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Glowing eyes stared at her—Judy noticed that when she was nine years old.
Annually, when she and her family would walk to the cemetery (To light candles, offer flowers and all), along the way, she would notice a glowing pair of dots fixated at her direction… if not, her.
When she was nine years old, she disregarded the sighting but it retained inside her memory the whole year until it was Halloween again. She saw the same eyes looming in the darkness.
She decided to tell her mother this time.
“Oh just keep walking, bun-bun,” her mother grabbed her hand and hastened her pace, “It might be a fox and you know how obnoxious those creatures are.”
That was all Judy remembered coming from her mother and had she not known it, her mother was actually correct.
Judy grew up seeing those pair of eyes looking at her every Halloween and not once did it cross her mind to actually investigate. But it became a force of habit that whenever she would be walking on the path to the cemetery, she would search for those luminescent dots as if she would lose her mind if she didn’t spot them. And punctually, the glowing dots would be there.
She never thought of the eyes significantly like she would wonder about it the entire year. In fact, the eyes that stare at her every Halloween don’t cross her mind until it’s actually Halloween and she’s walking on the path where she always sees it.
Fifteen years later, Halloween, Judy walks on the path, still in her ZPD uniform since she just got home from Zootopia. She carried two red candles and a small basket of blueberries.
She organized the line, making sure her two-hundred plus siblings were in order–no bunny straying from the path or too far from the group. So oftentimes she’d find herself by the side of the forest path brushing the heads of her brothers and sisters and pointing the way.
She became so busy that she forgot all about the green eyes.
She only remembered it when she lit a candle by the grave of her grandmother and her eyes caught the pair looming in the distance.
This time, she became curious.
She offered a smile first, thinking that if the eyes were staring at her, it’d know that it’s welcome to show itself. But in the distance, it just stayed there—hovered quietly no matter how many times Judy waved her hand.
Judy approached the eyes and slowly, they started to shift, spin and circle each other, leaving a trail of luminous green mist. There, Judy realized they weren’t eyes. They weren’t something she knew of but the closest she could compare it to was a wisp—two green wisps.
Instead of heading back, Judy was keener on finding out what those wisps are.
She approached closer and then closer until the hovering dots retreated to the forest and Judy found herself sprinting in pitch darkness with only the green luminescence as her guide. Thorns and brambles scraped her uniform and scratched her face but she didn’t mind. It was a small sacrifice for what she’s about to discover.
For years, she thought those were eyes when it was actually something mystique.
She sprinted and jumped over bushes, fell over a few times until the green dots distanced further and further away from her until it just ceased in the darkness.
Not even the moon could light up anything to be seen clearly aside from a worm’s perspective above head.
But Judy wasn’t afraid. She was disappointed having ignored something supernatural all throughout the years and the thought haunted her, thinking if those wisps would show themselves to her next year. But was it really supernatural or paranormal?
A chill ran up Judy’s spine on the uncertainty of what she was dealing with.
Belly-flopped on the ground, Judy turned and lied on her back, arms and feet spread open as if to make a snow angel. She stared at the sky blocked by the silhouette of trees’ leaves and branches until what she expected least greeted her in the forest—a voice of another animal, slick and slyly.
“Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?”
Judy got startled to a fighting a position, hand reaching to the fox repellant she always keeps in her holster.
“Easy now,” the fox pushed his hands in front of him, “I was just on my way home.” He looked at Judy’s alert hand reaching for the fox repellant. “There’s no need for that.”
Judy released her breath and dropped her guard down. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just that, I didn’t expect someone to actually be in the middle of the forest.”
“Why?” the fox walked towards Judy, hands behind his back staring at her with half opened eyes.
“Well it’s the middle of the forest,” Judy stepped back once the fox towered her. “I reckon it’s a hassle traveling to and from your house?”
“Not if you really don’t have to leave your house,” the fox turned and walked ahead.
“You haven’t happened to see something… I don’t know,” Judy laughed, “Mystical around here, have you?”
The fox turned to Judy, “I’m seeing one in front of me.”
