Rumors moved quietly through the neighborhood, just as Samantha stood motionless on her porch. “He was just here,” she kept whispering, as if saying it enough times would reverse what had happened. Neighbors watched from their driveways, eyes wide with pity, none quite sure what to do or say.
That afternoon, she gathered Pablo’s best photo—the one where he was perched by the daisies—and printed several copies. LOST BUNNY. REWARD OFFERED. She walked from block to block, pinning them to poles, tacking them to trees, taping them to shop windows. Her hands moved on their own, as if scripted.
At the grocery store, someone glanced at the poster and gave her a soft, sympathetic smile. At the library, a passerby simply shook their head and whispered, “So sad.” People didn’t ask questions. They assumed what had happened—and their pity only made Samantha feel more hollow inside.
When she got home, exhausted and windburned, she opened her laptop and wrote a post for the town’s Facebook group. She recounted everything—the scream, the shadow, the flash of white. Her fingers hesitated at the end before typing, “Please let me know if you’ve seen anything at all.”