There’s a rule carved into the inside of the old camp door, and Lee has read it his whole life.
Don’t shoot the white ones in winter.
It’s 1935. The snares have been empty for six days. The egg money stopped covering the lamp oil a month ago, and Lee’s father has gone quiet in the way a man goes quiet when he’s run out of everything except the next bad idea. So when a white rabbit sits out on the snow at thirty yards — not hiding, not bolting, the white of it wrong against the white of the weather — the rule loses.
The rabbit comes home.
What sits down to supper after that is the part I’ll let you read for yourself.
“Rabbit Season” is live now as a standalone short read. It’s quiet, Depression-era folk horror — the kind built on an old warning, an empty woods, and a family hungry enough to ignore both. If you like your horror patient and your endings earned, this one’s for you.
Read “Rabbit Season” on Kindle: https://a.co/d/0bnT7fuu
It’s pulled from my anthology There Be Monsters: Then and Now — thirteen stories, each one its own bad idea. If “Rabbit Season” gets under your skin, the rest are waiting.
Get the full collection: https://a.co/d/04jKPYNx
And if you want a free story to start with, I’ll send you one — no charge, just a quiet place to begin.
Grab your free story: https://preview.mailerlite.io/forms/2428558/192190473470740064/share
Bank the fire before you sleep. And if you see a white one this winter, leave it where it sits.