For a second, Judy felt something she hasn’t felt before strike her—a feeling not yet determined to be wonderful or horrible. Her ears dropped down and mannerisms started to occur. She found herself fondling with her ear, looking at the ground nowhere else.
The fox added, “I see her every year and she sees me.”
A strike of fear shot Judy and the moment she processed those words, her ears rose up alertly, eyes scanning the environment, looking for the fox she talked with seconds ago but was nowhere to be found.
She was alone in the forest.
November 2nd, All Souls Day (Night), Judy kept watch at the wall of trees where the wisps were the other night.
She kept to herself—didn’t tell her parents about her peculiar encounter with a fox—and quite stupidly, she still had a plan on meeting him again.
The eyes, wisps—whatever they were, she wanted to see them again…
…and again, she delved deep into the forest, back where she was last night.
There was something about punctuality that compelled the scenario to an eerie coincidence. The same time perhaps—nine in the evening, too exact as when the premise of the fox had shown itself again.
“I find it surprising that you’re here… again.” Right behind Judy, the fox in Hawaiian polo startled her… without the intent.
“Where have you gone last night?” was the first question that escaped Judy’s mouth and for the sly looking fox, it was quite a big deal had he tackled the question rather than answering it.
“Well that’s a fine greeting to someone you’ve just met,” he chuckled, “Although I wouldn’t say this is our first time meeting.”
Judy watched the fox circle her, hands behind his back as he conversed. Oddly enough, Judy found herself actually listening to his cunning words.
“Well there was last night,” the fox continued counting with his fingers, “There was when you were seven—I admit that was quite a long time before—”
“Wu-wait,” Judy interjected, “What do you mean when I was seven? My first time meeting you were yesterday—err, night.” She didn’t know any foxes other than Gideon Grey. Some, she knows of but only by face not even acquaintances and this stranger, she’s only seen him once… twice now.
The fox chuckled but not in a way that seemed mischievous or slyly. He chuckled in a way like he recalled a shared memory only he remembers.
He walked towards Judy, a smile pasted on his face but in his approach, Judy backtracked and subtly, it gave him the impression that Judy doesn’t trust him at all. He stopped a few yards away from Judy and began sharing their encounters.
“I told you yester-night,” he smiled, “I see her every year and she sees me.”
Judy didn’t pay much attention to the fox’s introduction. She was too busy recalling if she encountered any fox—this fox in her lifetime.
“You didn’t see me for the first time when you were seven,” the fox said which caught the confused hare’s attention. He continued, “We’d met for quite some time now already when you were seven.”
“When was the first time we met then?” The question came out as Judy’s automatic response.
“Do you want to come to my house for the rest of the story?” the fox asked.
Judy seemed impatient or was playing safe. It could be a trap for all she knows. “We don’t have to go anywhere for me to hear your story…” she looked at the fox suspiciously, “Just tell me here.”
“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of, Carrots,” the fox stretched and leaned his arm on a nearby tree, “You used to play there a lot. You would run around laughing, chasing butterflies, humming tunes—you’re quite the most hyperactive bunny I’ve ever met—and when you would get tired, you would rest on my lap as I stroke you to sleep.”
“Lies…” Judy whispered and then looked at the fox with those ever confused eyes. She repeated, “Lies. I don’t remember any of those. I don’t remember playing at anyone’s house or getting babysat and petted by a fox. I grew up in Bunny Burrow, farming in my vacant hours, studying on weekdays. I only know one fox by his name and that fox isn’t you. I grew up and fulfilled my dream, I live in Zootopia now.”
The fox receded to silence, only staring at Judy with those half-opened eyes.
Judy readied herself to grab the fox repellant in case the fox in front of her attacks but for moments, nothing happened. Instead, the fox smirked at Judy and began approaching.
“Stay back,” Judy backtracks a few steps.
“It’s sad how the years made you forget about me.” The fox didn’t seem to be discerning Judy’s warning. “I wouldn’t blame you. You wanted to forget.”
