Easter Index


Some of these stories may include violence and foul language.


The Lemon Possum
 A possum named Bill has eaten little but garbage all his life, but then a special possum introduces him to a new eating sensation.

Nightmare Rhymes
Your favourite childhood nursery rhymes given a terrifying makeover.

Maisy the Happy Fairy
Can a cute little fairy bring joy to a dark and creepy forest?

The Lemon Possum 2
The Lemon Possum finds a new victim.


The White Rabbit’s New Job
That famous rabbit is late one too many times.

The Scarecrow and Mrs. Hen
A hen sees a scarecrow come to life; what is its purpose?

Fred the Vampire Fox
The most feared animal of them all…or is there something worse out there? (mentions of blood)


The Easter Bunny’s a Mad Scientist
The Easter Bunny creates a creature to make his job easier.

The Lemon Possum’s Evil Easter
The Lemon Possum returns to ruin Easter.

The Lemon Possum vs. Karl the Kangaroo
The battle of the century.


The Cow’s Cake
Helen the cow aspires to be a baker.

The Haunted Farm
Why go to a farm filled with monsters?

Easter Egg Hunt in the Haunted House
A holiday tradition made horrific.

The Scariest Bird
What is the most frightening avian of them all?


A Christmas Poem for July
The Lemon Possum now sets her sights on Santa.

The Gardog
A dog that really grows on you.

The Terror Tree
A squirrel seeks revenge.


Dr Hen
How fright-hen-ing (some violence).

The Hungry Hedgehog
A hedgehog gets a surprise.

The Birds’ Eatery
The finest food for our flying friends.


A Monstrous Lollipop
He’s no sucker.

The Killer Daffodils
The monsters of Spring.

The Easter Bunny in Wonderland
The Easter Bunny meets a couple of classic characters.


The Evil Easter Bunny
No more Mr. Nice Bunny.

I Hate Being An Easter Egg
An Easter Egg wants to try something new.

The Three Little Easter Bunnies
An Easter twist to a classic story.

A Million Easter Eggs
What would you do with a million of them?


Let’s Eat Easter Eggs
The best way to celebrate the season.

The Reindeer’s New Job
Time to try a new holiday.

Short Stories

The Easter Werewolf
The Easter Bunny becomes a werewolf.

Why I Don’t Buy My Daughter Sweets Anymore
What happens when a little girl wants a chocolate monster for Easter.

Barking Benjamin’s Easter Special
A cartoon dog attempts to spread Easter Cheer (some language)

Heck Comes to Sloofiewoof Land
The once-cheerful Oozie has turned his beautiful world into a miserable wasteland; can a spectral rabbit convince him to restore Sloofiewoof Land to its former glory? (some violence)


The Chocolate Egg
The tale of an Easter surprise (some language).

The Day Frollo Took Over Wonderland
The long-awaited crossover.

The Lemon Possum vs. Karl the Kangaroo Round 2
The Lemon Possum returns to get revenge on Karl, and this time, she isn’t kidding around.

The Hunter
A sheep finds himself in a familiar but distorted world, pursued by a sinister creature. (some bloody violence)

The Jigsaw Puzzle
The story of a jigsaw puzzle, and what happens what it’s completed…

The Garden of Live Flowers
Flowers can be good friends.


The Monsters of Bremen
A group of four undead animals look for their place in the world (some blood).

The Rabbit
An unpleasant Easter surprise.

Easter’s Greatest Villain
A cruel businessman wants to steal Easter.

The March Hare
The Mad Hatter’s best friend as you’ve never seen him before.

Silly Bunny
A magic trick doesn’t go as planned.


A Cow Remembers Cakes
Helen the cow ponders on a choice she made.

Imagine if frogs really could turn into princesses… (some nudity)



The March Hare

`You might just as well say,’ added the March Hare, `that “I like what I get” is the same thing as “I get what I like”!’

-Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll


I made a deal with a demon. I had to.

Humans often make deals with demons and they only make selfish deals. They wish for money, for fame and material goods. True, you might say that my deal came about because I was frightened, but I wasn’t the only one, keep in mind.

It was all for you. You and no-one else.

