The Wabbit and a Bunnyman Hallowe'en

The question on everyone's lips was, "Would the Bunnyman put in an appearance this year?" It had always been a joke - or so they thought. They snuck into the film museum, camped out near the top of the ramp  - and waited. They heard footsteps. They heard a heavy object swishing. They felt eyes looking at them. The Wabbit felt along the shaft of his axe. An image of Jack Nicholson unfurled from the darkness. It growled. "Here's Johnny! I am the Bunnyman." The Wabbit half turned. "It's a publicity stunt. He's not the real Bunnyman." The lips moved. Teeth grimaced. "Oh but I am, Wabbit. You don't get realer." Lapinette bounded forward. "You're just a caretaker." Johnny bared his teeth. "Gonna take care of you, little rabbit. And him. Particularly him." He nodded at Skratch. "Intertextuality indeed. You know nothing, cat." He snarled. Wabsworth commented from the side, as only he could. "The Bunnyman is both horror and melodrama. The hesitation of the uncanny, mediated by the marvelous." Skratch was nervous but he grinned. "The marvelous is merely a response to other discourses. As indeed you respond, masquerading as the Bunnyman." The image howled. "But I am the Bunnyman masquerading as Jack Nicholson, a mere player on a stage." The Wabbit turned fully and hit the curtain with his axe. Lapinette followed with well-chosen swings. The image parted and closed again. Now there was no picture. Only a growling voice remained. "See you next year, Wabbits. But I'll be watching you." The Wabbit breathed a sigh of relief. His heart was beating. It was hard not to pant. Wabsworth spoke. "Jung said ghosts were consciousness without the brain."  Lapinette laughed. "No brain, no gain."

4. The Wabbit and the Mould Monster

The Wabbit and Lapinette moved to another bridge and were just crossing. It was all too sudden for the Wabbit to notice. Lapinette tried to alert him, but the mould monster was already at her heels. It was made of the mouldiest mould with two glaring eyes attached by flaps of skin. It looked like Hell - but didn't sound like much. Just the barest of whooshy slitherings and the occasional belch. "Wabbit, it's the monster!" The Wabbit was looking the other way, "I hope it's credible!" He turned, aghast, "It is credible!" He was rooted to the spot. So was the monster. It mumbled in a spooky way, "Yuk, Rabbits. yeuch." His eyes dangled. The stench was awful. "You smell," said Lapinette, "It's you rabbits that smell," retorted the monster. "I am Mould of Mould Manor." His eyes swung on their flaps, "Where's that?" asked Lapinette. Mould monster laughed long and hard. "Under your paws. I live under the shallow streets. I live under the cobbles. I live on apartment walls. I live in wood, cardboard, tiles... " "That's enough living," shouted the Wabbit. "Go back where you came from." Vile odours swirled round the bridge, Lapinette held her nose, The Wabbit tried to move but he was stuck in its mouldy grip. "I'm going to grow and grow and grow!" yelled the mould. The Wabbit's eyes watered. His face turned red. He started to sneeze. "Gotcha," said the mould. Lapinette spoke under her breath, "We need vinegar and lots of it." The Wabbit wiped away the tears. "We're in enough of a pickle already."

3. The Wabbit and the Smell on the Bridge

They strolled down to the iron bridge. The Wabbit had always liked it there, despite the general grottiness and disparate population. He sniffed. "It's here too." Lapinette scowled. "It's often pongy here!" The Wabbit sniffed again and strolled on. Then it was on them. A cloud of such noxiousness it was hard to believe. Multicoloured vapours surrounded them. They might even have been pretty, but it certainly looked like mould. The smell was appalling. It was more than musty. It was an appalling blend of wet hound and rancid cheese. The Wabbit covered his nose. Lapinette shrieked. "Poo, bum smell!" It was unusual for Lapinette to use any kind of bad language, but the Wabbit could only agree. "Smells like a thousand sweaty asses." Lapinette wrinkled her nose in disapproval. She pointed. "It comes from over there!" The Wabbit looked at where the river was marshy. Hundreds of mouldy jets poured liquid filth into the air accompanied by tuneless humming. "The devil take it," yelled the Wabbit. "Maybe you're right," shrieked Lapinette. "It is a monster." The Wabbit growled. "It's going to make an appearance." Lapinette shrank back. "And a credible one." The Wabbit grabbed Lapinette's paw and dragged her from the bridge. But the mouldy vapour followed them. Humming turned into a howl. Thick fumes surrounded them, ripe as tripe. "Let's get this drunken skunk!" shouted Lapinette.

