Return to Howliday Inn (Bunnicula and Friends)
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HOW DID ROSEBUD CHECK OUT FROM HOWLIDAY INN?
The Monroes have gone on vacation, once again leaving Harold, Chester, and Howie at Chateau Bow-Wow, which Chester aptly dubbed "Howliday Inn" during their last stay there. The motley crew of boarders may have changed, but the creepy goings-on at Howliday Inn have not. A ghostly voice, buried bones, and a collar with the name "Rosebud" on it suggest that murder may have been added to the services offered at the kennel.
A pair of yuppie puppies from posh Upper Centerville, two cat burglars (sisters-in-crime) named Felony and Miss Demeanor, a melancholy Great Dane named Hamlet, and a weasel named, well, The Weasel, join the Monroe pets in getting to the bottom of the mysterious happenings. But will they be able to escape the fate that may have befallen Rosebud?
just before old Doc Greenbriar appeared on the scene.” “Maybe the secret’s got somethin’ to do with him,” Miss Demeanor said. “Maybe that’s why he was here tonight. He knew somethin’ was up and he was spy in’ on us.” “Maybe there are more bones buried around the place,” said The Weasel. “You don’t mean to suggest,” said Hamlet, “that there were others before Rosebud, others who . . . never went home?” A shiver went through me. “What’re we waitin’ fer?” Felony piped up. “Let’s go ask her.”
ready for my weekend—or so I thought. If only Td packed a night-light. [ ONE ] The Omen IT was the third straight day of rain. The third day of listening to Mr. Monroe whistle the score of The Phantom of the Opera through his teeth while indexing his collection of meatless soup recipes. The third day of Mrs. Monroe’s saying, increasingly less cheerfully, “Channel Six says it’s going to clear by morning.” The third day of Pete whining about what a rotten summer it had been and Toby asking When
taken to hopping around his cage as if the floor were covered with hot tar and twitching his nose so rapidly you would have thought he’d suffer from whisker burnout. Surprisingly, only Chester seemed unaffected by the elements. Or perhaps I should say that if he was affected, it was not in the way one would have anticipated. As the rest of us grew more irritable, Chester mellowed. “How do you do it?” I moaned on the third night, as the rain continued to pelt the windows and I tried in vain to
be, George,” said the woman. “But he is mentally sound. If he said he saw—what was it he said again?” “‘Birnam Wood come to Dunsinane.’ Whatever that means.” “Why, George, it’s from Shakespeare. And you know how Archie loves to quote from Shakespeare.” I heard Hamlet gasp. “Archie,” he said weakly. “That’s just it,” said the man named George. “He loves to quote from Shakespeare. That doesn’t mean we have to drop everything and run out here just because he saw a bunch of trees move. He was
didn’t take long before we’d found something suspicious. Bones. Small, white, dry bones. The others gasped as Howie and I laid them out in a line on the ground. Then Howie noticed something else, a pinkish something studded with shining stones that glittered in the moonlight. Howie extracted it carefully with his teeth and dropped it at Chester’s feet. “What do you make of it?” I asked. “It’s a collar,” Chester said. The crowd bandied the word about in amazed whispers as Chester struggled to