Christmas morning is bright and quiet. Three dark spots stand out on the pristine white snow. A smouldering pointed hat and two fat cemetery crows.

  The latter are here for a treat.

  The hat almost hides Calabash's eyes, where thin streams of smoke waft out. It smells like baked pumpkin.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ Calabash spits a few seeds out onto the snow.

  Exactly today, he has a holiday craving. It feels like a tickle and Calabash chuckles grumpily. The only holiday he can remember is when he was summoned, carved up with a penknife, set on fire and put on a stick.

  Many glorious nights have passed since then. He has a home, friends, and his own responsibilities for frightening late cemetery visitors. And even a hobby. Calabash often sneaks a peek into the Black Book and leaves his own notes. But a holiday... There had been no more holiday since.

  ‘Big deal,’ he mutters to himself. ‘What exactly are these holidays?’

  He watches the crows. They now resemble fussy garden gnomes, busy doing macabre gnomes things. A barn owl dives silently at them from the Christmas skies. The crows caw and scatter in panic.

  Stephanie is pleased with the effect produced. Out of the pale shadow of the nearest tombstone, Vampire appears.

  ‘Merry Christmas?’

  He squints uncertainly at the thick sun rising over the cemetery.

  ‘Wait for me!’

  Leaving a crooked dark groove in the snow, Deadly Root rolls out from behind a bald elder tree. The last one as usual...

  For a while the foursome snaps pumpkin seeds, gazing at the pale, frozen Christmas. White as a bone lying in the wind.....

  Vampire thinks back what number might be this one. It comes out to be somewhere around the 300th...

  ‘So it's an anniversary.’

  ‘Anniversaries are supposed to be celebrated.’

  Rooty remembers Night Watcher's birthday. The deadies had a ball. The old ghoul himself danced with Auntie Zhen, who personally presented him a small black rosebush in an old ash urn…

  ‘Shall we make a snow hare?’ giggles Vampire.

  ‘Absolutely!’

  This sounds like fun. And the day for the celebration is just perfect. Now, in the morning light, the cemetery doesn't look like a cemetery. It looks like an enchanted valley. The graves, snow-covered overnight, have turned into fairy-tale hills. Only crosses, fences and rows of plump tits on tombstones stick out of the whiteness.

  ‘I knew it!!!’ comes a rebuking voice from behind one of them. ‘I certainly knew it!’

  A cloaked figure appears under the only Christmas tree in the cemetery. Hare is waist-deep in a snowdrift, his ears folded in a reproachful cross.

  ‘Children of Darkness enjoying the morning light???? Have you no shame?!’

  The exposed Children of Darkness hide their eyes.

  ‘Root?’

  Rooty guiltily pales and feels his allergies to the sun starting to kick in.

  ‘Calabash?’

  The latter falls into the hole melting under his hat just in time.

  ‘Stephanie??? I expected that from you, though.’

  The owl snaps her beak in a mocking manner as she continues to mould a wry snow figure.

  ‘Vampire? Vampire????!’

  Vampire is nowhere to be seen.

  ‘He's over there,’ comes a snide voice from behind Auntie Zhen's old ramshackle crypt.

  ‘Where?’ Gothic Hare stares into the white snow.

  ‘Over there, in the shadows. Anyone can see him, if they know that vampires always hide in the shadows.’

  Covering her eyes with a black lace parasol, a little girl appears from behind a mossy wall. She is wearing a black coat and a red Christmas hat. She points her finger somewhere.

  Hare strains his eyes. Now he too can see the white polka dots in the living well-fed shadow of the tombstones.

  ‘We see you!’ in the tone of an exorcist he announces.

  ‘I was hiding from the light,’ Vampire addresses them with arrogance, crunching on the snow with his house slippers with pom-poms. ‘The light, by the way, can burn me to the bone.’

  ‘Then what are you even doing here????’

  ‘This is my three hundredth Christmas. I have an anniversary,‘ Vampire wraps up his coat with pride.

  In doubts, Hare counts the white polka dots.

  ‘And what's a yummy little girl doing in a graveyard on Christmas Day?’

  Vampire's eyes light up with sinister embers. Red saliva falls off his fangs onto the snow.

  ‘Whoa, blood!’ Girl jumps up in joy.

  There are streaks of cemetery dirt on her face, and grave holly tangled in her pigtails. A wicked smile forms dimples on her round cheeks. Hare feels a sudden warmth in his lonely soul.

  Vampire impatiently licks his fangs.

  ‘It's cranberry juice,’ mutters unfairly neglected Deadly Root. ‘Probably.’

  No one pays him any attention, though. A very important word is heard over the frozen graveyard.

  ‘Presents,’ little Girl repeats. ‘My daddy is the director of the factory. He has an inspection here today. To keep me from being bored, he's hidden presents among the graves.’

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  ‘Inspection????’ a snow-covered stump suddenly grunts, making Vampire blend back into the shadows.

