The Easter Bunny

Harry Hopper stretched his little bunny body in the lush, cool grass, relishing the warmth of the sun on his fur. He could smell a dandelion and lazily opened one amber eye to gauge how far away it was. Not quite within paw’s reach. Never mind—later, then.

Harry sat up and began grooming his luxurious black coat. A lightning quick memory struck him and he froze, tongue derping out, looking faintly ridiculous. It was only a flash: a vision of black matted fur, a dirty white tummy caked with rancid faeces. The memory—if that’s what it was—vanished as quickly as it came. Weird.

He wandered over to make the acquaintance of the tantalising dandelion. He wasn’t really hungry, but he carried an alien memory of being hungry. Starving. Best not to take any chances. The juicy stem snapped halfway down with one sharp yank, and Harry nibbled from flower to stalk like a connoisseur enjoying especially fine spaghetti. Another half dozen dandelions followed until he felt sated. Content. Happy.

Was he always happy, though?

He shook his head, trying to brush these troubling thoughts away like flies.

Other bunnies dotted the field now—hopping, sleeping, eating, playing. Harry made his way toward them, moving slowly, hoping beyond hope that they would offer him friendship and company. Loneliness was a terrible thing to endure. The others welcomed him readily, and they spent the afternoon together like old friends. Harry couldn’t remember ever being so happy.

This idyllic life could have lasted forever, as far as Harry was concerned. But one day, he received a very strange visitor indeed.

It was the oldest rabbit Harry had ever seen: snowy white fur majestically sweeping the ground, blue eyes faded with age but still alert and wise.

“Hello, Harry,” the rabbit intoned in a deep, rich voice. “I am Bramble. I suppose you could say I’m kind of a Big Deal around here.” He chuckled to himself, as if at a private joke. “I have a very special job for you, my man.”

Harry stared at Bramble in shock. “Rabbits can’t speak,” he squeaked—the only thing he could think to say. It was, admittedly, a foolish observation, given what was currently happening: chatting like old friends.

Bramble laughed. “Here, my son, we rabbits can do anything.”

Harry pondered this mysterious statement. “Where is here?” he asked shyly, unsure he really wanted the answer.

“All in good time. Now—this job. Have you ever heard of the Easter Bunny?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I think I’ve heard the name mentioned. Does it involve chocolate eggs? Or am I thinking of something else?”

Bramble smiled. “The Easter Bunny is a very special messenger, my friend. He visits good boys and girls with a basket of eggs, leaving the treats to be discovered by the deserving. It’s the Universe’s way of symbolising the joy of life—and the part rabbits like us play in bringing a little sunshine into the world. This year, I want you to be that rabbit.”

Harry sat down with a soft plumph on the grass. “Me?” he squeaked. “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know where to go! How do I get to all the homes?” He didn’t know how many good boys and girls there were out there, but he suspected it was a lot. Hundreds, probably!

Bramble laughed indulgently. “We have many representatives, my little friend.” Harry wasn’t sure he appreciated being called little, but he let it slide. “Since this is your first time, you’ll only visit one home.”

Bramble paused for effect before reciting the address.

“13 Forrest Road, Oaksway.”

The sun slipped behind a cloud, and Harry felt cold deep inside. “That address sounds… familiar,” he ventured.

Bramble nodded solemnly and pressed his nose gently to Harry’s. A sensation of motion washed over him—the fields, the warmth, the laughter fading, replaced by an overcast sky and a place that felt unsettlingly known. Harry found himself hopping along a footpath toward a pleasant looking house that nonetheless filled him with hollow dread. The number 13 gleamed on the letterbox. Another adorned the front door.

He circled the house reluctantly, slipping under a gate and across a darkening lawn. In the far corner of the yard stood a small rabbit hutch. Though every instinct urged him away, he was drawn toward it. Even from a distance, he could smell death.

Harry approached in silence, grief swelling in his chest. The hutch was foul with waste and mouldy, rotting straw. Inside lay the small body of a rabbit with black, matted fur and a filthy white underbelly. Its paws were bloodied from desperate attempts to dig free.

Harry remembered.

His beginnings—bright lights, glass walls, the smell of clean hay. Other rabbits. Other animals. Regular food. Warm nights pressed close to his mother and siblings. Tall, strange creatures peered in through the glass, tapping sometimes to draw attention.

One of them—a little boy—had chosen him, drawn by Harry’s black and white markings and cute baby bunny ears.

Harry had been taken away. Everyone in his new home had ooh ed and ahh ed. He’d been adored… for a while. His hutch had been clean. His meals regular. He’d been taken out to play. He’d been happy enough.

Then the visits thinned out. The straw grew wet and rank. Food became scarce. Cleaning stopped entirely. He slept on his own filth. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him. At first, he’d tried to dig free. Eventually, he’d been too weak.

He remembered lying down.

Remembered going to sleep.

He had finally been freed.

Grief gave way to fury.

How dare they? How dare they!

The hutch faded. Warmth returned. Light. Sweet scents.

“I understand now,” Harry whispered.

Bramble nodded and faded away like magic.

“I’ll make some very special chocolates,” murmured Harry as he gathered together milk weeds filled with sweet poison. “You will see what it feels like,” he bared his teeth as he mixed the deadly sap with molten chocolate from the supplies that Bramble had left behind. He huffed out a chuckle as he pooped into each chocolate egg, mixing it thoroughly with tiny lumps of jelly made from snake venom, and nuts from the deadly nightling tree.

He waved a vengeful paw over the easter eggs, watching the chocolate set and a brightly coloured skin grow and sparkle over his creations. He packed the treats neatly in his little easter basket.

Then Harry Hopper set out on his special journey.