When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail,
Holidays. Special days of commemoration and celebration. Feasts and festivities. Remembrance and revelry. But what dark things lurk just out of sight, in the shadows of those celebrated days? Forces beyond our comprehension, yearning to burst into our warm and comforting world and tear asunder those things we hold most dear. As the wheel of the year turns and we embrace our favorite occasions, let us not forget that beyond the light is a darkness, and in that darkness something stirs. Some nameless thing that brings us Horror for the Holidays!
And black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the specters' holiday – then is the ghosts' high noon!
-- Sir William Schwenck Gilbert, Ruddigore, Act 1