Hop-scoff

Daniel sat next to his grandfather on the picnic blanket as long grass swayed around them, caught in the soft breeze. The sun lent its warmth to the picturesque scene of cascading hills and country land that surrounded them.

Daniel was playing with the hem of the blanket, enjoying its softness, as his grandfather began to display their lunch options. He loved their days out together. His Papa was the greatest, and he always took him to the most interesting of places.

He looked longingly at the spread as his grandfather revealed items one by one from inside the picnic basket, his favourite being his grandmother's homemade apple pie.

She would always make sure they had a lovely lunch prepared for when they went out on their little adventures. Daniel wondered if his grandmother ever felt sad that she couldn't come with them. She used to join them but unfortunately, she couldn't walk too well these days. He was just grateful that Papa could still manage it with the help of his trusty walking stick.

Daniel sighed.

'You okay, buddy?' asked Papa, passing him a paper plate to load up with goodies.

'Absolutely,' smiled Daniel from under this sun hat, 'I was just thinking about Grandma, being back at the house on her own. Do you think she misses us?' He asked.

His grandfather laughed.

'No, my boy. I don't think she does. I think your grandma enjoys the peace and quiet more than she lets on. She sneaks off to the garden with her book and blanket every chance she gets.' Smiling, he leaned back against the tree that provided them with sporadic patches of shade, as its leaves rocked gently to and fro.

Daniel watched him reach for his flask and pour himself a small cup of tea from his multicoloured thermos. Tucking into his sandwiches, he waited patiently for his grandfather to get comfortable. He was excited, as usual, for this week's story. Papa told the best stories, and whether they were eating ice cream in the park, or paddling in the ocean, Daniel always looked forward to them the most.

It really was a beautiful place that Papa had chosen for lunch. As a bird sang a happy song from its tree-top hiding place, the only sound to disturb its peaceful serenade was the slight brustle of the swaying leaves and the soft bubbling of a nearby brook.

They ate in silence as they took in the peaceful view.

They were nearly finished with their food and Daniel started to worry that maybe his grandfather wasn't feeling up to telling stories today when a pair of rabbits appeared from the brush at the edge of the field.

His eyes widened with excitement as he looked at his Papa and then back at the rabbits.

'Don't move, my boy,' Papa whispered, 'they will run away if they notice us.'

Daniel's heart beat rapidly in his chest as he focused on staying completely still. He tensed his muscles and stopped mid-chew, with apple pie dripping slowly down his chin. He'd never seen a rabbit in the wild before, and they were marvellously cute creatures. He did not want them to run away.

His grandfather watched in amusement as the little boy tried with all his might not to startle the bunnies.

Frowning, he leaned towards his grandson and whispered, 'You do know why bunnies hop, right?'

'Why they hop? What do you mean, why they hop?' Daniel muttered, not daring to move his head to look at his Papa. 'They hop because they are bunnies, silly Papa.'

'Oh, my dear, young Daniel, that's not why they hop. No, no... not at all, ' Papa informed him. 'The true story about rabbits, the real one, is much more interesting. It’s full of betrayal and magic. It’s reserved only for the bravest of boys. The ones who can truly keep a secret...’

‘It is? Please, Papa, I’m brave! I can keep a secret.’

‘You can?’ questioned Papa.

‘I can! I can!’

Daniel looked up at his grandfather with wonder, his eyes pleading with excitement.

Papa smirked, ‘Well then, I guess now that you’re seven, you should be big enough to handle the truth. But you must not tell anyone. No one can know about magic, Daniel. Only the special few.’

'Not even Grandma?'

'Especially not your grandma.'

‘Pinky promise,’ Daniel whispered excitedly.

'Well,’ began Papa, pouring himself another cup of tea, ‘Once upon a time, a very long time ago, when the sky was pink and the oceans yellow, when the winds blew backwards and the air tingled with magic, there lived a very old man, called Peter-'

‘Peter?’ Interrupted Daniel, rolling his eyes, ‘Like... Peter Rabbit?’

‘Do you want to hear the story or not?’

Daniel giggled.

‘Now, to look at him, he seemed quite ordinary. He lived alone, in a little white cottage, surrounded by woods on the outskirts of town. He had long white hair, a hunch in his back, and he walked slowly with a walking stick. But Peter wasn’t any ordinary man. You see, for Peter... was a wizard.’

‘A wizard!’ gasped Daniel, awe-struck.

‘A wizard,’ confirmed Papa, sipping his tea. ‘He lived a quiet life, away from people. He had to keep his magic hidden from outsiders, who might want to steal it. You see, in the time of great magic, there was also great evil. It was a dangerous time to be a wizard. Especially for an old wizard, who had nearly used up all of his magic.’