Humans say they love leporids. They like rabbits because they’re cute and fluffy and adorable and make a good icon for Easter. They appreciate hares like me because we’re, according to them, majestic, cunning creatures. They say they like us, yet I cannot believe it. Not after how they hunt us. Not after how many times I’ve come across the corpses of my brethren. Not after how many times we’ve been eaten and stuffed and ripped apart.

I can’t tell you how many times it’s almost happened to me. I’ve narrowly escaped hunters by the skin of my teeth, but when I did, I thought about all the other hares who weren’t so lucky.


One such moment was the day that changed my life. Pursued by a hunter, I was, only for another figure to come to my rescue. A stag, or what was once a stag. A creature with antlers like thin branches, a mouth full of fangs and large yellow eyes, barking at my would-be murderer until he ran away.

The stag assured me he was there for my sake. He told me about a figure who not only gave him a place where he could be safe but allowed him to protect other animals as well. I asked if there was a way for me to have what he had, and he told me indeed I could, if I wanted it enough.

You didn’t think it over.

In fact, the deer specifically came over to see me and offer me the role.

Only because the demon he worked for was called “The Mad Hatter” and he thought you couldn’t have a Mad Hatter without a March Hare.

Even so, the Mad Hatter, who gave the stag the opportunity to live in a better world and to protect other animals like him, gave me the same. Instead of a place where humans could hunt me, I had a great big field I could live in all by myself without fear of being killed.

But you didn’t think of bringing any other hares there. This was all for you.

And like the deer, I was given a more frightening form with which I could scare away hunters. I became more like a human, but not completely, thank goodness. I lost my fur, but I no longer had to worry about the cold. I lost my eyes, but I could still see.

At first, I only took that form when going out to frighten humans, resuming my usual form when the Mad Hatter took me back to my own private little field. As the years went by, my old hare form faded, and my grotesque form was the only form I had, becoming more hideous as time passed. Worms frequently ate my flesh, only for it to grow back – see, I am a friend to all living things. My mouth grew larger and larger, engulfing my whole face.

I could bite off a whole human head with my new mouth. In fact, I did a few times.

Admit it. This isn’t about protecting hares. It’s about indulging in sadistic pleasure.

The Mad Hatter said it was a price I had to pay for the power I had, and to me, it seemed a fair price. Even in this form, the Hatter and I engaged in enjoyable activities, yes, even a tea party from time to time.

This has more to do with that than us.

Well, there is another price I must pay.

The hares I’ve rescued from humans? They see my every action, and I constantly hear their voices.

The Mad Hatter has previously appeared in Dear Susan, The Garden of Live Flowers and The Rabbit.

Easter’s Greatest Villain

First impressions of Barry Branford might lead you to believe he was one of the most hated men in town, looking and sounding for all the world like a cigar-chomping, greedy fat cat. He seemed to have a perpetual evil eye, he owned the Branford Cereal Company that produced bran flakes and other unfun cereals, he had lots of money but no wife or children. The people who knew him, however, didn’t hate him, though he was more tolerated than he was loved. The cereals his company produced were popular and his employees would mostly say they were paid well and they enjoyed their work. Someone who had worked for both Branford and a certain kangaroo said he much preferred the former to the latter.

His most noticeable quality, however, was his hatred of all things sweet.

When Branford started his company using money he inherited from his father, he at first only produced the cereal he shared his name with, later producing porridge, muesli and cornflakes after his bran sold well. Never did the Branford company produce sugary children’s cereal with a cartoon animal looking downwards on the box. They had cornflakes, but not frosted cornflakes, no chocolate ones. Especially not chocolate cornflakes.

Chocolate, said Branford, was the worst of all. ‘It’s the most persuasive one,’ he said, ‘Of all the sweets, it’s the one most promoted, most exposed. You can’t turn on your television without seeing someone munching on it.’ Every employee who gave him chocolate as a gift would have to watch said gift being tossed into a furnace.

At one point, the Branford Cereal Company ran a promotional competition where certain cereal boxes would hide a pass entitling the buyer to a free tour of Branford’s cereal factory – only for that competition to be overshadowed by a similar competition a chocolate factory was running. Barry fumed for days when that happened, but soon he calmed down and had apparently gotten over his chocolate hatred. Him speaking of chocolate became rarer and he accepted newer employee’s chocolate and sweet gifts.

