I used to love my Funny Furry Bunnies.

They would always come when I was scared, or lonely. Sometimes when I was in trouble, they'd keep me company. From the closet, the onslaught of soft, lucky, little feet would come parading to my bedroom.

The Bunnies would come in a horde. Like a wiggling carpet of white and purple. Their fluffy little tales were a gentle poof of lavender always racing to keep up with their chubby yet swift rumps, white as snow. They were so cute, so loveable.

I must have been around seven years old when I first started seeing them. At first it was just one. The strangest little ball of fluff. As it hesitantly approached me, to cuddle, I could see it was undulating a ripple of purple. Like a gentle ribbon that constantly glided down its body, from nose to tail. I suppose it was testing the waters, because the next night there were at least a dozen. All rippling purple and white, all eager to snuggle up with me in the sanctuary of my bed.

I vaguely understand now, with the help of Doctor Terence, why they started visiting me to begin with. Although I still can’t fathom the earlier events with much clarity. Trauma can be like that. It’s a fickle and inconsistent miasma that lays dormant, hidden and unknown for what feels like an eternity. Then it bounces up and nips at your ankles when you least expect it. Or worse.

From what I can recall, I was always afraid of my mother’s boyfriend, Hank. I don’t really remember why, but I know he was good at pretending to be nice. I think I saw a side of him that no one else did. How do I know this information with such vaguery? I remember it because the Bunnies remembered it. Perhaps they knew more, but this is all they wanted me to know.

Now, from the objective facts, and what I’ve been told since, Hank was murdered. No one knew who, or why at the time. No one except me of course; me and the Bunnies.

Hank was found stuffed into my closet, after having been missing for a few days. I didn’t know he was in there, truly. I noticed a bad smell coming from the closet. I dared not open it, as I knew the bunnies were shy. They only wanted to come out when they were ready, and not a moment earlier.

After telling my mother about the smell, she came to investigate. Once she caught a whiff of the putrid air around the closet, she immediately ordered me to wait in the kitchen.

I don’t remember if she screamed. She could have, it certainly wouldn’t have been unreasonable. What I do remember, was the police showing up. They were very nice to me, but the bunnies didn’t like how much time they spent in my room, in the closet. They told me so, a few days later, when I was allowed to sleep in my room again.

Some months later, a storage lot that Hank had rented out for years ran dry of his money. According to their ‘policies’ they tried to contact him, to no avail. They proceeded to empty out the contents of the lot, and uncovered what was described as a “kiddie porn dungeon”. Now that I’m older, I can’t help but wonder if there were pictures of me in there.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when things turned sour, between the Bunnies and I. I was only a child, after all. I started growing resentment toward the world. Nothing intense, or existential. More like the typical angst acquired through one’s pre-teen years. I always felt like no one could understand me, no one even tried. I suppose it sounds childish, but even at that age, I still clung to my Funny Furry Bunnies. They were all I really had, after all.

I met my first boyfriend, around that time. Stan was his name. He was a good person, deep down, but we’re all a little rambunctious and mixed up at 13, right?  Anyways, Stan and I had a bad breakup. He told me that he was falling in love with my best friend, Gwen. She told me she didn’t like him that way, but I started seeing her less and less. Then I started seeing her with Stan.

The Funny Furry Bunnies were the only ones who really listened. The only ones who really cared. I knew they felt upset, because I felt upset. Things took a twisted turn after I caught Stan and Gwen together.

There was a spot in the parklands that my father took me to when I was really young, before he passed away. It was a ways off the trails, but there was a beautiful little creek. When I was about twelve years old, I rediscovered it, and made it my special place. My Secret Water Spot. Sometimes, somehow, the bunnies would join me there. They always knew how to find me.

I showed the spot to Gwen. We’d promised to be friends forever. It was a poignant betrayal, that I not only caught my ex boyfriend with my best friend, but at my safe haven too. I never thought I’d trust anyone, ever again.

Despite my anger and frustration, I wasn’t happy at all to find out what happened to them. Their remains were discovered at the Secret Water Spot. Apparently, their bodies had been “torn to shreds” and “feasted on” by wild animals, everyone assumed it was rats, but I knew better.

I told the Bunnies to leave me alone, that I never wanted to see them again. And they listened, they stayed away. For a while.

Whether they intended for me to be caught, I can’t truly say, but deep down I really think they were trying to help me, as always.

The final victim was my landlord, Barry, just a few weeks ago. I was a little behind on my rent (only one paycheck out), but he was pressing me really hard about it. He always made uncomfortable little hints at me. He even outright asked me if I “take it in the ass” once.

After a few days of him hounding me, he offered to “Let it slide,” if I’d be willing to “let it slide..” I tried to shrug it off, and play dumb, but he gabbed me. I slapped him, slammed the door, and chain-locked it.

The next morning, I woke to find one of my Funny Furry Bunnies, cuddled up next to my head. At first I was happy to see it. As much as I’d hated what they’d done, I still missed the love and unconditional support. It didn’t dawn on me until I got out of bed.

“Why would they come back? Why now?”

My mind began to race.

“Who’s it going to be…?”

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t need to go far. In the entranceway, propped against the door, was the mutilated, half eaten corpse of Barry. The hallway itself was a horror show. You could almost imagine exactly what happened. The nawed bits of flesh on the floor where the first of the Bunnies attacked. The bloody streaks on the walls, where he tried to prevent falling into the sea of ravenous, gnashing teeth as he hopelessly struggled for the door.

When being interviewed by the police, I decided to lay all my cards on the table. I told them all about the Bunnies. About Hank, and about Stan and Gwen. They were much more willing to hear me out than I was expecting. Of course, they didn’t believe me.

Which brings me to my cell. Better than a prison, but ultimately just as damning. The doctors poke and prod me, and force me full of pills. Sometimes, I’m asked to “relive” certain experiences that I don’t remember.

I haven’t been here long, but I guess the world is a safer place with me here. I don’t know what the Bunnies are up to, but I know they can’t harm people. Not through me, at least.

As I feel the loneliness settle in, after my last session with Doctor Terence, I see a quick and tiny shadow under the door. Then a few more.

I get down on my hands and knees, as a pit forms in my stomach. Looking forward, through the crack under the door, I see an army of Funny Furry legs.