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taken by BunRabs.”
    “Just about this time of year, poor dear. Right around the time of the vernal equinox. They came, like they always come, from the east. Vicious, barbaric brutes, slaughtering anything and anyone who got in their way.” A visible shiver went down the old dame’s backbone, causing her to half-rise from her sitting position before settling back down.
    “BunRabs,” Doris said, fixing her aunt with an unblinking gaze of disbelief. “You’re telling me that BunRabs are barbaric, vicious brutes.” Doris turned her head back and forth, then refixed her gaze on Clementine.
    “Yes, dear. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?”
    Doris had read somewhere, probably in some magazine she had found lying about, that you weren’t supposed to shatter the delusions of the mentally deranged, and she imagined that the advice applied equally well to elderly old biddies with clear signs of dementia. But the whole concept of killer BunRabs was so ridiculous, she couldn’t help herself.
    “Aunt Clementine, I’m sorry, but that’s just silly. I’ve seen BunRabs, I see them most days of my life. They’re peaceful . . . even adorable. I can’t imagine one of them attacking anybody.”
    Clementine clicked her tongue. “One attacked the President of the United States of America, one did, years before you were born. And he’s protected by Secret Service men with machine pistols and helicopters and everything. It was all over the papers.”
    Doris shook her head. “The President’s security personnel
probably just overreacted. I’m sure it wasn’t a conspiracy or even an intentional attack. More likely just a misunderstood instinctual reaction to sudden movement or something.”
    Clementine repositioned herself with an abrupt flounce. “You should really learn your history better. It swam out to attack the President while he was canoeing. The Secret Service guys never saw that coming! It swam out and hissed at him and attacked, nostrils flaring and teeth flashing, that’s what the President said. He had to beat it off with his paddle.”
    “They swim?” Doris’ eyes opened wide. “They hiss?” She shook her head. “They flare their nostrils?” Oh, yeah, she knew that last part already. It’s practically the only thing they do.
    “They surely do. The government’s got pictures and everything. April 20, 1979. Like I said, BunRabs get mean around the time of the vernal equinox.”
    Clementine might be crazy, but she wouldn’t make up stuff that could be checked with a quick Internet search, even if all Doris could do was hunt and peck on a laptop keyboard. But even if it was true, it was still incredible, unbelievable.
    “BunRabs?” Doris asked in confirmation.
    “I’ve heard tell,” said Clementine softly, as if in confidence, “that even demons are afeared of ’em.”
    “Demons . . . afraid of BunRabs,” murmured Doris in a daze of disbelief and confusion. “The cute little adorable furry things that hang out near the garden and do nothing but eat carrots and . . . flare their nostrils?”
    Clementine bobbed her head. “Didn’t you ever wonder why they do that?”
    “Flare their nostrils?” Doris was growing more and more bewildered and, truth be told, a little scared.

    “Eat carrots.”
    “I don’t know,” babbled Doris. “They’re vegetarians? The beta-carotene makes them see better in the dark?”
    Clementine gave a squawking, guttural laugh. “If they’re vegetarians, what do they need to see so well in the dark for, anyway?”
    That really ruffled Doris’ feathers. “Carnivorous? You’re telling me that BunRabs are carnivorous?” Her body shook involuntarily in irritation and fear, but she quickly tamped down her growing dread. “I’ve never seen them eat anything but carrots and leaves and berries . . . maybe a little grass.”
    Clementine shrugged her buffalo wings. “Most times they do, but when the season comes, the taste for flesh grows. Makes them