"Where is everybody?" The Wabbit waved a screwdriver impatiently. "You can't poke a fire with a screwdriver," said Lapinette. She shivered at a strange chill in the air - and while she considered what it might be, she warmed her paws by the flames. "I said 11.30 sharp," sighed the Wabbit. He waved his screwdriver so vigorously, it flew in the air and tumbled into the fire. Skratch looked at the bonfire with distrust. But his radio crackled and he listened. "Wabbit! Everyone's delayed in traffic." The Wabbit shook his head and scowled in disbelief. "They're up to something. Some trick." Skratch meaowed mournfully. "Same trick every year, no one believes in the Bunnyman, Wabbit." Lapinette's ears suddenly swivelled. "Can you hear teeth chattering?" Her whisper cut across the fire's crackle and startled Skratch for an instant. The Wabbit grinned and leaned forward to tell a tale. "In the old days, the gentry would come here to the Hellfire Club." "What for?" asked Lapinette. "Shenanigans," said the Wabbit. "But one night a woodsman knocked at the door to sell firewood and was attacked. Skratch purred for more and the Wabbit continued. "In the struggle that followed, they saw he had a cloven hoof!" The Wabbit trembled at his own tale. "They fled back to the Club ... but all died of suffocation that night. And every Hallowe'en - there's a smell of bad air." "I can smell it now," shuddered Lapinette. "It's plastic from the Wabbit's screwdriver," laughed Skratch. But he knew it wasn't ...
