Nobody agreed on when the rabbit first appeared.

Some claimed it started in late spring.

Others insisted they had seen it years earlier.

A flash of white fur.

Long ears against moonlight.

Always above Maplewood.

Never below it.

At first, people laughed.

Maplewood had raccoons. Stray cats. Once, according to Officer Bellamy, a goat wandered through town for three entire days before anyone asked questions.

But rabbits did not climb rooftops.

Especially not the old Wilcox Building on Alder Street.

The roof slanted sharply toward the alley below. Loose shingles slid during heavy rain. Even pigeons seemed nervous landing there.

Yet on the night of June 14, 1974, more than eleven residents reported seeing a rabbit sitting perfectly still at the very top.

Watching the town.

Mrs. Harper claimed it turned its head slowly whenever church bells rang.

A newspaper carrier swore it disappeared the exact moment he pointed a flashlight at it.

And one teenager insisted the rabbit was carrying something in its mouth.

“Like papers,” he later told police.

“Or maybe a note.”

Officer Bellamy investigated the following morning.

No footprints were found.

No fur.

No scratches near the gutters.

Nothing except a single muddy paw print beside the chimney.

Curiously, the print did not belong to a rabbit.

According to the official report, it resembled a dog.

A small one.

The incident might have faded into town folklore if not for what happened three nights later.

At exactly 11:42 p.m., every dog on Alder Street began barking at once.

Lights turned on across the neighborhood.

Curtains shifted.

Windows opened.

And several residents later claimed they saw the rabbit again.

Same rooftop.

Same stillness.

Only this time, it was not alone.

Someone was standing beside it.

A little girl in a tan coat.

Looking down at the street below as though she were waiting for something to begin.