The sled was painted a pearl pink, as pretty as the dawning sun, as pretty as she was, and she said she wanted the Barbie sled, more than she wanted anything.

"Please? Josie has one! Brenda has one! And I don't! I don't have a good sled, not at all!"

Her mother had listened to her pleas, and bought her the sled.

The pearl pink hedgehog had carried her sled by her one arm, seeing the many hills she could glissade down. Her hands were in pink mittens, her coat was pink, and her little hat was pink. She was a pink infant, on Christmas eve.

She had climbed up a hill near a graveyard, the hill that her friends had dubbed "Suicide Hill". She thought they had named it that because many people had committed suicide there. Turns out it was both that, and it was suicide to go down it. The name of the hill scared her, but as she bit into her pink knitted mittens, she thought she needed to prove to her two girl friends that she was tough, and not at all like a prissy princess. With their new red sleds, without the white cursive Barbie insignia on them, she had saw the hill leading downward to the spiraling trees, the thorns of Hell, and she had sat on her sled, apprehensive.

Her feet blocked the descent to the snowy Hellish icy fires. She wanted to block it all away and go home to her mother, who was kind enough to buy her the sled for her. She thought her friends would've liked her to have a red sled, the colors of blood, but the girls had laughed and said she needed a Barbie one, cause Amy was a little pink hedgehog who was only 6.

The girls had stopped laughing when a blue hedgehog had touched her shoulder, his eyes sparkling in the snow, his smile so soft and iridescent, as he said, "What are you doing here, little girl? This hill is no place for you, or anyone. It's off-limits. Private property. None of you should be here."

"How can this graveyard by private property?" Brenda had asked, but the blue hedgehog had said nothing as the keys jingled in his overalls pocket, and he had told Amy and the other girls she couldn't be here. No one could be. The dead had to rest here.

As Amy's friends left, muttering under their breath in the cold air, she stayed, wondering what he meant that the dead had to rest, with no one at all tunneling down its hill. He had saw the hedgehog sit near the tombstones, handing out a piece of bread and wine to every grave, talking to them in a quiet, low voice. The pink girl, with her blooming curiosity, had watched the hedgehog carrying a ghostly girl's hand, her feather braided in her hair, her lips so saccharine and red, and he said, "You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have hurt yourself. You're so lucky that I was here, otherwise you would've been in that forest, where only demons and beasts live. All these spirits, you also, need to learn that suicide is not the solution to your problems. Being dead isn't fun, is it?"

He handed her a cube of white cheese, and she ate it, daintily.

"I know. I feel bad, Sonic. I feel bad for everything I've done this past life. I wished I would've stayed with you, but…"

"Too late now," he said, eyes avoiding her. He had laid a plate of cookies on the winter floor, as each of his spiritual guests had taken one, and ate them with relish. It was the only meal they got in a year, other than candy in Halloween.

Like a flickering light, Amy soon saw the spirits dissipate in the air for a splitting moment, as Sonic had used his jingling keys to open the warehouse in the further reaches of the graveyard, being able to see a bed and a small Christmas tree with pictures of the spirits hanging from them precariously, and he had closed the door, sleeping for the day. She could tell he was very tired.

The little pink girl had taken her little pink sled, and had tiptoed out of the graveyard, while the dead conversed with their wine, bread, cheese, and sandwiches given from their graveyard keeper. She wondered if being dead was all they said it would be, long, sorrowful, and possibly boring.

She saw the little white china-faced girl stare at the warehouse from what looked like a thousand miles away, and she had tears in her eyes, rushing down her pale face.