Seemingly Harmless Creatures

By Kit Wayne

After a traumatic experience, some people break and some rise above. Some become super heroes. And some find a way to do all three.
After separate such experiences, Eveready Spaghetti Boy and Effervescent Fluorescent Boy become partners (term used loosely) to battle the most adorable and sinister animals. That is, if they can deal with each other first. Saving the world from bunnies from Hell, frogs from outer space, and, of course, squirrels, all while flirting with those cute girls, can really stress a hero out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387163274

Book preview

Seemingly Harmless Creatures

Seemingly HARMLESS CREATURES

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Kit Wayne

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Copyright ©  2017 by Kit Wayne

Published by Kit Wayne

Cover Art by Ananda Guthrie

Distributed by Lulu.com

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-387-16327-4

like sand in the hourglass

Plastic underwear makes me itch.  There is only one real remedy for this situation.  I discovered it one day while making Belgian waffles.  It was early in the morning and I awoke early for work – about three hours early – and so I decided to break out that old recipe book that my aunt had sent me entitled Things to Do When You Wake up Way Too Early for Work.  As I made the waffles on the griddle, I stared placidly out the window above the sink.  It was a dark day, but that was only because the sun hadn’t come out yet, and I couldn’t see much.  The one thing that was rather apparent was this strange nasty-looking white fuzzy splotch on the back yard lawn.

Now, I’m not naturally paranoid, mind you.  Nor am I unnaturally paranoid, but paranoia runs in my family.  So after making sure that my beloved waffles would not burn, I sauntered over to the nearby back door in the rear hallway and opened it, staring out into the murky pre-dawn depths of Suburbia.

There it was!  And I thought these things only happened in bad Monty Python Flicks about ancient British folklore.  On the lawn was an entire bunch – no, a flock – no, a gaggle – no no no – a whole swarm of cute li’l fuzzy bunnies from HELL!

As my senses were swathed simultaneously in the moist dewy morning mist and the warm succulent scent of waffles, I pondered my aching mind on what to do about this situation.  Should I allow the flock (sorry, swarm) to stay, like a patch of snow-white cancer, and fester upon my nicely-mowed back lawn?  Or should I rid myself of the pests?  And if the latter would be my course of action, how would I be rid of them?

I rushed back inside, the slam of the back porch door not even remotely phasing the bunnies, and quickly looked up rabbits in the index of the Things to Do When You Wake up Way Too Early for Work cookbook.  The section referring to those rabid rascals was large and rather complete when it came to perfect cooking preferentials and other topics of discussion, but rather vague concerning how to be rid of them when they’re feeding on the-gods-know-what on your back lawn.  So I came to a logical conclusion.  If I could not be rid of them on my own, I would have to call someone who could.

I grabbed the phone and called the number that most speedily came to the fore of my mind.  Unfortunately, after finishing the dialing of those disposable digits, I realized that I was not at all acquainted with them.  Apparently my brain contained a program for random number generation.

Hello? an old voice answered.  I stumbled over my own spittle for a moment before I could say anything in return.

"Um, yes, I’m calling in reference to a number of bunnies that have taken up residence in my back yard.  You, of course, do handle these situations, do you not?"  I was hoping that the person on the phone could indeed handle these sorts of questions.  If nothing else, they would hang up on me and I would dial another random number.

Why, yes, in fact we do, the voice said, cackling with glee.  I was not too happy about the glee part.  It reminded me of old psychotic father, who was happy far too much of the time.  He died laughing… or was it because he kept smashing his head in with a vulcanized rubber mallet?  The case remained open for years until the cops became tired of us calling every night in case they found more clues.

Would you like removal instructions over the phone, here, sonny, or would you like us to come and remove them ourselves?

I blinked, trying to decide.  Umm… whichever is easier for you, I suppose.  I turned toward the skillet, my mouth watering.  Should I receive these instructions over the phone and risk the burning of my wonderful waffles?  Damn, I hated these stories!

Well, we’ll try to make this as painless as possible, the voice on the phone said to me.  The voice was becoming a bit tinny to my ears, since I was stretching the cord trying to reach the controls for the stove top.  How many bunnies are there in your back yard?

Luckily I could still see out the window.  I’m not sure, I replied.  It’s a whole swarm of them, though.

Ah, a swarm, the voice lamented.  I suppose this will require a number of complex incantations, then.

I froze when I heard those words.  What was I dealing with, here, witches on LSD?  No incantations are necessary, I said quickly.  Can you give me a simple solution?  Like, perhaps, a propane torch and a hairspray can, or something to that effect?

Oh, no, young man, the voice replied, clucking at my apparent ignorance of the situation.  "You described these as a swarm of cute fuzzy bunnies, yes?"

