Run Rabbit

Warning: Religious themes and graphic content.

All day, every day, August Wittman is accompanied by the ticking of the clocks. They maintain tempo in his monotonous timetable. The clocks exist as a metronome, producing a steady beat for August to operate through. He reinstalls the weight to the first chain of the old grandfather clock, the minute-hand pulsing as though blood was being pumped into its mechanical heart. August's own body comes into synchronization with the clock, the pendulum swinging as though an extension of his breath. All of the clocks and watches must be functioning at the same time to create a sensation of equilibrium. And all of the individual parts must be in perfect condition to exist as one homeostatic organism. If a clock runs too quickly, August's heart begins to race. He gets nervous and fearful that it will disrupt the balance with its ecstatic pace. If a clock is running too slowly, it means that it is losing its time. A slow clock never fails to sadden August, but he quickly regains his content once he fixes it. 

August builds and repairs clocks and watches for the townsfolk from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., except on weekends. He will reside with friends and family on Saturday, heading down to the Church on Sunday. When attending morning mass, August is eager to kneel before God and repent his many sins, despite living simply. Dare August contests that he is not so dissimilar from a supernatural being himself. And although he is a man and must pertain to his manly duties, his feminine side radiates in that he exhibits a motherly sensation when granting life to his mechanical creations. The townsfolk shove reconciliation down his throat, cleansing his mind, body, and soul in an effort to cure the treacherous, rotten, repulsive evil that is humanity. 

At home, he tends to his sickly grandmother while his siblings help out with chores around the household. Times are tough for the Wittman family, as August's mother passed away during a failed childbirth which ended up killing the fetus as well. But one day, he aspires to have children of his own. Normal, healthy children, crafted from flesh and bones with the strength to endure life's adversities. 

****

Sitting across from him in the confession chamber is a fifty-eight-year-old priest named Father Buchanan. A dark cross is nailed to the wall on the left of August. He glances at it quickly before speaking. 

"Cleanse me father, for I have sinned."

"Let us hear your confession boy."

"Father… two years ago, I was involved with a girl. Remi. We engaged in premarital sexual intercourse. It was so unholy of me, I deserve to be-"

"Hold on there my dear boy, that was a long time ago. I remember your confession well. The lord has already forgiven you. We've gone through this grave sin before. But is there anything else you wish to confess?"

A nearby clock begins to tick at an alarming rate, although August is unaware of its location.

"Well, last confession, I skipped over one of the hail mary's."

August begins to tap his foot, hoping to drown out the sound of the clock. Father Buchanan lets out a light chuckle. 

"Son, you know that God will not judge you for your actions, as long as your repent is firmly pledged. Now, what are your sins?"

The straining gaze of the dark cross is relentless, like an intense light beam of conviction that exposes the great depths from within the soul of August. 

"Oh Father." He lets out a choppy, heavy breath. "I had… cravings. No. Just once. I saw, I saw Tina."

"Tina?" Buchanan asked intensely. 

"Yes. And I was… attracted to her. I imagined various sinful scenarios in my head."

"August," Buchanan leaned forward with wide ghastly eyes that contained curtains of bloodshot running down them. "Tina is thirteen years of age. You're nearly a decade older!"

Tick-tock, Tick-tock. 

"What other cravings do you possess?"

August leers at his hands.

"Punish me!"

Within an instant, August is hoisted out of the confession chamber by three servants and brought into the center of the Church. They strip him of his clothes and place a log under his chest so that his back is rounded. 

"Ten lashes. No more. He's a good kid," Buchanan utters from a distance. 

August braces his body and clenches his teeth with every strike. Tilting his head upward, he bears witness to his crucified savior, looking down upon his filthy little child.

The servant readies his stance to deliver the final lashing. Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong. The ringing of the church bells radiate throughout the town. Everything comes to a halt as the servant drops his whip. They exit the church and make their way to the center of town. It is the hour of gathering for the townsfolk, where they will all eat their Sunday meal together. August finds his family and sits next to them where they wait to be served. Bread and potatoes, the same as every week. Talking is forbidden so they sit in silence, except for the conclusion of the meal where Mayor Richter will give his usual speech. 

August looks across the table at his mature, composed siblings as they delicately nibble at their food like well-trained rats. It is a conditioned obedience such that only a feeble-minded being suspended at the mercy of his controller would exhibit. Perhaps he was being too harsh on his siblings, after all their upbringing was strictly forced upon them. And for only a moment did he feel sorrow for his younger siblings, until his senses struck him on the temple, and he insisted to himself that their exemplary behavior was something to be proud of. 

