A white clothesline is stretched above the dark surface of the water. Ghostly moonlight wanders across it as if across a narrow pale bridge. Dark drops fall from the red-lined black cape held by two pegs, rippling and ruffling the smoothness of the cemetery pond.

The water lilies and duckweed that cover it in summer are now at the bottom, and at last, the water is clear. It mirrors the moon, resembling a big silver coin. It is full. And the night itself is full of sounds and ghosts and visions.

"I think washing clothes during the day is better. They dry faster in the sun," Deadly Root says.

Drops form little craters in the water and he thinks he sees someone in the depths winking up at him in an ominous way.

"Clothes should only be dried in moonlight," Gothic Hare objects. "For then the night will imprint its face in them and stay with you for all time. Even during the day."

He is wrapped up to his ears in a black bath towel, resembling a sinister moth.

"Not so scary during the day, mind you," blinks Rooty.

The yellow eyes in the depths come closer giving him a very unwelcoming look.

"Besides, nobody sweats in a graveyard, so there's no need to wash."

He turns away from the water and squints critically at the wet cape.

"It is common to put on clean clothes for church," Gothic Hare replies without moving. "Especially if you visit at night."

"Wouldn't it be easier to visit during the day?" Root tries not to look at the water, in which more and more small yellow lights appear by the minute.

These are the drowners awakening from their daytime sleep. It is not often that they can overhear others' chatter.

"It's not good practice to go for cemetery business during the day," says Hare. "Besides, you might as well get washed up. The grave dust makes you look unhealthy."

Hare's voice gurgles. As he falls into the cold water, Root realizes it is not Hare. In a flash, the ground just slips away, plunging him into dark, wet depths.

He's confronted by the dimly flickering eyes and sharp yellow teeth of an unknown beast. Its fur, covered in silt and weeds, emits an eerie green light. Dark, dirty rags dangle around its neck.

"It's a sack," the stranger murmurs again. "I tore it to pieces years ago. Good for those who drown themselves. They won't have to bother with ropes and sacks afterwards."

"Aaah!!!" cries Root, but underwater he only succeeds in blowing big bubbles. "Hare!!!"

"Hey - don't shout, you're scaring the little ones," remarks Beast unkindly.

"Are there any others?" asks Rooty, looking like a little white moon himself. Nervous dark spots spread across his peel, enhancing the likeness.

"Puppies, kittens, snakes... Many were drowned here," Beast grinned amiably.

"And you?"

"Me too," he nods in agreement. "You don't have to shout here."

"Then what?"

"Play. We can't get an ordinary ball underwater, but here you are. You can roll well on the bottom."

"I can't go to the bottom!" squeals Rooty, and again the fan of bubbles rises cheerfully.

"Why not?" asks Beast sincerely, "at the bottom it's quiet, warm, and dark. There is someone to play with here."

"If I go to the bottom, we won't get to the church. And that's where the lists are!"

"What lists?"

"The deadies from the cemetery."

"Aren't gravestones lists?"

"Every dead has living relatives. The relatives of deads are potential cemetery visitors. Gravestones say nothing about them."

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"Why do we need visitors? Are they going to drown someone too?"

"I hope not," Root says somewhat uncertain.

Around him on the dark, slimy bottom, small animals scamper green from the silt. They are floundering, playing with each other and swimming after the sleepy, cold fish. Deadly Root suddenly feels warmer. He smiles.

"The deadies need visitors to sustain the cemetery," he explains as he strokes the wet fur of one of the creatures. "We need to make sure the living prefer keeping the graveyard to building more houses or a shopping mall."

"The living need the cemetery in the first place!" marvels Beast. "Otherwise they have no future!"

"Fully agree."

Root nods with so much enthusiasm it causes him to roll over, much to the delight of the little ones.

"Without the cemetery, they might drain the pond. That would be a disaster for the drowners," Beast says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. His skull bones showing through his skin. "Or worse, they might put swans in here. Those eat all the duckweed. And their necks are too long. Just when you're settling in nicely for the day, along comes a beak."

"Next come the mums with kids," Deadly Root adds humbly.

"Those are the worst," the expression on Beast's snout turns sour. "I'll let you go. The cemetery business is more pressing."

"Very pressing," nods Root again, causing him to roll over even further.

The little drowners gurgle with excitement and set off in pursuit. For a while they roll him over the bottom, until Root gets stuck among the rotten branches.

"I've changed my mind," he declares. "I'd rather stay here. It's fun here, and the cemetery business is not only pressing, but also very scary."

"And here it's not scary?" Beast bares his fangs and wags his bald tail.

"Scary," Deadly Root admits, "but fun."

"Fun is when you're already drowned," Beast sighs sorrowfully. "Before that it's just scary. "

The branches suddenly releases their grip. Root felt himself being rolled up by clawed paws.

Off to the side, it is still dark and cold. Gothic Hare is already wrapped in his cape.

"Rooty, where have you been? I thought you drowned."

"Scared, so not yet," Beast remarks, sticking his snout out of the water.

He gazes at the clothesline clutched in Hare's paws, clearly pleased.

"Night washing is the best," he cackles with his tongue. "And if you get drowned as well..."

"Maybe next time," Hare says with a polite tone.

"Yes, yes," nods Beast and the water drips from his whiskers, "next time. We can help too, if you want."

"That's very kind of you," Gothic Hare rolls up the clothesline into a coil and grips it tighter with his paws. "Will we go then?"

"Go," Beast licks his nose. "But don't forget to bring a ball instead of this one," he winks at Root. " Drowners shouldn't be without toys."

Root looks with a heavy heart into the water where the little yellow lights are fading.

"I can come over sometimes," he offers. "To play with the little ones."

"Be our guest," replies Beast.

He watches the two figures with great attention, the tall and thin one and the small and fat one. The drops still dripping from the black cape turn ghostly green.

Gothic Hare's sniff is suspicious. "Does it smell like sludge?"

"It's probably coming from me," Root rubs his side embarrassed.

"Probably..." echoes the cemetery pond.

Its surface is again dark and lifeless. Drip-drip-drip... drip......