2. The Wabbit in the Recording Studio

The Wabbit was really worried about the mould. He communicated his worry to Lapinette. Now Lapinette was really worried about the mould. She rightly said that mould could kill and should be eliminated at once. So together they passed by the nearby RAI recording studies to record a warning message. The Wabbit located himself in a recording booth and Lapinette lounged in a nearby seat. "Have you got your script?" The Wabbit flounced and said he didn't need one. "Everyone needs a script," said Lapinette. The Wabbit began. "About this, er um, mouldy old mould." Lapinette fell about laughing. "I told you so. Give it a proper name. We'll map it out, what do you want to communicate?" The Wabbit thought for a minute. "I want to alert everyone to the deadly dangers of mouldy old mould." "Why?" said Lapinette. "Because it's here and amidst us, getting up our noses with its spores." Lapinette smiled. "So Wabbit, what is there to fear but the smell of a damp rag?" "There's a monster!" yelled the Wabbit," I know it in my fur." Lapinette wanted the Wabbit to be more specific. "What can this monster possibly look like?" The Wabbit waved his arms. "Green and black and enormously furry!" Lapinette tried to draw the Wabbit out. "Do you mean this large furry green and black monster will pursue us through the streets by day and night?" The Wabbit stood up. "Not through the streets, by Binky. It knows the streets. It is the streets!"

1. The Wabbit and the Gloopeda Machine

The Wabbit rose early one morning and hopped down Via Po towards the river. He took a breath, but it wasn't the smell he was expecting. Normally he could gulp fresh air, mingled with the tang of the river. But all he could smell was drains. "It's like a thousand wet mops left in a corner for a year." He complained to himself bitterly, which was what he did when things didn't go exactly to plan. Then he saw the truck. It was very brightly coloured and the company name was emblazoned on every surface. "Hmm, Gariglio," he mused. "Never heard of it." He noticed mention of a web site, so he looked it up using his special glasses. He smiled. "I know what the truck is. It's a gloopeda gloopeda machine." A man with big boots came striding from around the corner. The Wabbit nodded to him and recalled an old conversation with a similar operative. "Torino is built on mould," he'd told the Wabbit. "More mould than you can shake a stick at." The Wabbit sniffed. He was allergic to mould. The early morning sun seemed to intensify the smell as if it knew. "Time to move on," he told himself, He hunched his shoulders and continued his walk to the river. But the smell of mould in his nostrils persisted and when he reached the bottom of the cobbled street it was still there. "Lapinette shall hear of this," he murmured. "She knows all about mould." 

The Wabbit's Adventure Caffè

The team sat down at an unfamiliar caffè just to try it. It was a bit strange because the tables didn't quite fit, and they had to sit round a pole that held the umbrella. But they all laughed and said it was an adventure. Skratch wasn't particularly late. He held Sebby the Garibaldi Hat - although Sebby was trying to escape. "I found this hat in this street," he meaowed. "Let go!" yelled Sebby, "I can get around on my own." Skratch laid Sebby down on a chair. "What sort of adventure did you just have?" he purred. "In my opinion," said Wabsworth, "Lukacs and his concept of realism would have been superseded by adding a hat." Lapinette laughed. "You felt Lukacsian theory was missing the vital inclusion of hats?" Wabsworth was perfectly serious. "Hats would have introduced the note of realism that he needed for completion," The Wabbit was not to be outdone. "Plenty of hats in The Leopard." "You're quite right Wabbit," said Lapinette. "It was Piero Tosi who brought us authentic and exquisite hats of the period. Realism was never so well defined." Sebby giggled. "I'm a hat, a hat, an authentic and realistic red hat." He turned over and tried to coax money from passers by. "Donations for the cause!" Skratch grabbed him away. "We're forgetting spectacle and excess." Wabsworth grimaced. "The two are almost synonymous in discursive rapture." They all gasped. The Wabbit leaned back, "I wagered 50 euro on him in the 3.30 at Epsom." "Did he win?" asked Lapinette. She had a glint in her eye. "Yes, he did," winked the Wabbit. "Then you're paying," she chortled. Then they all threw their heads back and laughed and laughed. 

7. The Wabbit, and the Perilous Bridge

Sebby the Hat evaded everyone. The Wabbit and Lapinette tracked him down to a bridge across the River Dora. He was yelling, "You'll never take me alive!" He jumped onto the railings and balanced precariously. "He's going to top himself!" shouted the Wabbit. They made a grab for him, but he evaded capture and tottered on the slim railings. Lapinette was breathless. "Sebby, you've got to back to the Museum. This is no place for a Garibaldi hat."  He toppled over a little further and looked down. The Dora threshed. Spray reached the railings. He prepared to jump. "Sebby, you're a hat, not a nineteenth century anarchist." The Wabbit was bellowing above the sound of crashing water. "You can't stop me!" shouted Sebby. A strangely dressed man on a bicycle passed and he looked across. "Not another hat suicide." he mumbled. He cycled on his way. "It's safer in the museum," said Lapinette. "I hate the museum," responded Sebby. The Wabbit sighed and shook his head. "Oh, why don't you come with us?" Sebby grinned as best he could. "With you? On adventures?" Lapinette moved closer. "You have to behave yourself." "And respect authority," said the Wabbit. "Whose authority?" said Sebby with caution. "Mine!" The Wabbit and Lapinette spoke together. Lapinette inched further. "All right then," agreed Sebby. Lapinette grabbed him and tucked him under her frock. "Comfy," breathed Sebby.