As they continued eating, August turned his attention to a beautiful woman, one whom he had been attracted to for the past few months. Her name was Desiree, and he fancied a loving relationship between the two of them, sometimes spending his spare time picking dandelions out of blind attraction . Desiree was a few years older than him, reserved and mysterious as she was appealing, there was an unknown factor about her aura that made her so intriguing to August. Yet, it was tradition in his village for all marriages to be arranged. And the girl he was to marry, well… there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with her. Her name was Rachel, she was the same age as August. A lovely, plain girl who adhered to the values of their society without question, who on paper was the most exquisite candidate for any young man of August’s stature. There was no mystery, no uncertainty with Rachel.  

As they all settled into their meals, Father Buchanan gathered their attention, it was time for the prayer. Everyone kneeled down and shut their eyes, awaiting Buchanan’s deliverance. 

“My gracious lord, we beseech thee with favor upon our humble village. And though we are not worthy of  thy grace and kindness, we greatly beg for mercy. Make it a blessing and benefit to all worshipers, from the triple origin, we direct those to follow thee in all their ways.”

When August was home he headed into his study and observed the newly refurbished grandfather clock. He stared at its door, observing the swinging of the pendulum that commanded his pupils. He permitted his eyes to wander elsewhere, and eventually, the clock beckoned him, and his body floated forward. 

****

August has been walking down a delightful path of greenery, where he approaches a clearing. Pleasant, popping hills, seemingly bouncing to and fro, resemble that of frisky waves along an island horizon. This is no island, however. In the distance, a systematic cluster of colorful homes with congenial radiation, yet a hint of disturbia molded by the stillness of the environment. There is almost no breeze, although the air is cool and crisp. Beyond the houses, a linear passage of white windmills. They turn round and round, at a moderate pace, despite a thin, ghost-quiet atmosphere that seemingly revels in the disillusioned, semi-ominous mood that now compels August Wittman. Semi-ominous because, well, the area is quite charming. This landscape, this outwardly plane that seems like home, but is not. 

Beneath his feet lies a patch of dandelions, and August… stares at them. Then, he picks one from off the ground. He stares more intensely at this individual dandelion, examining its perfectly assembled petals and robust stem. A true resemblance of nature, its raw, sustained beauty. The florals are so soft, and the leaves are abundant and magnificent.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!"

August quickly looks up. A young girl, likely around his age, is standing near the clearing where he had walked out. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

"Am-am I not allowed to grab these? Should I not be over here?"

"Wait, are you not from here?"

"Um, I-uh-"

"You’re a newcomer, aren't you?"

"Well… uh, yes."

"My name is Sophie. What's yours?"

"August."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, August."

A newly bred sensation was beginning to swell the sporadic backrooms of August's mind. 

"Y'know, those have just recently bloomed," Sophie remarked. 

"R-really now? I hadn't noticed."

"Yes. And I ought to take you to my home, seeing as you have nowhere else to go."

"This place is odd. I've never been here before, but it's somehow… vaguely familiar. Where even are we?"

"Why, we're in Meadow Acres of course. And it's always existed. It's just been here. You're finally awake now."

****

Sophie's home was painted head-to-toe in a vibrant, cotton candy color coating. It overlooked a town from atop an enormous hill. 

"Now August," Sophie began, "About what I was saying earlier with the dandelions. Don't pick them." 

"Why not?"

"Just don't. No matter how pretty they are. That's not how people like to do things here."

"Well, are they dangerous?"

"August… It's not my decision. But you'll see, there's much more to experience here."

He nodded with acknowledgment. 

"That's not all though. If someone offers you tea, politely decline. The tea here should not be drunk. Also, if you see a tall man, with no face, walk away and do not stare. If he approaches you or tries to follow you, run. Now, I see that you have a watch-"

"Hold on a minute. What's happening here? I can't drink tea, and there's a man- it sounds like I shouldn't be here." 

"Well don't put it up with me. Put it up with yourself. Are you supposed to be here?"

"I'm not sure."

They continued to walk towards the pink house, where August was overcome with a sensation of bliss, a sort of nostalgia, though it seemed too perfect. Deceptively charming, that was the phrase, and all that he was viewing through his neophyte eyes felt like memories that had been clasped into his skull by an unforeseen hand. Upon reaching the pale door of the pink house, Sophie let out three knocks. The door was swung open by a little boy sucking on his thumb. 

"Hello Mitchell. Is father back from the hunt?"

"Yes, but there's another white-tailed rabbit today."

"Oh. Is that so? Well come on in August. Don't be shy now."

The interior was very welcoming, though slightly cramped, considering a handful of children were scampering about. They stepped into the kitchen area, where to August's surprise, a woman, presumably in her mid-thirties, was breastfeeding an infant in a rocking chair. 

"Oh, dear god," August covered his eyes in astonishment. 

"What's this? Sophie you've brought a young man into our household, how lovely."

"Yes Mother. And he's not from around here."

"Really? Oh, honey, no need to cover your eyes, it's alright. We're a very open, honest town here."

"I apologize," August said. "It seems I have a lot to get used to."

