In an attempt to uncover the truth behind the ‘urban legend’ of the ‘Bunny-Man’, two teenage horror fanatics and social media stars travel to the small town of Trexham to unearth a long forgotten piece of the legend’s history…
Anyone who has followed my work knows that the ‘Bunny-Man’ looms large in the Southumberland Series/Anthology, and any of you who are big horror fans like me will know where I got the idea from; the ‘true’ story (using that phrase very lightly!). In Fairfax County, Virginia (in the USA), the urban legend of the Bunny-Man exists, apparently haunting the Colchester Overpass (the real Bunny-Man Bridge!). Look it up online and read all about it – it’s very creepy, which is why it’s something I chose to drip throughout the Southumberland books and stories (just like a major part of ‘Ghost Train’ and ‘The Clown’ were the real life ‘killer clown’ crazes of recent Halloweens). Being a horror author can be tough when you’re trying to keep up with real life, so I thought why not just take it and use it?
Anyway, there’s a lot of things to write about with the ‘Bunny-Man’ – his legend is introduced in ‘BITE’, explored more deeply in ‘Slasher’, plays a big role in ‘Ghost Train’ and now this short story will try and add another layer to my ‘Bunny-Man’, perhaps helping it to deviate a little from the real-life stories.
Give it a read.
Good luck.
The Bunny-Man
By Keelan Berry
“Hi guys, Colt and Val here, we’ve just arrived at ‘The Bunny’s Head’ pub in Trexham, Southumberland.” Colt pushed down a button on the camera which zoomed into the hanging sign above the pub’s door; bright green grass, soiled with blood in which lay a bunny rabbit’s head and an axe. “As you can see the urban legend that we plan to investigate dominates local life.”
Val started speaking, and Colt moved the camera down to her, “It’s eerily quiet here given the popular legend.”
“It’s a small town,” Colt commented, “Presumably a close community where everyone knows each other, I’m sure it’s very different on Halloween night.”
“And that’s why we chose a random date,” Val started to explain, turning to face the camera and walking backwards towards the entrance of the pub, “Less interference. We intend to go through this small town and locate everything to do with the legend of the ‘Bunny-Man’; including the infamous bridge, but starting with this pub.”
As she turned and walked inside, Colt followed slowly, continuing to speak: “While the pub shares no link with the legend and is no doubt designed to simply attract tourism, we felt it was the perfect place to give you guys all the background knowledge you need before visiting the ‘Bunny-Man Bridge’.”
As they entered the pub, Val turned her head and whispered “Into the abyss.” Before Colt stopped recording.
*
While Val set the camera up inside the pub to film her and Colt at a table talking through the supposed story of the Bunny-Man, Colt returned outside the pub to take photos: one of the front of the pub in its entirety and one of the sign hanging above the door. He would post them on social media through his laptop later to tease his and Val’s upcoming vlog on the Bunny-Man – the fourth episode of their horror series.
They weren’t exactly famous, but considered themselves social media stars. They’d started out with random videos – songs and music videos in school, moving onto short films in college – before finally going viral with their horror vlogs (which explored supposed supernatural terrors or localised urban legends; things that had no definitive explanation which they could exploit).
He went back inside and sat next to Val, who’d bought them both a pint and had set the camera up ready to record the next part of their video.
“The earliest records of the Bunny-Man are these headlines from 1973 and 1974.” Val said, holding up the newspaper clippings for the camera: the former of which read “Terrifying ‘Bunny-Man’ sighted in Wald Forest!”, the latter of which screamed “‘Bunny-Man’ Bridge Scene of Horror Once Again!”
While she continued to hold them up for the camera, Colt interjected, “The legend says that the Bunny-Man originated in the 1950s when a man killed his family on Easter, before later escaping incarceration after a train – which had been transporting mental patients – crashed in Wald Forest.”
“However,” Val continued, placing the clippings back on the table, “Records of any such event do not exist. The 1973 and 1974 sightings are the first on record. The 1973 witnesses claim a man in a bunny costume chased them through the forest with an axe, while the 1974 account simply states a man wielding an axe attacked a travelling car. Both of these events took place near the ‘Bunny-Man Bridge’.”
