Casper's Cottage

A hazy, humid halo hung around his oil lamp as he stepped off the cottage steps into the fog. He'd layered a thick red flannel over top his pajama shirt, both to look reasonable and to keep himself a little drier in case the day's rain had continued to linger after dark. Thankfully, only drips from the evergreen trees overhead fell around him.

The utility vehicle was a camper van in miserable condition, ancient of model, caked in mud with its side mirrors cracked in various places. Casper, his eyes now adjusted vaguely to the lights, craned his neck and stood on tiptoe to search for a driver through the windshield, but found nothing. Ardent climbed atop Casper's head, eager to aid in the search, but even with the extra height, the little creature saw nothing of note.

"Who's in there?" Casper called.

One of the van windows slid open with hesitation. "D-don't come any closer with that thing on your head!" someone unseen inside cried back.

Casper bared teeth hearing his pet referred to as a "thing", but Ardent was understanding. He nuzzled his cold little nose at Casper's cheek in comfort, prompting the squirrel to reach up and give him pets with his free hand. In a moment, Ardent had climbed down Casper's back headfirst and sped off towards the cottage. The van doors screeched open in response.

Noting the smell of warm plastic and salt and vinegar chips as he waved his lantern around in the doorway, Casper stepped inside. Bins of radio parts littered the floor around the seats, and stacks of books and typewritten documents swamped the countertops. The shag carpeting and fake wood paneling on the inside walls made the interior of the van look just as dated and worn as the exterior.

Casper, sleep-deprived and offended, was rapidly losing his temper. "What are you doing at my door at this hour? You're scaring the animals!"

"I-I don't mean to, man, I swear!"

The squirrel swiveled on his heels to face the voice. Posed defensively behind a kitchen seat stood a brown rabbit about his age, though a bit taller. Casper was disarmed by the fear shown in his shiny eyes.

Casper's tone softened, and he lowered the lantern out of the rabbit's face. "Are you alright? There's nothing to be afraid of, promise. The slerrets don't bite."

"Not scared of them, man," the rabbit explained. "Unless they were making that noise..."

An ear perked to the ambience, Casper stepped back. "What noise?"

"That—ringing, man! Don't you hear it? I drove up here to get away from the ringing!"

"...Do you mean the cicadas?"

"I don't know..." The rabbit rubbed his arms defensively, shamefully, as he leaned over the back of the seat. "I kinda panicked, man. My chest got real tight, and I just drove somewhere. Anywhere. I can't be alone tonight, I'm losing it. Can I stay in your house? Just for tonight?"

It was a bizarre thing to ask of a stranger. Casper set the lamp down on the countertop next to a stack of quarterlies and processed it. His forest's wildlife were disturbed, he was roused from a terrific sleep under a cool night's rain, and his visitor was a complete stranger with a violent, rattling, utterly disruptive, but admittedly somehow appealing, camper van. He had the total right to refuse.

Yet still, it had been the only visitor he had in some time that wasn't unsettled by his appearance, nor the slerrets.

In the time it took to think, the rabbit had moved a little closer to Casper. He could see his face more clearly—a splash of tan fur around his muzzle and darker fur that tipped his ears and ringed around his tired eyes. They were puffy; he looked to have been rubbing at them.

Casper nodded. "Let's get you inside," he said softly. "What's your name?"

"Gonzo, man. Gonzo. What's yours?"

"Casper. Please—turn down your headlights before we leave..."