It all started on Easter night, 1993.
My older brother and I lived in an apartment about a 15-minute walk from our parents' house. Every Easter, we'd make the walk over for dinner—nothing unusual.
Their house was separated from our place by a large park, and a trail cut through it, leading to a bridge at roughly the halfway point.
We set out as usual, walking through the park. At first, there were a few people around. But as we got deeper in, the park grew eerily empty. By the time we reached the bridge, we hadn't seen another soul.
That's when we heard it—rustling in the bushes.
We froze, trying to locate the sound. Normally, it was just a raccoon or stray cat. This time, nothing emerged. Just silence.
We shrugged it off and kept moving, passing under the bridge.
Then we heard a whistle. Sharp. Deliberate. Human.
It wasn't a bird or the wind. It was someone.
We picked up our pace, wanting to leave the park as fast as possible. A few minutes later, we reached our parents' house.
We joked about it over dinner, laughing at how scary we'd been. The tension faded. We forgot about it.
Hours passed. It got late. We said our goodbyes and headed back through the park.
I suggested calling an Uber. My brother brushed it off.
"Nothing's gonna happen," he said.
The park was pitch black. No street lights. Just the beams from our phone flashlights cutting through the dark.
At night, the place usually felt peaceful—but tonight it was different. Every shadow felt alive. Every sound seemed louder.
Then we heard it again. The rustling.
Then the whistle.
My spine turned to ice. My brother grew quiet.
We walked faster, hearts pounding, halfway through the trail.
That's when we saw him.
A huge, bulky man stepped onto the path ahead.
He wore a light blue Easter Bunny costume. In his hands: an axe.
We froze.
"What the hell is that?" I whispered.
"Maybe... mall gig?" my brother guessed weakly.
"Yeah. Every kid wants a picture with the Easter Bunny about to chop their fucking head off."
The man stepped forward.
"Let's get the hell out of here," my brother said.
We turned and speed-walked. Then—
"Ah—shit! My ankle!"
I looked back. My brother had fallen. A jagged bone protruding from his ankle.
"Get up!" I yelled. "Please!"
But the Bunny Man was getting closer.
"He's running!" my brother screamed.
"Stay back!" I shouted, flailing my arms, trying to create distance.
"HELP!"
The Bunny Man reached him. With one swing, the axe came down on my brother's shoulder.
I turned and ran.
Time slowed. Everything blurred.
But the sounds didn't.
I heard his screams. Over and over.
"Stay away! Stay away! HELP!"
I looked back.
He was still swinging.
I kept running. I didn't look back again.
I didn't want to leave him, but I didn't have a choice.
When I finally made it out of the park, I collapsed to my knees and called for help.
By the time officers arrived and escorted me back, it was a nightmare.
There was blood everywhere.
His face—unrecognizable. His body hacked apart, organs strewn across the pavement like something out of a horror film.
No sign of the Bunny Man.
No prints. No evidence.
So they called it an urban legend. The internet made jokes. Spun stories. Treated it like fiction.
Like my brother wasn't killed.
Like I don't still hear his screams every night.
Like I didn't hear his voice getting louder the farther away I ran—because he was still calling for me. Still begging.
Still dying.
Dr. Tofu (Recording Log):
"This entity is the centerpiece of the so-called Bunny Bridge Man urban legend.
We at the █████ Foundation designate him as Bunny, Bunny—a name he, disturbingly, insists upon.
He is a highly dangerous Type-Ω Reality Manipulator, capable of distorting reality on a universal scale. His powers are potent enough to trigger events such as the irreversible alteration of matter, spontaneous formation and annihilation of natural laws, and mass spatial distortion.
Although we possess the ability to nullify his reality warping but we've been unable to predict or preempt his manifestations. He appears without consistent motive, method, or geographic pattern.
Then, in 2005… we got our chance.
The following is the declassified interview of his interrogation."
————————————————————
INTERVIEW LOG
DATE: 2005/02/03
INTERVIEWER: Dr. Tofu
SUBJECT: Bunny, Bunny
————————————————————
[BEGIN LOG]
DR. TOFU: How are you feeling today, Bunny, Bunny?
SUBJECT: ...
DR. TOFU: Good, good… I understand this must be a bit disorienting.
(Pause. Subject appears tense.)
SUBJECT: Why have you detained me here?
DR. TOFU: Well… we need some answers. Which leads me to my first question: why do you kill?
SUBJECT: ...
DR. TOFU: Hello?
SUBJECT: ...
DR. TOFU: A-alright, back to reality—
SUBJECT: I am an Elder Ken.
DR. TOFU: Elder Ken? So, like an Elder God? Mind telling me what that means?
SUBJECT: We Elders transcend this worthless cosmic garbage you call a universe.
We exist within the Infiniteth Dimension—immortal deities beyond the concepts of space, time, and universal concepts.
DR. TOFU: Hm. Why do you kill?
SUBJECT: I am trapped in this wretched bunny form.
To awaken my true self, I must consume the flesh of the beings on this primitive rock.
DR. TOFU: So your "true form" exists in the Infiniteth Dimension?
SUBJECT: No. My true form lies beyond even that. Outside of reality entirely.
This body is but an avatar, cast into this lower construct.
DR. TOFU: I see. So your avatar resides within the Infiniteth Dimension, while your actual essence exists outside the entire framework of the universe itself.
SUBJECT: ...
DR. TOFU: Why Earth?
SUBJECT: ...
DR. TOFU: Oh, so now you're silent again?
(Sighs, frustrated)
DR. TOFU: Why the hell do they have me conducting this interview?
(The subject rises from the chair.)
DR. TOFU: Hey—what do you think you're doing?
(Bunny, Bunny lunges, attempting to grab Dr. Tofu by the throat.)
DR. TOFU: I knew this was coming eventually.
(Dr. Tofu quickly pulls out a compact device and presses a button.)
SYSTEM VOICE: Subject
powers: NULLIFIED
DR. TOFU: If you won't give me answers… then you're no longer of use.
(He draws a ray gun and fires a pulse shot directly into Bunny, Bunny's chest. The subject collapses to the floor—lifeless.)
[END LOG]
Check out a book I made called "The Anti-Theory"!