He didn’t stop approaching Judy and Judy didn’t stop backtracking until she was cornered to a tree.
Judy shivered as the fox towered her. She was showing the opposite of what she had trained and somehow, she just couldn’t reach for her fox repellant and get it over with. It was difficult with this fox.
The fox leaned his arm on the trunk of the tree, slightly bending down to meet Judy face to face.
And that’s when Judy finally snapped from her fear paralysis.
Swiftly, she reached for her fox repellant and sprayed it widely across her, eyes closed but for what she expected—the sound of agonizing pain supposedly escaping into the vastness of the forest—didn’t come.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and the image of the fox still staring at her finalized in her vision.
She sprayed the fox repellant again but like smoke in the wind, it wafted into the air, not even touching the fox’s fur.
Then the fox turned away from Judy. His back now faced her and he started singing a childish carol.
“Run little bunny, hop-hop-hop,
Foxes will chase you, hop-hop-hop,
If they catch you, hop-hop-hop
Foxes will eat you, hop-hop-hop”
Judy recognized the tune and the poetry as something her grandfather used to sing to her and her siblings.
“I remembered you said that the lyrics were wrong,” the fox said, “You changed it for me. Come little bunny, hop-hop-hop, Foxes won’t hurt you, hop-hop-hop, Pa-pop was wrong just hop-hop-hop, Foxes are nice so hop-hop-hop.”
Just as the fox finished singing the revised carol, a sense of fear shot Judy like her body was panicking but didn’t have the idea why. Her breathing became irregular, her heart palpitated, her vision was going back and forth—she was afraid. For some unknown reason she was afraid.
“Throw him out,”
“Leave her alone, she’s just a kitten,”
“You think she’ll remember anything?”
Unknown voices echoed inside her head, one sounding familiar and the rest, foreign.
Judy gripped her ears, pulling them down in a vain attempt to block out the voices and the sounds… the sounds of splashing, gurgling, plea and… fear.
For what seemed like forever, haunting thoughts raided her mind, painted visions of vague mammals in suits throwing something in the deep lake. Like disturbed waters, everything was unsettled as Judy tried to block whatever’s coming inside her head.
Then there was the song—in her childish voice, singing:
“Come little bunny, hop-hop-hop,” the thoughts started disappearing.
“Foxes won’t hurt you, hop-hop-hop,” she recognized the voice of plea.
“Pa-pop was wrong just hop-hop-hop,” the visions stopped.
“Foxes are nice so hop-hop-hop,” everything settled.
When she was finally calm, she looked at the fox, “Who are you?”
Like some lost boy, the expression the fox showed was pitiful. It was the face of the forgotten—the pain was apparent in his face and though Judy doesn’t quite remember him yet, she felt just as guilty for forgetting him.
“All these years I lied to you,” the fox scratched his elbow, “and I was glad that you forgot about me… for some time.”
“I really don’t understand,” Judy replied, “Please tell me so I’d understand.”
“Like I told you, Carrots, we’ve met a lot of times before.”
“Carrots,” Judy said under her breath like it was the most familiar name ever—like she had known it like the back of her hand before but forgotten about it. The sentiments were starting to get back and the more they did, the more she wanted to know.
“The last time we met was when you were seven. You were at my house, playing like there was no tomorrow. I watched you from afar as you did and smiled when you looked at me. I caught you when you fell, gave you flowers for souvenirs and guided you back to your home as I guide you to mine.”
There was no sense in what the fox was telling Judy but she found herself assessing it as if she really believed that something like that happened. She didn’t remember it so she had doubts whether to believe the fox or not. She kept on listening anyway.
“You always brought me blueberries from your family farm,” the fox added, “but those were our happy days together.” His voice toned down a bit and the smile that formed from recalling those memories shifted to a frown as if something sinister was about to proceed.
“But what’s really important here is the first time you saw me,” the fox’s voice became grave. He started walking away and Judy followed from behind. Ahead, the fox walked deeper into the forest as he went on with his tale.
