Dark Beneath
They twist the air, the bunnies—cute only in stories for the young,But here, beneath the crawlspace, the pretense is stripped, innocence is wrung.Their breath chills the furnace, their claws nick the pipe,They drag the day’s peace under with them, feed on fear through the night.Whiskers twitch with malice as they rehearse tonight’s attack,Gnawing holes through water lines, turning laughter into panic, no way back.Every shadow is sharper now, corners full of dread,A town cursed by the softest enemy, and half its pets already dead.
They don’t hop in the moonlight, they slink, they press and scheme,Planning bloodless coups behind drywall, stealing every dream.No exorcist will fix what’s festering behind the walls,No old wives’ tale will block the crawlspace where the bravest rabbit sprawls.A council of elders, scarred from traps and failed poisons, sits in filth and reigns,Their eyes slick with contempt for the world above, their patience older than stains.They remember the humiliation—dressed as jokes, caged for luck,Now they crack their teeth on copper wire and sharpen sticks for the next poor schmuck.
A single mother counts the silence, locks her door and hopes for peace,But a line of bunnies slips through a crack, and her comfort’s leased.Neighbors mutter about stray cats, but the evidence is clear:Bunny prints at the crime scene, and one soft tuft left near.In the market, rabbits swarm the produce, drag carrots to their den,A store clerk tries to stop them—his hand never surfaces again.The police tape sags by morning, everyone has an alibi,But everyone saw the fur, the eyes, the flash of white when the clerk began to cry.
When the lights go out, the city turns primitive—every citizen clutching knives,While in the dark beneath, the bunnies vote on which house to take next, which soul survives.No rhyme or reason—some for sport, some for food, some for old, festering hate,A retired dentist found with his teeth pulled, a librarian’s end left up to fate.They mock the town’s defenses—deadbolts, locks, salt on sills—A bunny gnaws through extension cords and the block loses power, the chill multiplies, the tension fills.A mayor calls for calm on radio, but static answers every plea,Somewhere, a bunny sits on his briefcase, plotting policy with glee.
Foreboding whispers weave the next death, no need for bravado or steel,The rabbits kill with subtlety, a science in every meal.A neighbor finds his lawn dug up, the garden a cratered pit,Tries to patch it up by morning, but the bunnies aren’t done with it.They want chaos, legacy, revenge, not just food—Every move is history in the making, every victim’s panic is understood.Grandparents tell stories that no one believes until the night goes wrong,And rabbits drag another dog beneath the shed, then move along.
There is humor in how it breaks—local man blames squirrels for the theft,Reporters laugh at “fluffy terrorism,” until there’s no one left.The news van flipped in a ditch, bunny pawprints in the mud,A cameraman missing his hand, a carrot lodged where his wallet once stood.Supermarkets lock their doors but carrots slip through vents,Cereal aisles raided, the mascot torn, the city’s patience spent.A petting zoo emptied, the cages open, all warnings missed—Now the teachers find the classroom fish tank bloody, bunny teeth marks on the list.
When night descends, silence grows—families pretend it’s just a story for kids,But the scratching is too constant, the shadows too deep, the doors close on what nobody did.What’s left is the ritual: board the windows, block the vents, sleep in shifts,Pray the rabbits pick someone else tonight, that the siege will somehow lift.The dark beneath is patient, outlasts every plan and prayer,It waits until the fear is ripe, then rises from its lair.All the town’s best weapons were useless—traps baited with arrogance, snares woven from pride,The bunnies slip through, take what they want, and leave the last man terrified inside.
History will laugh at how it ended—death by rabbit, a world unmade by paws,Not a meteor, not a war, just patience, numbers, claws.Those who survive move away, never speaking of what they lost,But the houses rot, the yards turn wild, every night more lives are tossed.The bunnies thrive in the aftermath, the joke is on those who thought they knew,In the end, it wasn’t the monsters in the movies—it was what the bunnies chose to do.The world forgot the threat, forgot the warnings from the old,But underneath every floorboard, the story is still being told.