This was not to last, for one day, he had an announcement for all his employees:

‘A rise for anyone who brings me the Easter Bunny!’

He then went on to explain that not only was this “fiendish creature” breaking into people’s houses, but giving their children chocolate when there were healthier treats to give out. ‘He should be easy to catch too,’ Branford added, ‘he not only delivers eggs to your home, but hides them around the place and writes riddles while he’s there. He lingers longer than a certain Christmas icon.’

None of Branford’s employees told him they refused to do it, for fear of being fired. A few of them said they would do so and spent the night before Easter sleeping. For most of the employees, however, money talked, and they spent all of Holy Saturday night sitting awake, with bear traps, cages and giant nets nearby.

The Easter Bunny made his rounds as usual. He dropped off the eggs in the best hiding places he could think of, wrote rhyming riddles for the children to solve in the morning and hopped off. With the cunning and trickery his species was known for, he avoided the traps set for him, chewing his way out of the nets and making cages land on his would-be trapper.

He couldn’t escape every trap, however. On what was fortunately his last stop for the night, he hopped on a pile of leaves covering green tarpaulin and a large hole. A trap set by Richard Rodman, a single father who cared so much about his work, he kept missing his son’s football games because of it.

Richard phoned up Branford about his capture, only for that son of his, Bobby, to come down and ask him why he did it. A few words from the child was all it took to convince Richard to not only free the Easter Bunny, but to join Bobby and the Bunny in visiting Branford and telling him off. Both Bobby and the Easter Bunny gave a speech about how the holiday is about friends and family and not just chocolate and Barry Branford told them he was a changed man and would never do anything like this again.

As Richard and Bobby left Branford’s office, Richard remembered he left his phone there; he used it to play inspirational music during Bobby and the Bunny’s speech. When he opened the office door, he saw the Easter Bunny hand a suitcase of money to Branford. ‘Everyone thinks Santa is so great because he vanquishes meanies who try to ruin his holiday,’ laughed the Easter Bunny, ‘Well, two can play at that game.’

Easter Egg Hunt in the Haunted House

Easter egg hunts,
Are a lot of fun,
But in the haunted house,
It’s not for everyone.

Yes, on the hill,
Every year,
There’s an Easter egg hunt,
In the house of fear,

You search for eggs,
In the rooms and halls,
(Just ignore the blood,
That drips down the walls),

Look under every table,
Look in every room,
There’s an egg in that coffin,
There’s eggs in that tomb,

There’s an egg near that stuffed bear,
But that object’s cursed,
So when you try to grab that egg,
The bear may grab you first,

Make sure to open every door,
Even this one to Hell,
For if you look among the flames,
There’s eggs hiding there as well.

Once you’ve found all the eggs,
You better run and hide,
Unless you want to see them hatch,
And find out what’s inside.

Versatile Blogger Award

Thanks to George from The Many-Storied Building for nominating my blog for The Versatile Blogger Award.


Seven Facts About Myself:

  1. I frequently attend poetry open mic nights and performed alongside Graham Clifford for an event at the Wellington Literary Festival.
  2. I spend way too much time on the computer.
  3. I have a film review blog as well as a writing blog.
  4. I like going for long walks.
  5. I also enjoy baking from time to time (the inspiration for old Helen).
  6. I am a connoisseur of all things macabre, but I still like looking at cat pictures sometimes.
  7. I am secretly a monstrous creature from the pits of…I mean, I like cookies.

My Nominees for the Versatile Blogger Award:


Inky Wings

Sue Sable


Bloodrunsclear Hates Everything


The Rabbit

…when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it…

-Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll


Darla was far too old to believe in the Easter Bunny. The fact that Easter eggs, as well as tooth money and Christmas presents, were delivered by parents and not supernatural creatures was something she figured out long ago, even before most children did. Something like an anthropomorphic rabbit could not exist in reality; they didn’t belong in reality.

The Easter Bunny was said to only come to children who were asleep, yet Darla stopped believing in the Easter Bunny when she imagined just what it would be like to wake up and see a gigantic bipedal rabbit standing in your bedroom. The giant rabbits that walked around the shopping centre at Eastertime, with their oversized heads, eternal smiles and chubby fingers, were chilling enough without them coming into your home.