I sighed.  How did they know that the bunnies were cute fuzzy ones?  Had the witches somehow read the earlier part of the story?  Damn, they were good.  The voices in my head told me to stay on my guard.  "Yes, they are indeed a swarm.  That was my description as I told you a couple of paragraphs ago."

Then these are no ordinary rabbits!  They’ve got a mean streak A MILE WI-

I hung up the phone and wandered over to the waffle skillet, turning off the heat and opening the skillet to reveal perfectly formed Belgian waffles.  Ah, the feast I would have!  Ah, what wondrous flour creations these fluffy delights were.

A knock at the back door made me jump.  I sighed once again and trotted over to the short rear hall and turned on the porch light.

And stared at a swarm of oversized bunnies, standing on their hind legs, staring up at me with ruby-pink eyeballs, wielding giant toothpicks and tapping lightly on the wood of the door.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked.

Your waffles, they replied calmly.  We smelt them from afar and now we have come to claim them.  There is nothing in this world that attracts swarms of cute li’l fuzzy bunnies from HELL – especially those with toothpick lances – than fresh, perfectly formed Belgian waffles.

Are you Dutch? I asked.

No, we’re Hellions.

"Then go away.  These are Belgian waffles."

"We want the waffles.  Give us the waffles!"  A number of the shorter bunnies, the ones measuring less than four feet, stuck their toothpicks up at the back door, making me twitch.

I unconsciously slid the bolt into place and stared down at them imperiously, hoping that the puny security locks on my door would hold in place in the event of them charging the house.  I live in a pretty uptight conservative portion of Suburbia – you know, the one where the roads are suddenly jam-packed at exactly five p.m. as every father and mother comes home from work at exactly the same time.  So I was never really worried about the security of my house – until now.  But I was prepared to make my final stand.  I had my paring knife nearby and that’s all I needed.  Unfortunately my aluminum reinforced baseball bat was in the shed which was outside… in the back yard… behind the bunnies.

You think your puny bolt lock can keep us out, the leader of the bunnies said.  He was wearing a giant parka that made him look as if he was wearing a blindingly bright white shag carpet over his fur.  Stand aside or we will be forced to cave in the entryway to your domicile.

Do they use those big words in Hell? I asked curiously.  I wanted to stall them for as long as possible.

None of your business!  Now open the door – or hand us the waffles, whichever you deem quicker.  The quicker, the better, for speed is now on your side.  Defy us and we will strip you naked, paint you green, bind you, and hang you by your toenails from your basketball hoop.

You don’t scare me, I said, scoffing at their threat with a shake of my fist.  I had my toenails done yesterday.

Then pay the price, their leader said.

The two pawn bunnies in front took their wooden lances and, surprisingly, sliced through the door like paper, splitting it four ways, their cute li’l fuzzy paws rending the pieces (which were very nicely divided, I might add; their handiwork was commendable) from their hinges.  Five bunny henchmen grabbed various limbs of my body and carried me against my will up the two steps into my kitchen, where they sat me down in one of the frying pans on the stove.  Luckily, I hadn’t used it since yesterday so it wasn’t hot; on the other hand, my jeans were smeared with nasty stir-fry residue.  They held me there, pointing their toothpick lances in my face while their parka-laden leader sniffed the waffle skillet.

A fine specimen of waffle-dom indeed, he said.  I smiled in satisfaction but quickly grimaced as one of the bunnies swiped my face with its toothpick.  But, we will not partake of these waffles without knowing of their origins.  You never know just what you’re eating these days.

What?

The bunny leader pressed its face up to mine (the leader of the swarm was only about a foot shorter than I was) and stared deep into my eyes.  I felt my world fall apart and watched in mixed fascination and terror as his pupils dilated and contracted, over and over and over!  The ingredient listing, human.  What did you put in our waffles?

"In your waffles?  These are mine!"

Not anymore, one of the pawn bunnies said, reaching for the skillet.

The leader slapped the paw of the pawn, who shrank back immediately, whimpering to himself and rubbing his fuzzy paw.  Not yet!  Now, then, the leader turned back to me, the list, if you please.

You are actually going to quiz me about what I put in the waffles?

Indeed!  There are certain things that those from Hell are allergic to.  They interfere with the functions of our cerebral cortex.

Whatever, I muttered.

"First of all, eggs," the head bunny hissed.

What about them? I asked snidely.

Did you use any?

Well, of course I did, I replied, not knowing what else to say.

What kind of eggs?

What do you mean ‘what kind’?  I used eggs from the grocery store.  I couldn’t believe this.  Were there vegan bunnies from Hell?