  The snowdrift tumbles down and exposes Ghoul's bald head.

  ‘I knew it,’ Gothic Hare shakes both ears at once.

  He feels alone. Misunderstood, at the very least. Maybe even rejected.... What if night is his only true friend???

  ‘First the presents, then the inspection,’ Girl corrects Ghoul. ‘That was the deal.’

  ‘Evelyn!’ comes an intimidating roar over the graves. ‘Evelyn I don't have much time!!!’

  ‘I've got to go!’ Girl puts some holly leaf in her coat pocket and hurries away. ‘Daddy, I'm here!’

  The enchanted cemetery hides her from sight. It's as if she never was.

  ‘What kind of inspection????’ Night Watcher looks at the others suspiciously.

  ‘That needs to be found out. Since we're ALL gathered here today,’ Hare resolutely climbs out of the snowdrift.

  There is no time for melancholy. There is never time for it in the daylight.

  ‘And the presents?’ comes from the shadows.

  ‘Presents must first be earned. By behaviour worthy of the Creature of the Night.’

  ‘And I think you just should be first to find them. It's much more certain,’ Calabash finally decides to get out from under the hat.

  ‘One, two...’ Root rolls swiftly down the white-washed cemetery path.

  ‘He didn't say three!’ Vampire soars to the top of the tallest tombstone and peers into all the cemetery nooks and crannies at once.

  ‘And the inspection????’ Night Watcher grinds his sparse yellowed teeth in vain. No one hears him.

  From behind a lone Christmas tree come the sounds of fighting and the rustle of torn wrappings.

  ‘Barbarians,’ sighs Gothic Hare. ‘What if these are the wrong presents?’

  ‘Aaaaaaah!!!!’ a sudden shrill shriek echoes over the graveyard. ‘Aaaaaaah!!!!’

  Hare swings over a snow-covered fence with the elegance of a bat. One of two things. Either Girl got scared of some deady late from his night walk, or the deady is scared of her. Hare can't decide which one of them needs help more.

  It turns out to be himself.

  ‘Oh my horror!!!!’

  Even at night in a cemetery, you can't get this scary. There's a pink stuffed rabbit sitting on the grave. Big. Pink. Rabbit. With white buttons instead of eyes.

  It's scary. It's terrifying. It's-- it's...

  ‘It's a nightmare!’ shrieks Girl and hugs Hare around the neck. ‘Can I take you instead?’

  ‘I am Gothic Hare, child of the night and poet of moonlight,’ Hare gazes up into the blue sky for support, trying to find a single night star. ‘I belong to no one and nowhere. I am alone even among friends....’

  He sniffs his nose. It’s the sunlight makes him want to sneeze.

  ‘I'm Evelyn,’ Girl extends her arm with an parasol and a gracious shadow covers both of them. ‘I don't have any friends. But I have daddy.’

  ‘The one with the inspection?’

  ‘Yeah. He doesn't know how to pick out presents. He thinks I'm still a child. But I'm seven years old. Almost.’

  ‘I'm sure Auntie Zhen will be happy to take this one off your hands.’’

  ‘It would be very nice of her.’

  They both feel the grave quivering with joy beneath them. It's Auntie Zhen impatiently stirring in her coffin. She can't wait for night. So is Hare.

  ‘Why does your daddy do his inspection on Christmas Day?’

  This question keeps Hare on his toes.

  ‘Ah,’ sighs Girl, ’he wanted to build a factory here and he almost succeeded. But rumours started to spread that the cemetery was getting visitors again. Now there's no way it can be closed. The relatives of the deadies will surely be angry.’

  ‘They surely will,’ Hare nods with conviction.

  ‘So that's how daddy came up with the plan.’

  ‘Malicious, nasty and very wicked one?’

  Hare rises on his tiptoes in anticipation. As he listens to the next terrible secret, he feels his life fill with meaning again. Ominous, dark and very gothic one.

  ‘Dad said he'd pick a day and personally count all the visitors. Every single one of them. And that day is today!’

  ‘But it's not fair!’

  From beneath the ground comes a thud. It's Auntie Zhen, while overhearing, bangs her skull against the coffin lid.

  ‘It's not fair...’ chuckle the jaws of the deadies in the neighbouring graves.

  Hare fully shares their outrage.

  ‘Who goes to the cemetery on Christmas Day???? All the people sit at home and give each other the wrong presents. No one will come today!’

  ‘You bet they will,’ Girl lowers her voice. ‘Your cemetery is the only place around where it snowed. See for yourself!’

  Girl is right. The cemetery's white fairy tale breaks off just beyond a row of crooked, skinny yews. Through them you can see the fence, the thawed ground, and the yellow grass. And darkness. The dreary darkness of the wet earth. A black hearse is parked just in front of the gate.

  ‘That's Dad's. It's beautiful, isn't it?’ Evelyn makes herself comfortable in the snowdrift next to Hare.