“You were five years old, younger I presumed back then. You saw me getting dragged in chains attached to a ball of iron. God knows what a little kitten was doing this deep into the forest. What’s crazier was when she actually stood up for me. A kitten who can barely differentiate how to pronounce the R and W, stood up for a stranger fox.”
At the flow of the fox’s story, Judy began to remember. Fragments shot her, voices echoed inside her mind like whispers inside her ears.
“Tie her up with him,” a deep voice commanded.
The other figure, hesitant, contradicted, “But boss… she—”
Then the fox started yelling, “Leave her alone she’s just a kitten! She’ll forget about this. She may be like, four or younger, she won’t remember a thing!”
The voices were so strong it seemed like they were actually there but instead of resisting it, Judy let the memories come back to her.
“Are you doing this because he’s a fox?” little Judy asked, “Grandpop told me foxes are bad but I don’t believe him. You shouldn’t believe him either!”
“Take her out,”
And the memories were cut off.
“Hold on,” Judy called to the fox, “I think I remember… somewhat but it is still vague.”
“How much do you remember?” the fox asked.
“One of the two guys that had you took me out.”
The fox shrugged.
Judy proceeded, “You said you lied to me… what exactly did you lie about?”
The fox kept walking and Judy kept following.
They arrive at a vast lake, reflecting the night sky in its calmness. Water appeared black with dots of stars and a moon in its body. Like you could just dive and swim into the heavens.
“I lied about me…”
It seemed absurd for Judy since she doesn’t really understand the necessity of it. “What could a little kitten possibly understand about your persona that you have to lie?” she asked.
“Not like that. I didn’t lie about who I was. I lied about what I was.”
Judy’s heart paced up a bit.
“Little Judy, traumatized at age five. You were lucky to be young; the bad memories were repressed in your mind. You kept coming back for me in my home—my house,” the fox gestured to the environment, “You kept playing with me like I was your best friend, asking me if the bad mammals left me alone and…”
Judy swallowed, “And then what?”
“And that’s when I began lying to you.” The fox turned to Judy, eyes of infectious pain. Then he started recalling the lies he told her back then, “’Yes, the bad mammals left me’, ‘Thanks to you they didn’t harm me’.”
Something inside Judy turned and then it was hard to breathe. Every word she was hearing was like daggers to her chest. It made it difficult to speak. But it was more difficult to believe in something she doesn’t exactly remember. She heaved her breath in and out then spoke, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
The fox turned to Judy, “Am I?” he yelled silencing Judy in fear which made him feel bad immediately thereafter. But he didn’t show it. “As you grew up, you became so investigative; you started sniffing out the truth. We had one conversation that stood above the rest. We didn’t talk about what we’re gonna play or what we’re gonna do… you wanted to talk about me. You started noticing that I never really had a home, you started wondering why I’m always by this lake.”
“I—”
“You realized I was already dead and you left me! You were so afraid that you just forgot about me… your encounters with me, our fun times together—all of it, repressed inside your memory,” the fox looked at the ground like he couldn’t look at Judy for some heavy reason and then he chuckled lightly, “But I see her every year and she sees me. That was enough.”
By the flow of events, guilt dominated Judy not fear. All her fear already escaped her the moment she saw the liquid fox repellant pass through this emotional fox. For sure this fox doesn’t have a physicality anymore but from his stories of their past—him brushing Judy to sleep, Judy figured that influence still had effect on him.
Curiously, she walked towards the fox, slipping her arms around his slim body and just like feeling something that’s alive; she felt warmth and the texture of cloth against her fur. She dug her face on his chest but didn’t feel or hear a heartbeat.
Seconds later, she remembers the fox’s name.
She withdrew inches away from him, arms still locked around the fox’s body. “Nick,” she said to him.
And she didn’t realize that tears escaped her eyes until Nick was already wiping them away with his paws. “You’ve grown a lot, Carrots.”
And then Judy dug her face again to Nick’s chest. “I don’t want to let go. I never want to let go. I remember now, Nick and I’m not running away this time.”
