“You think I don’t see you staring, watching me through those glass eyes? Ha! I know you’re in there.”

The old man paced the wooden floor of his trophy room. His walking cane struck the floor with a thud, and he stopped next to the old snowshoe hare.

“You were my first, my beauty. Almost 70 years ago, but I still remember. I remember seeing that small clump of white fur against the snow drift.” His hands trembled as he reached up and stroked the hare’s fur. “Still so soft, soft” he mumbled.

The old man turned around suddenly, thrusting his walking cane into the floor with a sickening crack. He faced the rest of his collection: a bobcat, snarling in fear; a great-horned owl, wide-eyed and alert; a pair of brown pheasants; a falcon and an eagle, killed on the same day; and a one-eyed fox, who never saw it coming.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing but dust by now – dust and bones! I saved you. I preserved your beauty. Death would have come sooner or later. I made it simple. I made you mine.”

The animals, each on their mount, sat quietly, their glass eyes staring ahead, their bodies frozen in the final moments of death, a death that had come decades earlier. And even thougn their insides had been gutted, even though their organs had been discarded, they still retained an eerie semblance of life.

“And this is how you repay me?” the old man gasped, “This is how you repay your father? By plotting against me? By sneaking glances with those empty eyes? You think you’ll get the better of me now that I’m old and have to walk with this?” The old man tried to lift his cane above his head, but the weight of it was too much, causing him to lose his balance. Quickly he pulled the cane back down, leaning on it with both hands.

“I killed you. I stuffed you. I mounted you. You are mine. And you will never change that. I – “

“Pop, what are you doing in here again,” a woman walked in and put her arm around the old man’s shoulders. A man followed close behind

“I wanted to see them, they’re plotting and try to – “

“I know, I know, the animals have come back to life and are plotting their revenge,” The woman shot a look to the man behind her as she took the old man’s arm and began walking with him out of the trophy room.

“You can see it, you can see it in their eyes!” the old man said.

“I think it’s probably time for a nap, wouldn’t you say?” the younger man asked.

“Good idea, George,” the woman replied.

The three left the room, the old man still clinging to the woman's arm, rambling about plots and revenge, leaving the stuffed animals to their hollow room.

And as their footsteps echoed down the hall, becoming softer and softer, the fox turned his one eye toward the snowshoe hare, who nodded and turned his head.