“Other sightings occurred sporadically,” Colt said, holding up a newspaper clipping from 1991, “With this newspaper claiming accounts poured into the police ‘through the night’. There are other, random sightings, but many of these have been disregarded as hoaxes.”
“But ten years ago,” Val said, holding up another front page as Colt lowered his, “In 1997, four teenagers were murdered near Bunny-Man Bridge.”
“If there is a Bunny-Man, which of these reports are to be believed?” Colt pondered aloud, “Is the Bunny-Man a supernatural entity, a psychopathic killer or something that some locals have simply taken too far?”
“Ten years on from the only known ‘Bunny-Man murders’, we will see what we can find inside one of Britain’s largest forests, and attempt to fill the gaps in the Bunny-Man’s story.”
Colt held up another clipping, this one from 1989, “This article claims there were events in 1984 involving the Bunny-Man, before he disappeared for five years. Five years with no recorded sightings at all – even fakes.”
“But, in eerily familiar circumstances, no records of the Bunny-Man exist from 1984. We believe we know why – the answer lies inside Wald Forest, away from this pub and the Bunny-Man Bridge.”
“Are there other forces at work, attempting to bury the true story of the Bunny-Man?”
“Join us in our journey into Wald Forest and we can find the answers together.”
They stopped recording, before giving each other an impressed nod.
“One take.” Colt smiled, sipping his pint.
“Well-rehearsed.” Val nodded, gathering the newspaper pages together.
The barman looked at them both, cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, “You’re wasting your time.”
They both looked at him.
“There’s nothing inside those trees. That story is just something the townspeople cooked up decades ago to bring people here. Others just took it too far, like you said yourself.”
“Well, if that’s the answer,” Val started, “We’ll uncover it.” Colt finished with her.
*
“Here it is.” Val said, awestruck, as she stopped walking on the side of the path which led into the city of Tornwich via Wald Forest.
Colt moved so that her figure stood at the side of what was known as the ‘Bunny-Man Bridge’, a decrepit-looking stone structure with a large ‘n’ shape in the middle for vehicles and people to pass through.
In truth, Colt and Val had already scouted out the bridge about ten minutes ago before planning how they would record their ‘discovery’ of it.
It was not grand, did not evoke any emotions of terror, and looked out of place.
But that didn’t make for good vlogging.
“Spooky.” Colt commented, and Val nodded. “It just feels… eerie, like it’s watching me.”
The stone structure ran through the entirety of Wald Forest, but was cut off at each end after trains stopped running over it. No doubt old and rusty tracks remained on top of the bridge.
“Ten years ago four teenagers drove into the forest on Halloween night to visit the bridge, late enough so that the tourists had dispersed.” Colt began, walking towards the bridge and filming the inside of the archway. “Their vehicle was attacked – windows smashed, the driver’s face impaled with an axe.” Standing in the archway blocked out all of the light from outside, Colt’s voice echoed around him, and suddenly the air felt thick and heavy like a fog.
He moved out of the tunnel ready to record Val’s part, and the closeness disappeared.
“The car presumably made it here or somewhere nearby before stopping and being attacked, so that those inside could gaze upon the infamous bridge.” Val said, gesturing to just in front of the bridge. “The driver – after being killed – was propped up against the front of the car. Another of the gang, a girl, had her neck snapped before being planted on top of the car – her innards ripped out and displayed.”
“Another girl was left in the middle of the road,” Colt said, filming the pathway and hoping that a car didn’t come their way now and ruin the video (he knew this wasn’t the primary route into Tornwich from Trexham anyway – that was the motorway – but when recording his mind always considered the various possibilities which could force them to do a second take), “her body had been chopped and slashed with the axe numerous times.
“And finally,” He continued, turning around and filming the bridge again, “The fourth victim had been tied up and suspended from the bridge, hoisted above the archway…” He paused for effect, “Whatever attacked and killed the group had climbed onto the top of the car and hacked away the man’s bottom half.”
Colt moved the camera back to Val, “All the more curious is that a family member of one of the victims claims the group drove to the bridge from Trexham, but the car was found facing the other way around. Had the group turned the car while being attacked, or had the killer done it, a sinister warning to the small town?”