Daniel hung on to every thrilling word.

‘He stayed at home most days and tended to his vivacious garden, growing flowers and vegetables alike. He baked award-winning pies for the farmer’s market and painted beautiful pictures, which he sold at the local summer fair. He lived a good, quiet life.

One hot summer's night, Peter was sitting out in his garden as he waited for one of his giant, award-winning, steak pies to cool. He was reading a book by candlelight to pass the time when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

It wasn’t uncommon to hear things moving in the woods, especially at night. A lot of magical creatures lived in those woods; fairies, wood-elves, trolls, and so on and so forth,’ said Papa, as he gestured with his hand as if they were unimpressive, ‘they would get their powers from the moon, you see.’

‘Like a phone charger?’

‘Daniel.’

‘Sorry...’

‘But on this particular night, the rustling was loud and seemed oddly out of place, so he decided to investigate. Now you don’t get to the ripe old age of two-hundred-and-twelve unless you have some sense about you, and Peter certainly did.

Grabbing his wand, which he always kept close, he cast a small spell to light it up like a torch and headed towards the rustling brush. He was only a few steps away when out sprung a trio of treacherous rabbits!’

‘I’m sorry, a trio of what?’ sniggered Daniel, ‘Papa, you’re confused. Rabbits aren’t dangerous.’

‘My dear, innocent, Daniel. Rabbits aren’t dangerous now. But, back in the time of wizards and witches, they were very much a danger. Rabid, feral, vicious things they were. And much bigger than they are now. More the size of sheep. With long legs, big claws and sharp teeth. They moved like big cats and ate meat. They were also very clever in their own right, known through the land for their sneaky behaviour and troublesome schemes. In fact, that’s how they got their title of 'game'. Greedy, spiteful little things they were...

The old wizard froze. He was in a head-to-head stale mate with these three crafty rabbits, waiting to see what trouble they had planned... when suddenly, they darted towards the house. He cried out in surprise as he gave chase, hobbling behind them as fast as he could, waving his walking stick above his head with hopes to scare them.

But it was useless – the rabbits scarpered into his house through the open back door.

Peter’s heart raced as he tried to speed up. He leaned hard on his walking stick as he hurried his pace, as close to a run as he could possibly manage. That's when he heard an awful snap and plummeted towards the floor. He hit the ground with a thwack landing facedown on the damp grass.

Sharp, hot, pain shot up through his leg and into his hip. Nausea washed over him as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He looked frantically for his walking stick, only to discover it lay broken in half a few feet away. His heart sank, he would have to fix that later when he had time to look up the right spell.

The grating sounds of smashing and crashing came from inside his home. A groan escaped his lips as he picked up his wand, pulled himself to his feet, and began hopping painfully towards the door once more.

He entered his cottage and let out a cry of disbelief. All of his precious paint pots had been knocked over, and paint covered the room. It splattered the walls and covered the carpet in a wish wash of offensively bright colour. His living room furniture lay sprawled across the room in disarray, and precious works of art lay ruined - but no rabbits. The crashing and banging continued from deeper inside the house.

Peter gripped his wand tighter as anger swelled within him. Leaning on anything and everything to help support him, he painfully hopped down the hallway, following a trail of paint-coloured paw prints.

The noise grew unbearably loud as he pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen. The kitchen light, which he had left on whilst his pie cooled, swung vigorously from side to side, illuminating half of the room at a time in quick succession.

The room was destroyed. Kitchen chairs were over-turned and smashed crockery covered the floor. Sauces and soups dripped over the cupboards and countertops, as clouds of herbs and spices were still floating, slowly, down to the ground. Shards of glass glinted across the room like twinkling stars in a sea of debris.

The only thing that was still as he had left it was his heavy wooden breakfast table in the middle of the room, which had been graced with his perfect pie. The giant rabbits were huddled around it, faces dripping in award-winning sauce.

Peter roared in anger as he pointed his wand at the thieving rabbits, sending a burst of white-hot light shooting through the air. Quick as a flash, the rabbits jumped in different directions, crashing into what was left of Peter’s kitchenware as they did so.

The bright magic light hit the table instead, sending the remains of his pie cascading through the air before it hit the window with a wet smack. The rabbits zoomed around the kitchen as Peter unleashed what power he could muster in his old age, shooting bright beams of magic here, there, and everywhere in an attempt to put an end to the debauchery.

