Phantom Felines And Other Ghostly Animals - Gerina Dunwich 2006

The White Rabbit
Other Ghostly Animals

by Mary Leroux

When I was a young girl my parents used to take me several times a year to visit my grandfather who lived in rural upstate New York. It was a good three-and-a half-hour drive from our home in Burlington, Vermont. I never minded the long trip, however, because on the way up we always stopped at the Johnsons’ farm to buy honey or maple syrup and I would get to play with Elmer—their beautiful pet Angora rabbit with silky white hair.

I remember going to the farm one crisp autumn day. No sooner had my father put the car into park, then I was out the door and running straight to the rabbit hutch in the barn behind the Johnsons’ house as I had done at least a dozen times before. When Elmer saw me approaching he stood up on his hind legs as if to greet me. I was anxious to pet him, as I loved how his soft fur felt against the palm of my hand. But as I started to open the door on the hutch, I heard my mother calling me. I told Elmer I’d be right back and then hurried to the front of the house. My parents and Mrs. Johnson were talking on the front porch and they all had a solemn look on their faces.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, sensing that something was wasn’t quite right.

“Honey,” my mother said softly as she comfortingly put her arm around me, “Mrs. Johnson just gave us some sad news. It seems Elmer got very sick a couple months ago and now he’s in heaven with God. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Confusion rippled through me. “No! That’s not true!” I argued. “Elmer’s in the hutch behind the house. I just saw him!”

“Child, you must have been imagining things,” said Mrs. Johnson in a sympathetic tone of voice. “Our dear little Elmer is gone.”

“No!” I screamed, refusing to listen to any more of what I perceived were lies. I broke away from my mother’s embrace and took off running, bent on proving them all wrong. But when I returned to the rabbit hutch in the barn, there was no sign of Elmer and I began to cry.

Before we left the farm that day, Mrs. Johnson took my parents and me to the spot in a wilted flower garden where the rabbit had been buried. I laid a cross made from twigs on top of his grave and said good-bye to my little fluffy friend, heartbroken that I would never see him again.

I know I didn’t imagine seeing Elmer in his hutch that day. And more than fifty years later, I still believe very firmly that it was his spirit that appeared to me. Perhaps that was his way of saying a final farewell to a little girl who loved him dearly.