something gross on the ground, just on their side of the tree. Avoiding that nasty pile, I land on that side of the tree and get a closer look. That chemical odor is stronger here And the wrapping that went on the big rabbit is here too But covered in some black goop I make sure to stay away from it For all I know

That could be the rabies I was told about Moving farther down I find what I assume is the wrapped rabbit But there's a problem There are a bunch of these things Each looking bigger than the last I can practically hear my parents yelling at me as I reach out to touch the largest of them, but I stopped short.

There's heat coming from it, as if I'll get burned if I touch. The sounds of rustling come from behind, and I quickly dive through a space under the tree. I hadn't seen it from the other side and make it through before the rabbits return. Only the movement hadn't been rabbits. Three deer, one with large antlers, make their way over. I watch as the one with antlers makes its way to the wrapped rabbit. It sniffs at the sack, even licks it, but rears back at the taste. I don't imagine it tastes better than it smells.

The deer lowers its head and jabs at it with its antlers, managing to stab into it. It scampers off with the other two. to continue looking for something to eat. I'm expecting that to be the end of it, but then the sack the deer stabbed begins to shake. It swings from side to side where it's hung up, and then something tears out of the hole the deer made. Or that black goop splashes the ground

as an animal snout pokes out of the covering. Slowly, I watch as it starts coming out, and it's a lot bigger than I have. expect. The rabbit went in half my size, but what comes out is the same size as a deer. Antlers even start coming out of its head as I watch. I didn't know they come out that fast. The new deer takes only a moment to get its feet under it before taking off. It doesn't disappear into the forest like the regular rabbits did, but it goes to join the deer. I guess the one with antlers was letting this one know it was time to get up.

Kind of like when mom comes into my room to wake me up for school, though I don't run up to my mom after and headbutter in the side like this thing does. Oh man, those antlers just went right through the other deer. It's stuck on the new one's head and now it's shaking its head like Danny's dog when it's playing with a chew toy. Blood and other stuff starts flying all over the place. and before long, the deer is ripped in half and falling to the ground. You'd think the other deer would have run off, but like me, they're frozen in fear. Now the new deer is playing with them, trying to jump over one of them, but not really getting there.

I am really grossed out now. As I get to my feet and run back toward camp, I decide this will be one of those things I don't mention my parents. It's not like I really understand everything I saw, but even I know a violent death when I see one. That rabbit slash deer didn't like being so rudely woken up. Though, I guess I was right about rabbits growing up to be deer. The droppings don't lie. I wonder what other small animals become once they grow up. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit.

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