Colt stopped recording, and held his arms in the air in celebration, “two out of three scenes in one take!”
“Finding this third is going to be a bitch though, it’s not anywhere on any maps we’ve looked at or-” She stopped and turned her head, back in the direction from where they’d came.
“We can ask a local.” Colt said, then kicked the ground, “Should have asked the barman.”
Val didn’t look at him, and so he followed her gaze.
The sun was still a few hours from setting, but still the tall trees of the forest clouded the woodland in shadows.
But Colt heard the approaching car, and could see the blue lights flashing in the darkness.
Val came over to him, and both of them walked backwards to the side of the path.
The car was approaching slowly and there were no sirens – just the flashing lights.
When the car left the shadows and was visible, they both saw that it was indeed a police car. “What’s happened?” Val asked, backing up against Colt, leading him to put an arm on her shoulder.
“Must be something in Tornwich.” He replied, but the car was slowing down, and Colt saw a pair of eyes underneath a police cap watching them both closely.
The car stopped and the window rolled down, the man who looked out at them was dressed in a uniform, but Colt knew from watching a lot of news that this man was no mere constable, he held a significant position within the police force. His face was mostly shielded by the shadow from his cap, but he looked middle-aged and very, very serious.
“I’m getting sick of this shit.” Was his opening line.
Val looked at Colt, whose heart rate was increasing, but still he stepped forwards. “What’s the matter, erm… off- sir?” Colt didn’t know how to address the man: officer? Sounded American. Constable? He definitely wasn’t? So he’d gone for what he thought was the safe option.
The man opened his car door and stepped out. The car bounced with the weight of this man – this giant – lifting from it.
“Chief Superintendent Cox.” The man spat.
Colt swallowed, looking up at the man who would surely struggle to fit through a doorway, “Chief Superintendent Cox,” He began, “What’s the problem?”
Chief Superintendent? Obviously locals didn’t want them here stirring up talk of the Bunny-Man – along with the barman, others will have heard their recording this morning, and they’d also spoke to many residents about directions as well as asking what they knew of the ‘Bunny-Man’ stories – but to send someone so high-ranking?
Cox sighed, “There’s nothing to be gained from this shit – and that’s exactly what it is: bullshit!”
“We’re just filming the bridge for our-”
“All you’ll do is encourage more of it.” Cox said, visibly irritated and impatient, “The murders ten years ago? Some crazy kid probably on drugs who took this whole thing too far. Everything before and after that? Fucked up, bored shitless people with nothing better to do. You? You’re the kind of people who encourage that behaviour. That what you want, boy?” Cox came towards him and although he backed off, Cox’s long arm grabbed him by the front of his jacket, “You want blood on your hands?” The policeman growled.
Suddenly, a throaty cackle came from behind them. Colt wanted to turn and see what was going on but couldn’t.
The cackle turned into a light-hearted laugh, before the voice of an old man replaced it, “Ralph!” More laughter, before an old man wearing a flat cap appeared beside them. “Put the boy down.”
Cox eyed the old man angrily, but did as he said.
“You know how these kids get.” He reasoned, “Let me take them to mine and then I’ll send them on their way.”
Cox waved a finger in the old man’s face, “Don’t get peddling your shit. I want them gone. Gone.” He whispered the last word too sinisterly for Colt’s liking.
“They’ll be gone.” The old man nodded, his tone now serious too.
With that, Chief Superintendent Ralph Cox got back into his car, shot Colt and Val one last look, and drove off in the direction of Tornwich.
The old man turned and smiled, but Colt remained wary given the exchange with Cox.
“Fancies himself the local king.” The old man jerked a thumb in the direction Cox had driven, “Come with me, I’ll take you to my house. I have something you might like to see.”
“Actually,” Val said, stopping the man, and then looking at Colt to finish.
Colt tried to speak but was still shaken from the encounter with Cox, so cleared his throat to steady his voice. “We wanted to find the Bunny-Man House – the set of the children’s TV show? It was also used as a theme park?”