Easter Bunnies don’t exist because Easter Bunnies can’t exist. That’s what Darla told herself in childhood, and she carried that belief all throughout adulthood.

One Holy Saturday night, when she suddenly awoke from a dreamless sleep and found her body paralysed, she knew that giant, bipedal rabbit in the doorway actually was a giant, bipedal rabbit.

Its head looked almost exactly like the masks Easter entertainers wore, only given flesh and fur. It had gigantic eyes, bulging and bloodshot. It had a smile upon its face, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth, with saliva dribbling down its chin. Its fur was unkempt, which contrasted with the tweed jacket and smart black trousers it wore.

Darla wanted to scream but couldn’t even open her mouth. She wanted to run but she couldn’t move at all – it was like her body was glued to the bed.

The rabbit came closer, and though it was small, every step it took shook Darla’s bedroom. Cracks formed on the walls, with parts of the plaster falling to the ground, the colour fading, and cockroaches crawling across. The rabbit’s body elongated as it approached, as did its claws and its teeth – its fangs.

Darla, still paralysed, could do nothing but look up at the gigantic rabbit looming over her bed, heavily breathing as it stared at her. Though she readied herself for the rabbit clawing her face or ripping straight through her neck or biting off her head with its massive teeth.

It did none of that, however. Instead, it just stared while breathing a little while longer before it opened its mouth and let loose a high-pitched whine which stung Darla’s ears before it disappeared, and her bedroom returned to normal.

No longer paralysed, Darla sat up and looked around the room. No cracks on the walls, no cockroaches, no rabbits. Yet she knew it wasn’t a dream.

She knew the rabbit would be back.

Everything has a price. That’s what the Mad Hatter said.

For years I had been looking to escape this world, its struggles and strife, and my friend told me about a being simply known as the Mad Hatter, who could take me away to a better place, a Wonderland.


It had a price. That’s what the Mad Hatter said. The Hatter had been like me before he created his idyllic world, and the magic he used had the price of making most of his face wither away. He could still talk and hear, yet his head looked like a wrinkled radish with eyes and a few hairs.

At first I thought the only price I had to pay was my transformation into a rabbit. It seemed to me, at least at the time, worth it. I had always had contempt for the human race anyway, so being turned into a cute little bunny rabbit seemed much more preferable.

There was another thing I had to do to remain in the Mad Hatter’s paradise. The Hatter had another “customer”, and I was to help that customer’s wish come true. This customer didn’t want to go to the Hatter’s Wonderland, no, he wanted a young woman called Darla Fromford to suffer vicious nightmares every night for the rest of her life, based on her fears.

Other customers of his have had worse requests, worse thoughts. That “Edward” and his “Carol” still give me the creeps.

The first night of this “delivery” was Holy Saturday, and the Hatter knew that Darla had, since a child, found the concept of the Easter Bunny more sinister than whimsical.

So for the night, I underwent a further transformation. My features became more frightening, and when I tried to explain to Darla what was happening, all that came out of my mouth was an awful, awful sound.

I’m supposed to do it again on Easter Sunday night. Then the night after that. Then the Hatter is planning on making a ghost train which she’s going to ride on and see her worst fears manifest before her eyes, and she’ll see worse and worse things every night for the rest of her life.

I’d be willing to give up my role in this if it just meant losing my paradise. I know the Mad Hatter will do a lot more, a lot worse to me if I do, however.

She was terrified of me. She thought I was going to kill her.

Perhaps it would be better for her if I did.

The Mad Hatter has previously appeared in Dear Susan and The Garden of Live Flowers.

The Ghostly Cowboy


I saw a ghostly cowboy,
A ghost with a big hat,
Big eyes and a skull-like face,
Yes, I did see that,

As soon as he came into my view,
He let loose a loud whine,
And then he pulled out a lasso,
Made of a human spine,

His vest was made of cobwebs,
Spiders were his spurs,
And he came into a restaurant,
Where beefburgers were served,

Not into a haunted house,
Or to a ghost town,
No, to this fine eatery,
Where cows’ ghosts could be found.