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The Rabbit and the Duck

Posted on August 22, 2011

I don’t know whether this can be classed as a ghost story or not, but I think it’s very much tied up with the supernatural either way and something I’ve never written down before.

In the road I used to live in, there was only one other girl I could play with named Chloe who was four years younger than me. When I was twelve, I was starting to want to be with people my own age after school, but I continued to go round her house some nights.

One night she was eager for me to see her baby brother, Lewis, in his new room which was decorated in the theme of rabbits. Hanging above his cot was a flat, oval plaque made of woven basket-straw. In the centre, in darker tones was a little sitting rabbit with a tiny black bead for an eye. She followed my gaze then climbed onto the cot and snatched it from the wall.

You’ve probably heard of the duck and rabbit illusion. If not, this is the illusion where an image appears to be a rabbit but on another angle resembles a duck. She turned the picture so the oval went long-ways to demonstrate. It transpired that her great Aunt, not long before she died, made this for Chloe’s mother, Trudy, when she was a newborn. However, her grandmother had to take it out of Trudy’s bedroom when she was still a toddler because she cried that it gave her nightmares and wouldn’t go to sleep. However, Trudy said that she couldn’t ever remember doing this, didn’t believe there was anything about the picture that was superstitious and thought it added a nice rustic touch to the bedroom. It seemed as if Trudy was conducting an experiment on her own son to see if he would re-act the same. I thought this was interesting although a bit precarious.

I didn’t understand completely what Trudy did, but I knew she wrote journals about mythology and the supernatural – why people believe in things like ghosts and curses and the power of the human mind. I remember her also saying the family were atheists when I once asked, years before, why Chloe doesn’t come to Church. My family, on the other hand, have always been superstitious and everyone in it has a story. My mum was probably the most superstitious and when I was really little she told me about a favourite picture in her godmother’s house and a vivid memory she’s always had about it. It was a boy sitting beneath a tree and staring up into the light which slipped through the leaves. One night, she noticed the boy’s fingers which were previously flat were clenched into fists. When her godmother died, she threatened to run away if her parents took that picture in. I refer to this story particularly, because I always think of this story whenever I think back to the rabbit plaque.

A week passed and Chloe couldn’t play because she had chicken pox. I was pleased at first because I was free to go to a sleepover with friends rather than play with Chloe as I’d promised the week before. However, after another week she wasn’t getting any better and Lewis became severely ill as well before needing to go into hospital. One night I went to sleep thinking about it and in a dream I saw Chloe, bleary-eyed and feverish on the sofa. Then I looked up on the wall and saw the plaque. I turned it around so that it resembled a duck then when I looked back at Chloe she was beaming and holding a skipping rope.

The next day I went round to visit her then asked to go to the bathroom at the first opportunity. I turned the plaque around and then left shortly after, anxious that Trudy would notice and asked why I would do such a silly thing. The next day Trudy told my mum there was improvements and my visit must have helped her. My heart skipped a beat when my mum repeated this. Before the next week Chloe was better and her baby brother left hospital. I was so happy but riddled with anxiety that she would notice the plaque and turn it back round, and then maybe they would get ill again. If Trudy was like my own mum, I could tell her and she would probably have believed me, but Trudy was a skeptic would have thought I was lying or crazy. Anyway, the weekly playtimes commenced once again and each time I checked to see if the plaque was still a suck in swim. It was for about several weeks in which I turned thirteen.

The following month, July, the family went on holiday and all but their dad died during their sleep from what was attributed to a carbon monoxide leak in their villa. This was a huge blow for all of my family. Chloe’s dad went away a week after the funeral and we never saw him again, because after six weeks we starting to make preparations to move house. One morning I was standing outside looking over at their house, all the furniture still untouched. Then I thought about the plaque with a sting in my heart and thought how easy it was to climb on the sloped garage and look through the window (which looked into Lewis’ room). With my heart drumming against my chest I opened the gate and slid round into the back garden where I wouldn’t be seen by neighbours. Then I climbed the trellis, onto the garage.

You can imagine what I saw when I looked in. The plaque had been turned back to a rabbit, very likely before they went on holiday. As I stared at it I saw, as clear and daylight, the plaque turned by itself about two times on the wall in a slow spin before returning to the rabbit pose. I let out a choked shriek then jumped from the garage running home. I should have told my mum and I should have tried to break in and burn it, but I didn’t and I don’t know where it is now. I try not to think about too often, but I do wonder if it did carry some form of family curse, otherwise why didn’t Chloe’s dad die as well. Why only Trudy’s family? Would the curse have still been there if the picture was destroyed? I don’t know. Like I said, I try not to think about it too much.

Sent in by Heather, Copyright 2011 TrueGhostTales.com




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