“Oh yes I know what you’re referring to.” The old man said, considering it carefully, “I had some newspaper clippings that may be of interest to you but… The Bunny-Man House first, yes.” He said, and disappeared into the trees, but continued to speak, “It’s not far. Neither is my house – I live just across the road from the forest, believe it or not.”
“We actually have all the clippings.” Colt said, following the man, who turned around.
Val reached into her bag and pulled them out to show the old man, “’73, ’74, ’89, ’91, ’97. All the important ones.”
The man nodded, “Impressive. However, I’d categorise ’91 as poppycock.”
“We do.” Colt nodded, “We just used it as an example of the hoax sightings.”
The old man smiled, “Very impressive indeed, I must confess it’s part of my collection too, I suspect all of the sightings that night weren’t hoaxes. But who knows if those who saw him lived to tell?”
Colt and Val shared a look.
“Oh yes,” The old man said, “There is more to this story than what you can find in library archives or even the police records. I have a missing piece to your puzzle.”
“The 1984 events?” Val asked, stepping forward excitedly.
“Ha!” The man laughed, “Never made it to print. It was supressed. And that wasn’t the only year a Bunny-Man related event didn’t make it to print.”
“The locals want to bury the legend?” Colt pondered aloud, factoring in Cox’s behaviour.
The old man nodded, “Come. When we get to his house I’ll tell you all.”
“Is he real?” Colt and Val asked together.
For a moment, the old man didn’t turn, he just raised his head and looked at the treetops.
He half-turned towards them.
“You can’t bury something that isn’t real.”
*
“I trust you both know the story regarding the children’s TV show?” The old man asked as they stomped through leaves and mud.
“Began airing in 1984 after a few years without any significant sightings, cancelled months later.”
“So you don’t know.” The old man chuckled. “You’re right though, after a few years without any sightings or… other such events, the locals wanted to find a way to turn the Bunny-Man into a non-horror figure. One day a lot of residents were invited to the Bunny’s Head, where a businessman pitched an idea to us about a children’s TV show. Locals loved it. Especially parents, as you can imagine. To them, it was a way to bury the stories which plagued the town. And, if you ask me, to the company the businessman represented it was a way to bring him back.”
“The Bunny-Man?”
“Right.”
“Why would they want to encourage it?”
“Just saying it as I saw it. You don’t bury something like this by ignoring it, but equally you don’t bury it with something as obvious as a children’s TV show! That’s asking for trouble. I saw it, but I didn’t say anything. They all loved it too much.”
“You said there were other events that were never reported?” Val asked.
The old man stopped walking, placed his hand on a tree and looked out into a clearing.
He whistled a tune for no more than five seconds, and then turned around to address them.
“Murders.” He said bluntly, “1997 wasn’t the only time. Throughout Halloweens of the 1970s he killed. The locals always covered it up. But they didn’t do it alone. This company that appeared in 1984 has had a bigger hand in this whole business than it made out at the time.”
“What happened in 1984?”
“Something out of character for the Bunny-Man. He struck on Easter. Not only that, but he did it away from the bridge… away from the forest, even… he went into Trexham.”
“Jesus.” Val clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Your newspaper collections…” Colt entered the conversation, “They have more than we have?”
“1955.” The old man stated, “A man snapped and killed his family on Easter. Two years later he escaped captivity through the luck of a train crash. He’s been here ever since.”
“Why didn’t we find this?”
“All copies have been destroyed. What happened in the 1950s exists only as a rumour now.”
Colt and Val looked at one another; this was even better than they’d hoped!
They could film the Bunny-Man House, perhaps even interview the old man before he showed them his newspaper clippings. Finally the Bunny-Man would cease to be an urban legend, and the truth of the stories would be revealed.
“Through here.” The old man pointed, “The house is there.”
“View first. Film later?” Val asked.
Colt nodded and took her hand. She seemed a little shocked but didn’t say anything. They walked forward together, through the tall trees of the forest, out of the mud and into a clearing.
There had been nothing online about the Bunny-Man House or the children’s TV show – the only way they’d found out about it is the 1984 newspaper the day after Halloween that did make it to print, which claimed the show had been hastily cancelled and giving lack of funds as the reason.