6. The Wabbit and the Big Smash

The Wabbit wasn't expecting it. No sooner had he found glass cabinets when something forced the jeep off track. It might have been an old mortar or something as simple as a gust of wind from a window. They were thrown into the air. Sebby the Hat landed upside down on a window ledge. He complained. "This isn't even the right corridor. These are crockery wotnots. I hate fussy wotnots." The jeep lurched. The Wabbit hit a massive pane of glass and stopped. Lapinette's feet whacked the Wabbit on the nose. He held onto the steering wheel nonetheless as he tried to extricate the jeep from the fragments. "Sorry Wabbit!" The Wabbit groaned. "No particular problem." The din was something else. "We did get glassified," yelled Sebby, "I told you." The jeep settled. The noise died. The Wabbit sat upright. Lapinette's took her foot from his mouth. "This isn't even the right museum," she exclaimed. "It was when I tried to come in," replied the Wabbit. "Well, maybe it was the wrong roof." Lapinette picked shards of glass from her frock. "Get back in the jeep, Sebby." She surveyed the scene. "There will be Hell to pay." The Wabbit shook his head. "Think of it as a restructure. Everyone's doing it." Lapinette gripped Sebby on her lap. "Want me to drive, Wabbit?" "Can't do any harm," shrugged the Wabbit. Lapinette looked round again and passed Sebby across. "Not any more." 

5. The Wabbit and an Extraordinary Entry

The Wabbit changed vehicles because Wabbit 2 was always unfinished. He foresaw trouble and didn't want to damage Wab 1. He snuck along an unusual route, took a service lift, and emerged on the top floor of the Museum of the Risorgimento. Getting down was another matter. He decided to make an extraordinary entry in the hope no-one would believe it. Sebby the Hat had other ideas. "I'm home," he yelled and flew out of the jeep. Lapinette dived after him. "We have to sneak him back and then everything will go back to normal." Her voice was deafening in the still of the hall and the echo bounced down the staircase. There were never many visitors in the museum. The place was deserted. He span the steering wheel and despite the lack of grip the jeep swung to the left and dropped several feet. The engine roared as Lapinette managed to get a grasp of Sebby. She pirouetted and dropped back into the jeep with Sebby in tow. "I'm have the Cross of Military Valour you know." Sebby was more than pleased with himself. The Wabbit scowled. "I've heard enough! You're going back in your cabinet." Sebby the Hat squirmed from Lapinette's grasp, squeezed under the Wabbit's legs, and dropped from the other side of the jeep. "No! I'll never be glassified." The Wabbit slapped a paw to his forehead. "I thought my jokes were bad." Lapinette agreed. "They're woeful but his are worse."

4. The Wabbit and the Accidental Exit

In a second the Wabbit was in his jeep. Lapinette was driving. Sebby the Hat spun wildly in the air. Were they coming or going? The Wabbit hardly knew. He could see a lift intended for the metro but there was no metro in this part of the city. "I came to pick you up." Lapinette span the steering wheel. She just missed one of these awful scooters the Wabbit hated so much. "I was with a knight," said the Wabbit. Lapinette laughed. "Once a price always a prince." "But once a night is enough," replied the Wabbit in a manner that suggested the joke was worn out. "And this hat. It's all the hat's fault." The jeep flew into the air. It was easier to deal with cobbles that way. Sebby was delighted with the turn of events. He giggled with mirth. "What's so funny?" snapped the Wabbit. "I can't tell you off the top of my head," answered Sebby. He giggled again. "Wabbit, I thought you needed rescuing," said Lapinette. The Wabbit nodded grimly. "I did. I think your tour should end, Sebby." Sebby did one of his little dances. "That will be a thousand lire." Lapinette squealed. "Your out of date, Sebby. Anyway, where's the Wabbit's little radio and earphones?" "And my guidebook and brochures," added the Wabbit. Sebby the Hat whizzed back and forth. "That's the thing about hats. Always trying to cover things up." Lapinette couldn't help laughing. "What was your job in the army?" "Entertainer," said Sebby. The Wabbit could smell coffee. "Not catering?" he asked.