  Even in the light of day, the hearse looks like the spawn of doom. The road to the cemetery, however, is full of excited merrymaking. The cemetery hasn't seen this many visitors in a very long time.

  ‘Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!’ the arrivals wave their colourful mittens at them.

  Hare's eyes twinkle. Skis, sledges, dads, mums, ruddy, delicious children.....

  Vampire will be pleased. Hare is genuinely happy for his friend.

  There's noise, games. Fun... On the only crooked Christmas tree, glittering ball hangs.

  Hare wants to sink deeper into the snowdrift.

  ‘Why aren't you playing, Evelyn? You can make friends.’

  ‘I do not know for sure what they really are... Until dark. Perhaps, they won't stay here that long.’

  ‘Are they supposed to be different in the dark?’

  ‘Very possibly. My daddy is. At night he gets horns, hooves and a long tail. Only when it’s dark or by the moonlight. Help me hide until evening and you'll see for yourself.’

  ‘The longer he stays the more he'll count,’ in a creaky whisper Watcher clues Hare from the nearest hole.

  ‘More will present,’ gurgles the sour cranberry juice in a mug invisible in the shadows.

  On a thick branch, two black fatted crows caw.

  ‘So you're saying it's possible to make a mistake in the light?’

  Hare shifts his gaze from the hole to the suspicious shadow. From the shadow to a round root vegetable under two layers of gold paper with reindeers on it.

  ‘I say let's wait till dark,’ winks Girl.

  ‘Evelyn!!!’ repeats Director's menacing roar, overriding even the shrill children’s laughter. ‘Where are you, Evelyn?!!!!’

  ***

  Widow baked a blueberry pie. With just a little bit of durian leaves. The slanted old table wobbles under the weight of a large copper kettle and white porcelain cups with battered edges. The abandoned house is warm. Black candles crackle in an old butter pot with a blue flame. It smells of moss tea.

  They are on their third cup.

  ‘More cake?’ Widow and the cuckoo clock on the wall ask at the same time.

  They all turn to the window, where dusk is falling. The twilight seems completely black because of the dark aura that flooded the cemetery.

  ‘Evelyn!!! Evelyn!!!’

  Bushes crackle, tombstones shake, and icicles crumble into dust. Even the awakened dead dare not move in the graves.

  ‘This Christmas is the best,’ Vampire squints contentedly.

  ‘I guess it's time,’ sighs Girl. ’Or he'll never find it that way. Thanks for the treat, all of you. Calabash?’

  She peeks cautiously out the door and nimbly pops the Halloween pumpkin into a snow.

  ‘Dangerous!’ Calabash blurs into a sinister grin. His eyes light up with a bright fire.

  ‘Evelyn!!! Stop hiding!!!!’ heavy footsteps rumble into the light, making the windows of the abandoned house jingle.

  ‘But daddy, you promised to play with me! Hide and seek!’

  Girl swings the doors open. Cold and evil creeps in. The blinding glare of a flashlight bursts into the dark doorway. The heavy figure of Director behind it is barely visible. Black and grisly, like the most ancient of evils.

  ‘Gotcha then, little varmint!’ Director scoops his daughter up in his arms.

  The flashlight’s beam glides menacingly across the house. A thick white polka-dot shadow where Vampire habitually lurks. A grey lampshade from behind which only Widow's black skirts are visible. Old rags on the back of a chair, suspiciously reminiscent of Watcher's suit jacket. A large shiny bon-bon beneath a shrunken wreath of holly. Calabash still pretends to be a lantern. Night sets everything in place again.

  Gothic Hare smiles. The Children of Darkness are now indistinguishable from herself. You never know what they really are.

  The bright light stops on him.

  ‘And who is that???’ asks Director grudgingly.

  ‘That's a friend of mine. He saved this old cemetery,' Girl wraps her arms around her father's neck.

  ‘Saved the cemetery?’

  Even through the blinding light, Gothic Hare can see his opponent's cold eyes narrowing in a sinister way.

  ‘We'll see about that. Until next year!’

  Director slams the door shut. Dusty darkness falls in the abandoned house.

  Hare is still smiling. He no longer feels lonely. How can one be lonely at night in a graveyard????

  ‘She made it up,’ Root rustles the paper wrapper. ‘I didn't see any horns.’

  ‘So it wasn't dark either.’

  Gothic Hare opens the door again. Steam rises up from boot prints in the snow. Puddles are spreading. Hare takes a couple of steps. Then another. Just beyond the Christmas tree the tracks break, replaced by deep, burning hoof tracks. Between them is the furrow of a rope. Or a tail.

  He pensively follows the trail until he is stopped by a screech of an owl. Stephanie did make a snow hare, and the kids added a ridiculous orange nose.

  A carrot!

  Hare crunches it for a while, squinting at the Darkness.

  Having lost its nose, the snow hare sadly settles into the thaw....