So, they didn’t know what to expect.
Whilst the Bunny-Man Bridge had evoked little to no emotion, this house was entirely different.
Constructed in the style of a small cottage, it had been painted pink. The paint, which at one time must have been fresh and bright, had darkened and had come off in most places to reveal the colourless bricks underneath. One of the windows on the front of the house had been smashed, and on the side of the house Colt saw unintelligible graffiti.
Colt looked through the trees to his right, and thought he saw the bridge still running through the trees. He squinted and could see the stone amidst the tree trunks, with small archways running along it.
“It’s open.” The old man said, walking ahead of them and pushing the heavy-looking wooden front door. He turned to them, “You can see how the house is built on the edge of the clearing,” He pointed to the top of the house, which was covered with overgrown tree branches, “Kids and parents would queue to come in for a quick tour and photo with the Bunny-Man when the TV show wasn’t being filmed. There usually used to be a bouncy castle or something like that here.” He pointed to the side of the house.
The old man backed up into the hallway and put his hand on top of something, “This was never part of it.”
Colt looked down, the man’s hand rested on a shiny, sharp axe head. The handle, however, looked as though it would crumble apart if touched. The wrinkled wood didn’t even look strong enough to support the metal on top of it.
“We’ll just leave that there.” The old man said, moving into one of the rooms.
Colt followed him, Val keeping her distance after seeing the axe but still following too.
“Why is it here?” Colt questioned.
The old man shrugged. “Maybe this is where he’s hibernating this year.”
“I feel like you’re joking.” Colt said.
“How else is the axe there?” The old man said, “Just be quiet.”
The room was bare; only dead leaves filled the wooden floor.
Before Colt could say anything else, the old man moved to the wall, “Here you go.” He pointed to a framed poster with a picture of a pink and friendly-looking bunny man; large eyes, big grin, floppy ears. “They’d meet him here and then move on through.” The old man bent down and stuck his head into a fire place. “Ah, yes, here it is.” He stood back up, a large Bunny-Man head in his hands. It looked like the one from the poster, but was black in places and some of the fur had fallen out of place. “Not scary is it?” He showed it to them.
“Is this what he wears?” Colt asked, a thought suddenly striking him like a knife to the brain. This man knew an awful lot about the stories; things nobody else would tell them. He knew where this house was, there was an axe here, and apparently a whole costume…
“Would you be scared of this?” The old man asked, moving around them and stepping back into the hall.
Val tugged on Colt’s sleeve, but he ignored her, focusing his attention on the man.
“Let’s see.” He said, and placed the bunny head over his own. Without the body suit it should have connected to, it looked heavy and bobbed from side to side.
“Colton.” Val whispered, moving into the next room as she saw what the old man was reaching for.
Colt just froze, and watched the old man pick up the axe.
He held it with two hands across his body, legs spread far apart, bunny head see-sawing on his shoulders.
“COLTON!” Val screamed, and finally he burst into action.
He didn’t want to take on the old man one-to-one, not while he had an axe. So instead he rushed into the next room with Val, who carried on pulling him through the bare, featureless rooms until they reached a set of stairs.
Never go deeper in; as horror fanatics, Colt and Val should have known that. But what other choice did they have? A masked, axe-wielding madman stood between them and the only exit they were aware of.
Curiosity killed the cat; they should never have followed the old man.
Cox had ordered the old man to get rid of them, and he had agreed to do so. Colt had sensed the sinister intent within the words, but after the old man had been friendly towards them Colt thought he had just been trying to get rid of Cox too.
He should have trusted his first instinct.
Now they were going to be buried too, just like the rest of the Bunny-Man’s history.
Val led them into one of the upstairs rooms and shut the door.
“Where the fuck do we go now?!” Colt shouted.
Val looked at him, apparently angry that he had raised his voice, but the anger quickly disappeared and she too started to look for ways they could get out.
Like all the other rooms, this one had nothing in it.
Val groaned in desperation and frustration, but was silenced when the creaking of stairs could be heard.
“Shit.”