Were they chicken eggs?  Platypus eggs?  Pterodactyl eggs?  Human eggs?  What sort of eggs were these so-called ‘grocery store’ products?

Pterodactyl eggs, I replied sarcastically.

Kill him!

No, wait!  I didn’t mean it!  I’m kidding!  My eyes crossed as I watched toothpick points approach far too closely for my comfort.  I felt sweat form on every conceivable part of my body.  My plastic underwear was really itching now.

"Pterodactyl eggs are priceless treasures that belong in museums!  Do you know how much they’re worth?  And you used them in WAFFLES???" the leader screeched.  I gritted my teeth.  The bunnies were not all that calm anymore.  But then again, neither was I, and I was human!

Well, I thought I’d put them in since I was really making them for you in the first place, I said thinking on my toes, which wasn’t a very easy thing to do since I wasn’t even standing up.

The bunnies hushed at this comment.  You actually made these for us? one of the bunnies that held me down on the stove top asked incredulously.

Why, of course, I answered, feeling more sure of this particular route of deception.  Actually, I wasn’t deceiving them, per se, just stretching the truth – a lot – to fit the situation at hand.  "Why else do you think I attracted you to this spot?  Didn’t you wonder?  Didn’t you ever ask yourself why?  WHY?????"

Another pawn said, "You just told us they were your waffles."

I glared at him a moment.  It was a test.  You passed!  The pawns looked around at each other, obviously confused.

For the first time, the cute li’l fuzzy bunny leader seemed unsure of itself.  It leaned back from me a few inches to consider my words.  I find it hard to believe that a human would be so considerate to anyone but himself.

"I say we eat the waffles and then him." one of the pawns said, jumping up and down excitedly.

Shut up, you little weasel! I yelled down at him.  The toothpicks came very close to piercing my skin.  I backed down.

I like that idea, the bunny leader grinned.  It was not a pretty sight, I assure you.  All right, skewer him.

Should we cook him, boss? one of my living fuzzy restraints asked.

Nah, he said, raising his voice in triumph.  Raw meat for all!

A hearty cheer ran through the mass of assembled bunnies and I clenched my teeth preparing for wood splinters to enter my system.  The toothpick lances drew back and I slid to the floor like liquid, pulling with me my fuzzy restraints, still attached to my limbs, and a stir-fry smeared pan, still attached to the bottom of my jeans.  My hair stirred as the lances brushed my head and speared the waffle iron.  Shredded Belgian waffles flew through the air above my head as I landed on the floor, hearing a squish of vegetable oil and soy sauce remnant and the crinkle of plastic.  The waffle iron itself was not shredded and did not fly through the air.  It instead fell off the stove and alighted upon my head. 

Thankfully, there was a pause as my vision cleared and I tried to stop my cranium from ringing.  If my boss had called right then to ask why I was late, I doubt I would have known.  I also doubt I would have told him.  Seriously, would you?

The bunnies, meanwhile, did pause and look at each other and the shredded Belgian waffles that littered my less-than-spotless floor.  The silence lasted only seconds, just long enough for their big, beady, yet adorable eyes to widen into giant adorable saucers.  I might have wanted to cuddle and pet them had they not just tried to make filet-of-me.

What have you done? the bunny leader screeched.  Our perfect waffles… ruined… you GEEK!  He paused again just long enough to draw a deep breath, big lovable eyes searing death straight through me.  Then he had to say something stupid again.  Flay him!

I almost didn’t see the lances draw back again and I almost didn’t hear myself speak.  It was only after I spoke, with giant slivers of wood against my throat…  again… that I even realized what I had said.  Apparently the waffle iron landed on my head harder than I thought because I think I said something silly like, I can make more.

They paused again.  I sighed.  The stress was really getting to me.  Try to kill the human, pause, try to kill the human, pause… it was enough to drive anyone insane. 

You can make more?

I blinked.  I really said that.  Of course, I squeaked.  Anything that would get me out of this.  Perhaps I could make a batch with rat poison.  "You need me to make another batch of waffles for you."

The bunny leader looked doubtful.  What if you don’t make them as good?

There’s only one way to find out.

The giant anime reject paused… yet again… and I sighed again as well.  Stress, man, stress!  Then he nodded and I exhaled again, except this time it was a sigh of relief as my throat was relieved… again… of wood splinters.  I got up slowly, shedding the cookware.

Ahem, I started, clear a path.

They did, and I ignored the ensuing growls.  Even their growls were cute.  Damn Hellions!  I flipped back open the Things to Do When You Wake up Way Too Early for Work cookbook and started gathering the ingredients.  I cracked a dozen more eggs, then poured in the milk and some flour.  Then came the fun part – the seasonings and spices.  Powdered sugar,