Nick seized the moment to feel Judy’s embrace. It was the only pleasure he had in his misery but he has to let go now that he finally can.
“Carrots, I…” Nick slowly got off from Judy’s hug, “We can’t be together.”
Judy didn’t say anything. For one because she knew that Nick was already dead. Still, she wanted to fight for him, do whatever she can.
“Don’t you want to try?” Judy asked, feeling stupid because of her question. She still hasn’t absorbed everything that happened just almost an hour ago but she was certain of her feelings.
When the repressed memories returned to her, Nick suddenly became so important to her. Although the sense of fear still remains, it wasn’t as strong as it was now that she witnessed Nick’s emotional side—the agony of the dead… it just made her feel guilty for leaving him.
“The reason why I’m still here is because of vengeance” Nick said, “At least, that’s how I understood it.” He chuckled, “I woke up staring at myself, asleep underneath that lake. I was breathing, felt like I was and then I started to wonder why I wasn’t feeling soaked or drowning. I even thought my body was a different fox when I saw it.”
Judy placed her hand on Nick’s forearm.
“But one thing was clear to me: I had to get back on those who murdered me. I swam up, walked on land dry, touched trees like I was still alive and then I started walking farther and farther from the lake and guess what, the more I distanced from my body, the more I lose physical influence. I could just pass through anything not even a mile away from here.”
Nick knelt on the ground and took Judy inside his arms again, “But that doesn’t matter. I finally have a chance to move on.”
They broke away from each other, Nick’s paws on Judy’s shoulder, gazing at her with the sincerest eyes. “You purged my hate. That was the only thing that kept my soul awake and I found that I really don’t care about justice or vengeance, I realized that.”
Judy wiped her twitching nose with the back of her hand, “Tell me. How can I help you move on?”
Nick smiled but his eyes were showing the opposite of joy. He moved close beside Judy’s ear and whispered, “You have to let me go.”
Judy was surprised. “I don’t get it… am I the reason why you’re restless?”
Reluctantly, Nick nodded.
“Then why didn’t you just move on when I still couldn’t remember you? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
“I couldn’t… I tried but couldn’t. But now I finally can if you would just let me…”
“I don’t know how!” Judy exclaimed and turned her back on Nick. Mixtures of agony and anger boiled within her. “Move on. Go on. I allow you to move on. Rest in peace.” And then she was crying.
Nick didn’t respond and the woodland silences made Judy think that Nick already left… without even a proper goodbye. And she felt hurt even more. She sat on the ground, hugging her legs and wept, face dug on her knees.
Then she felt a warm embrace envelope her and soft strokes on her head followed.
“You freed me a long time ago, Carrots,” Nick said and Judy, not knowing what else to do just grabbed Nick’s shirt and pulled herself towards him.
“I’m letting… you…go…just…go,” broken voice within the recesses of sobs.
“It’s my fault too actually,” Nick pushed Judy away so he could look at her face to face, “When you purged my thirst for vengeance, I could have moved on but I didn’t. You wanted to play with me so I stayed a few days, months, years… but as you were growing up,” Nick paused and his eyes couldn’t focus on Judy.
He forced himself to continue, “I couldn’t look at you like you were just my little playmate anymore. I see her every year and she sees me. And when I see her, she’s a year older every time until she wasn’t the kitten I used to play with anymore… Judy, I–”
“Shh, shh,” Judy silenced Nick with the hush of her finger. She looked solemn, like she finally understood everything—why Nick couldn’t move on, how to let him go. She was thankful that she finally understands.
She placed her hands on Nick’s chest, keeping her eyes focused on Nick’s as she approached. Then she whispered, “Close your eyes.”
As Nick did, Judy pressed her lips against Nick’s, her eyes automatically closing as foreign sensations coursed through her body.
Her hands that were gripping the cloth of Nick’s Hawaiian polo, it slowly started to sink as if it were touching something hollow. And when she opened her eyes, Nick was but a whisper in the wind, brushing Judy’s face as if to have his last caress, escaping into the night in a gentle howl,
“I love you, Carrots…”