He fired into every corner in a frantic panic. His wand was getting hotter and hotter in his hand with every missed shot, bursts of bright light sending shards of wood and china into the air. But it was no good. The rabbits were as fast as lightning. Debris crunched underneath them as they sprinted past Peter and back down the hallway.

He gave chase as his magic dwindled. Hot bursts of light turned to splutters and sparkles as he hopped and staggered back down the hallway. His exhausted shots, just missing the rabbits by inches, put holes in his dear cottage walls.

After what seemed like an eternity, Peter reached the back door, bone-weary and out of breath. With his wand giving off no more than a dim splutter, he watched helplessly as the rabbits sprinted across his garden and into the woods, once more.

He crumpled to the floor and wept.

It was later that very night, as the rest of the world slept and the moon stood at its highest, that he did it...

Draped in a magic cloak from whence he was young, brandishing an ancient talisman from days of old magic, the withered wizard hobbled barefoot, deep into the woods. He could no longer use his right leg at all, but anger fueled his determination as he steadied himself with a large branch he used as a crutch.

The old man walked for a long time. He felt the eyes of unseen creatures watching him as he journeyed deeper. Until, finally, he reached a clearing in the deepest, densest part of the wood.

He reached over his shoulder and pulled the cloak's large hood down from upon his head, as he dropped the heavy branch onto the floor. Removing his wand from his pocket, he whispered to it vehemently and watched it glow to life. With great care, he used it to draw an invisible circle around himself.

Closing his eyes, he turned towards the night sky. He felt the supernatural power of the moon hot on his face. It was like an electric current coursing through every fibre of his being.

The usual noise of bustling nocturnal life fell silent.

He began muttering under his breath in an entrancing language of magic and mystery, handed down by his ancestors over thousands of years. A lost language of myth and legend.

A sudden gust of wind appeared as if from nowhere, pulling up dust from the forest floor, and whipping at his cloak as it whirled around him.

As the distant sound of the village bells echoed midnight through the forest, the wizard cursed the land.

The spell went as such... From this very day, every rabbit that is, or rabbit that will ever, be will feel the frustration and helplessness I felt on this very night. They are to become weak, feeble, shy creatures. They will no longer be predators, but instead, prey.

They will drop to the bottom of the food chain. Carnivores no more, they will be punished for their gluttony and their greed.

From this day, until their final day, they will eat nothing but the grass at their feet, or be forced to forage for vegetables for sustenance. Their limbs are to be shortened and harmless. Their days of thieving are at an end.

They are to be hunted by what has never before been a threat to them. To cower at every startling sound and dread the forest and the land that surrounds them.

They must fear for their lives and the lives of their young. Their claws will shorten and blunt, and their teeth will flatten to pose no threat.

They shall no longer be able to run with the skill and agility they have been blessed with or slither silently up trees with grace. If they dare to survive they must hop, with the same shame and humiliation they bestowed upon me, on this fateful night.

It wasn't an evil curse, but a very strong one indeed. In the exact second it was cast, windows of nearby villages exploded, waking frightened little boys and girls and parents alike, from their beds. Church bells tolled with ferocious gusto, patternless as they bellowed into the night. And the full moon sought refuge behind a dark, dense, cloud.

It was a spell so well spun, that it has lasted through the ages. Those vicious, spiteful, creatures were never able to hurt anyone again. Their biggest mistake was underestimating the old man. Great wizards have lived for millennia, amongst most, without ever being suspected. Though I do believe they are a dying breed in this day and age.’

Daniel sat in stunned silence as Papa packed away the empty packets and paper plates. He was so engrossed in watching the distant rabbits as they bounded, seemingly innocent in the field in front of him, that he almost didn’t notice his Papa getting ready to leave. Using the tree to heave himself from the floor, the old man put the picnic basket under his arm and grabbed his walking stick.

Daniel snapped out of his trance and jumped up to follow his grandfather, who began to walk the long trek back to the car.

‘Don’t forget the blanket, Daniel,’ Papa called over his shoulder without looking back.

Daniel bent down and folded the blanket, stuck it under his arm, and started to walk after his grandfather. Glancing back at the rabbits one last time, he stopped dead in his tracks. They were staring at him... perched up high on their hind legs, completely still, looking directly at him. He hadn't noticed that there were three of them until this very moment. Daniel felt the colour drain from his face as a shiver went through him.

He looked back at Papa, who was already halfway across the field. He began to call out to him but stopped himself. Instead, he watched in disbelief as his Papa, leaning on his walking stick, limped his way towards the public footpath...whilst his long, white hair, billowed behind him in the wind.

Daniel gasped and hurried after his grandfather.