Sophie's mother gestured towards his wrist. 

"That's quite a nice watch you got on there."

"Oh well, I'm actually a watchmaker. Uh clocks too. Clock and watchmaker." 

Sophie’s mother let out a strangely infectious laugh, where August could not help but nervously grin in response.

"Oh my what an interesting occupation.”

“Uh, thank you, Ms.”

“Please… call me Mother.” 

Mother looks August up and down with judging eyes. 

“Well, you certainly seem like a strong, able man. How tall are you?”

“I'm a little over six feet.”

“And my oh my, those arms. You’ve got a decent frame on you.”

August is taken aback by the strange compliments. 

“Well, thank you mother,” he replies. 

“Sophie, why don’t you show August all the firewood we have outside. Maybe he can put those big muscles of his to work.”

Sophie leads August outside, Mitchell following close behind. She shows August her father’s shed, various weapons and traps are scattered about. 

"So when does your father come back from his hunt?,” he asked.

“ I'm sure there's plenty of delicious wildlife to be cooked around here." 

"Oh, he's not hunting the wildlife August," she said with a profoundly lighthearted chuckle.  

Sophie excuses herself, and August finds himself chopping firewood with the peculiar company of her younger brother. Mitchell’s blank gaze exerted a strange sensation from within him, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what his intentions were. He was not staring in a menacing way, he was just, mousey, overtly curious as a child normally is. 

August continued to chop the wood, and while doing so he noticed Mitchell bending over and lifting up a small rock that was smashed into the ground. He started picking the worms from off the bottom of the rock and eating them. August was lost for words and looked down in shock as Mitchell carelessly scarfed down the vermin of the dirt. 

Suddenly August hears a voice from behind him, on the other side of the fence. 

“Come on now. Good girl!”

August put down the ax and headed for the fence. He peeked his head over and expected to see a woman, likely middle aged, taking her dog out for a walk in her yard. And while August’s prediction on the age of the woman was accurate, he would be distraught in knowing that she was in fact not walking a dog, rather a human. On the other end of the chain leash was a much younger girl. August watched as the young girl was forced around by the woman, the leash tightly wrapped around her neck. 

“See… it's not so hard to be a good girl is it? If you continue to be good, I won’t bring out the muzzle. How does that sound?”

The young girl timidly nodded in obedience. August slowly backed away from the fence, his breath slowly growing heavier, as though a metal weight hung from his lungs by a thin rope. He turned his neck slightly behind him, Sophie, her mother, and Mitchell were nowhere to be seen. Instantly, August booked it and hopped the fence facing his right. His body was overrun with fear and confusion, the only thought left in his head was that he had to get out of here. His legs tried their best to propel his body through the wooded outskirts of the town but they eventually gave out and he fell to the ground. 

When August finally came to he was fastened to a chair with leather straps. He frantically glanced around but the room he was confined to was pitch black, and for a moment he thought he was suspended in an inky void. Once his vision started to clear he noticed a hazy figure positioned a few inches in front of him. At first, he thought it was an inanimate object, as it was motionless, but once his eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, he realized that the figure was a half naked man squatting down. The man was clutching an ax and had a devilishly wide grin spread across his rubber face. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the man said. 

“My name’s Frank, I’m sorry I lost track of time again.”

August was still barely cognizant, as it was his lack of awareness that was withholding his immense fear. 

“But it's starting soon. It always excites me.” 

Frank’s persona was a mix between a jovial adolescent and a deranged psychopath. 

“Go on outside. They will tell you what you have to do.”

As a newcomer to Meadow Acres, August was tasked with ringing The Commencement Bell in the center of town. Without much appeal to haste, he scurried across the cobblestone road, exposed to the translucent browbeater-leers of the onlooking townsfolk. He grasped the dusty, haggard tail of the bell and shook it sternly. The noise was much more extravagant than anticipated, and August was slightly fearful. He spun his head violently, surveying the landscape as would an endangered prey, as would… a rabbit.  

Suddenly, an echoing, rapturous voice from a loudspeaker begins to emit throughout the land.

"Good day to you all! As declared by our newcomer August, the hunt for the white-tailed rabbit has begun! Make haste however, for whoever slays the rabbit first shall be rewarded. And remember, there’s no place like Meadow Acres."

August remains still, as though his feet have been fastened to the ground by steel bolts. His attention shifts to a dull scratching sound, emanating from what appears to be a small brown hut about a few strides away from him. He continues to listen, as the barely noticeable scratching shifts to aggravated, frenzied clawing. A dark-hooded figure approaches the hut and unlocks the door, releasing a scrawny man engulfed in bruises and other lacerations. A set of bunny ears are fitted on his head along with a ball gag covering his mouth. His bloodshot eyes are permeated with pure terror as his frantic pupils dart to and fro like two rats caught in a trap. 

To be continued…