103 An Encounter with the Easter Bunny Katie Doolittle It was late the night before Easter, past my bedtime of 8:30 p.m. Seven-year-old me was very afraid of the dark, and so my parents always kept the hallway light on. Most nights I would wake up randomly and look around, making sure that the dark spots in the corners were only dark spots and not a Dementor from Harry Potter about to suck out my soul, and sometimes I would get scared and move to my parents’ room. But this night, this night was the night before Easter, and so I wasn’t afraid when I woke up, but maybe I should have been. I remember hearing a sound from downstairs. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The thumps were spread out in such a way that I knew what it was—hopping. Now, of course, this might sound ridiculous since 昀椀rst, the Easter Bunny isn’t real, and second, what parent hops when they’re placing Easter eggs around the house? With every thump, my heart pumped faster and my eyes widened. I thought, could it really be? The Easter Bunny is here, right now?! The thumps grew closer, approaching the stairs, and then stopped. And I thought it would be so easy to just go down and see him. I was so tempted, in that one short moment, to break the rules and spoil the surprise. But then something else happened that made me freeze. Not the kind of freeze where you’re so stunned and excited you can’t move, but the kind that you experience when your body is telling you to stay away. Someone, something, turned the light off, then, after a moment, turned it back on again. Off and on. Off and on. I gripped my sheets and watched as the light changed its mind. Again. Again. While the thing played with the switch, all I could do was stare and listen to my pounding heart. Then it stopped. The light stayed on.