Changes 3

Fuzzy wandered in the darkness and was surprised by a mound of writhing mutilated bunnies. He squinted at them. Something wasn't right. Not just that one didn't normally bump into piles of mutilated bunnies. The rules were different here. Perhaps in the afterlife, it happened all the time. No, it was something more basic. The blood was the wrong shade and the smell wasn't right. Not rich enough.

"What are you supposed to be?"

The mound stopped writhing.

"Your victims? Yes, we're your victims."
"The ones not important enough to have names?"

The mound quivered.

"Err ... yes? We're scary. Oooooo."

Fuzzy looked at the heap. It seemed to be made almost entirely of plushies. Plushies with their stuffing hanging out in places and stained red, but still plushies.

"And you're here to show me visions of Frithmas yet to come?"

The mound wobbled angrily and hunched up slightly.

"Yes. No. That isn't it at all. You're making fun of us."

Fuzzy leaned in, sniffing carefully at the mound.

"Aren't you scared? We're terrifying. " It paused. "Ooooooo."
"Stop that."

On a suspicion Fuzzy tasted the blood liberally smeared and oozing from the mound.

"Cherry syrup?"
"We couldn't get enough blood. And blood is icky anyway."
"Come out of there."

A small sticky brownish kit stuck its head out of the top of the heap of syrupy torn plushies.

"You're supposed to be scared."

The kit pouted, Fuzzy stared at it. He hopped back a few paces.

"I know who you are. Why are you here?"

The kit squirmed free of the pile and began cleaning itself.

"I think you killed me."
"That's ridiculous, how could I?"

The kit stared at him with dark hollow eyes.

"You know how."
"But you're me."
"So?"
"I'm not dead. Yet."
"Maybe I'm not really you."

The kit fluffed at him.

"Maybe I'm just part of you."
"Why the costume?"
"I wanted to scare you. You're going to kill me again."
"What?"
"You've made your decision, haven't you?"
"How ..."
"I'm you."
"But ..."
"And you're going to become an icky four bunny. And that means you don't need me around anymore."

Fuzzy sat still, watching himself as a kit. It was slowly aging.

"What's happening to you?"
"I'm dying, silly. Dying again anyway. But you get to watch this time."

The kit's body lengthened making wet, snapping noises. It smiled at him and blood began to flow. Blood began to flow from eyes, mouth, ears and nose. Gouges appeared in its side and more blood flowed while it writhed in agony. Fuzzy's nose was filled with the scent of blood, no cherry syrup this time. The blood flowing from the former kit darkened and the flesh puilled back, shrinking from the bones. The eyes remained though, cold and staring. The convulsions slowed and finally ceased. The figure lay there in a pool of clotted black blood. A buzzing noise and a wet noise, botfly larva crawling through rotting flesh. Fuzzy found himself drawn towards it, towards the thing that was somehow, him. The cracked bleeding lips pulled back in a leer and the chest heaved noxious breath into his face.

"Ooooo."

The thing lay still, dead again for the time being.

"You always did have a taste for melodrama."