Colt saw only one option; he lifted his foot and booted the window. The glass smashed easily. He poked the remaining shards away with his heel, and gestured Val to come over to him.
“We can jump down there.”
She looked and nodded frantically, “It’s not that high.”
“You go first, I’ll lower you down.”
“Okay.” She put one leg over the window frame and Colt took her hands.
“I got you.” He assured her, and she slowly lowered her other leg so that she dangled. Colt leaned further and further out the window as far as his body would allow him without sending him falling out “Ready?”
She nodded, and he let go, hearing the door behind him open at the same time.
Colt turned, and the pink bunny head stared at him. The old man charged forwards, axe held above his head.
There was no time; he had to drop now.
As he heard the axe slice through the air, Colt thrust himself backwards out of the window.
He heard the metal thud into the wall, and then heard his own body thud against the cold forest floor.
“Colt! Let’s go!” Val shouted from the trees, and he climbed to his feet, rushing towards her. His feet took a moment to steady, but once they had he looked back at the house.
The old man stood in the upstairs window, pink bunny head lolling from side to side, axe in hand.
But that wasn’t what worried Colt, because the old man posed no threat to them. He just stood and watched, resigned to their escape.
What worried Colt was the cackle that came from underneath the pink bunny head.
*
“Fuck I hope I didn’t break the camera.” Colt felt his inside pocket.
“Let’s just be glad we’re alive.” Val breathed, slowing down, “We need the police.”
“Police?” Colt scoffed, “They’re not going to help us. You saw what Cox was like earlier. Let’s just get the fuck out of this town. The bridge is just over here,” Colt pointed, “Then we can work our way back to town and get a taxi.” He looked up, the sun was nowhere in sight but the light had not yet been sucked from the sky. However, the trees made it darker, and it felt like it was the dead of night.
They came out onto the path, the bridge behind them.
Colt started walking straight towards Trexham, but then sensed Val was not following him.
He turned around and looked for her.
She was stood at the side of the road, looking towards the bridge. Colt looked at it too; and it suddenly seemed different, as though darkness emanated from it.
He walked towards Val, and fell backwards when he saw what she saw.
It was him.
On top of the tracks.
The fur looked dark and greasy, twisted and matted.
The ears were also twisted and fell down beside the thing’s head, pointed like horns.
The head was nowhere near as comical as the one the old man had put on earlier; it was the size of an average man’s, with a stumpy black nose, white – no, yellow – eyes. Pure white. Yellow? They glowed above a hideous, grotesque grin. The teeth were sharp and contained within what seemed like a small snout; protruding slightly outwards from the face.
In one hand he held what seemed like a piece of rope – Colton could only see its silhouette against the darkening sky – with parts attached to it. He thought back to the original tale of the Bunny-Man and how, after the train crash, local residents found strung-up, often half-eaten, bunny rabbits hanging from the trees of Wald Forest near Trexham. The Bunny-Man clung to the rope, with attached bodies of what Colt hoped was rabbits rotating in the wind (he didn’t hate animals – he loved them, but there were much worse types of flesh to be attached to that rope than parts of a bunny rabbit). In his other hand…
The axe.
Val remained frozen to the spot.
Colt kicked himself backwards, unable to make it to his feet or take his eyes away from the monstrous spectre.
It was all real.
The Bunny-Man was real.
And he was a killer.
1955.
Half a century…
The costumed man – was it a costume? – lifted the axe above his head and swiftly threw it through the air. It spiralled and then planted itself firmly in Val’s face. Her head snapped backwards. She continued to stand still for a moment, before finally collapsing backwards to the ground.
Colt found himself unable to move anymore.
But he screamed.
Mouth open wide and face pointed to the sky, he screamed.
The Bunny-Man, like the creature it was named after, casually hopped down from the bridge. It walked to Val, pulled the axe out of her, and then, slowly, walked forwards towards Colt.
He looked up at the figure.
There’s a story in Trexham…
He and Val had come this close to the truth.
An old legend to tell…
One day, Trexham would be at peace.
About an evil that came…
But for now, the Bunny-Man’s reign of terror continued.
And brought the fury of hell…
His axe swinging through the night…
December, 2018
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