Cursed Bunny(3)

The head had the gall to appear before her and the child and call her “Mother.” She decided she had to get rid of it once and for all.

Plucking the head from the toilet again was easy. But just as she was about to wrap it in a plastic bag and throw it out with the garbage, she hesitated. The head could talk. If she threw it out like this, it could ask someone to flush it down the toilet like last time. She had to ensure that it couldn’t talk.

The woman shoved the head into a small container, which she put in a sunny spot on the veranda. She figured that without water or more defecation, the head would eventually mummify. She couldn’t think of any other way, nor did she care to expend further effort on the issue.

She cautioned her husband and child to not disturb the container. Her husband had no occasion to go out on the veranda, but her child was curious. Her daughter squirmed with the desire to poke and stare and talk to it. The woman gave the child a harsh scolding and hid the container with the head.

Her husband received some vacation time, and they went traveling for a few days. When they returned, the woman went to the bathroom. She was washing her hands when something appeared behind her. She turned around. She slammed down the lid of the toilet seat and flushed.

The woman scolded the child. “You did this, didn’t you! I told you over and over again not to touch it!”

The child began to cry. Her husband stepped in. “Oh, that thing in the container? It asked me to put it in the toilet, so I did. Why, did I do something wrong?”

She sighed and told him the whole story.

Her husband remained nonchalant. “Eh, that’s nothing. Just leave it alone. It’s not like it crawls out of there at night and lays eggs around the house.”

The woman dreamed she was in a white, tiled room. Suddenly, the head popped out from behind her. The woman turned around in surprise. Then, the head popped out from another direction. It began popping out from everywhere.

Next to her, her delighted daughter kept pointing at it. “Head! Head!”

The woman begged her husband for help. He was sitting on her other side reading a newspaper. “Eh, that’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”

His words bounced against the tiles and chorused off the walls. Leave it alone. That’s nothing. Leave it alone. That’s nothing.

The lever for the flush was near the ceiling. She reached it with some difficulty and just managed to pull it. Water swirled around her husband, her child, and the head. The woman got sucked into a dark hole along with her still delighted child and her still nonchalantly newspaper-reading husband. She grabbed her child and tried with all her might to escape the whirlpool. A familiar voice spoke in her ear.

“Mother?”

She looked down at her child. Upon her daughter’s little body and delicate neck sat the head.

The shock woke her. She stumbled into the bathroom. She sat in front of the toilet and stared into the pure, flawless white of the bowl, the clear water pooled inside, and the dark hole submerged within. Imagining the thing inside and where that hole led to.

But ever since she had tried to mummify it, the head no longer appeared. And as time went on, she no longer had nightmares about it. The woman quietly went about her life—cooking for her husband and child, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, shopping, and generally immersing herself in years comprised of unremarkable, peaceful days. Her husband moved up in his company, no faster or slower than others. The man wasn’t especially gentle or warm, but he did bring home a cake on her or their child’s birthday and placed candles on it. Her child, like everyone else, went to elementary school, then to middle school, and became a high school student. The child’s grades weren’t particularly good or bad. She was cute, but no beauty queen. She was a typical high school student who had trouble getting up in the morning, liked celebrities, and fretted over her pimples in the mirror.

“Come get breakfast or you’ll be late.”

“Mom, did you see my uniform necktie?”

“I hung it on the doorknob of your bedroom. Slow down, you’ll get an upset stomach.”

“OK. Oh, by the way, I saw a person’s head in the toilet yesterday.”

“Did you now. What happened?”

“I just flushed it down the toilet.”

“Good. More stew?”

“I’m good. But about that head, I think I’ve seen it before. Is there a way to get rid of it? It’s vile.”

“Forget about it. Just flush it down again. Are you done?”

“Yup. See you later.”

“You’ve packed your lunch?”

“I did. Bye, Mom.”

“Have a good day.”

The door closed.

Forget about it.

That’s nothing.

The woman began clearing the table.

Her child entered college. Meanwhile, she started noticing wrinkles and sagging skin, and rough patches in places that had once been smooth. She gave her child some lipstick and it suited the girl well, only the child wasn’t a girl anymore but a young lady. The woman rediscovered the contours of her younger face in the familiar-unfamiliar face of her daughter, feeling surprise, pride, love, and jealousy at the same time. When her child straight-permed her hair flat and dyed it purple, the woman stood before a mirror when no one was watching and fiddled with the curls of her “auntie perm,” a tight cap of poodle-like hair that had to be dyed black.