I had not thought that I had left the estate that much later than anyone else, but the road was completely deserted, no signs of life anywhere besides the night crickets and the occasional swoop of a bird overhead. Even the woods leading back to the town seemed empty. No lights flickered from torches or lanterns, no voices shouted back and forth to one another or scolded noisy children. As Gunpowder and I approached the tree line, I felt my heart pick up in my chest, and I very nearly turned back. The thought that drove me forward was the smug satisfaction that would be on Brom’s face, knowing he had scared me with his story of the headless rider. Facing him and Katrina after my rather vehement objections to their proposal was also not something I wanted to do.
The wind blew chilling fingers over me as the path around me grew suddenly darker, the trees forming a barrier overhead that only sent dappled bits of moonlight through them. I realized that I didn’t know if horses had better night vision than humans, and even less so Gunpowder with his one murky eye. I gave him a nudge with my heel. “Come on, Gunpowder, old boy. Let’s hurry through these woods and get home.”
Gunpowder let out a rusty-sounding snort, as if to tell me he had already picked up his pace for me. I gave his neck a reassuring pat, more for my own comfort than his. There was only darkness behind me now, the Van Tassel manor lost to view through the trees, no more anchoring candlelight. Every movement of the wind caught my attention. Every shadow along the side of the road sent my eyes skittering about. Every story I had heard from the townspeople about spooks and haunts and spirits in these woods suddenly whirled about in my head like a tornado. And at the center of it was the specter of Brom’s tale, the Headless Horseman, seeking out a blood sacrifice every year for the loss of his head. My heart gave another sharp beat in my chest, like it had when Katrina had laid her hand upon it, enough that it made me double over on Gunpowder’s back, gasping for breath.
Something large overhead blotted out the moonlight, plunging me for a moment into deep darkness. I looked up, but the sky was suddenly clear again. I swallowed hard and urged Gunpowder on, my ears strained for any sound beyond the clomp of his hooves and the rustle of the wind. I wished now more than ever that I had thought to bring a lantern with me for the return trip, for while the swollen moon overhead was doing its best to light my way, even it seemed to have abandoned me to the darkness of the forest.
I rounded one of the large trees that bisected the path. Gunpowder stopped as short, and I stiffened atop him. A figure was at the side of the road, a few paces into the trees. Cloaked in shadow, I could not make out much beyond that it was someone on horseback. Gunpowder snorted and danced a few steps away from the figure, nearly off the path. I gripped the reins so as not to fall off at the movement, unable to tear my eyes from the form. I could feel eyes upon me, though the shadowed rider did not move as Gunpowder trotted warily past. Despite only being a few arms’ lengths away, I still could not make out any features besides the legs and trunk of a large, dark horse, and someone astride it. My thought then was not of the supernatural, but that one of the partygoers had gone off the path for personal business and was now returning. I very nearly called out to see if perhaps there had been trouble when my heart gave another ferocious beat in my chest.
As if he had felt the single reverberation of my heart, Gunpowder suddenly picked up speed, so much so that I nearly tumbled off of him. Once I had righted myself sturdily, I looked over to see the horse and rider trotting along through the trees, keeping pace with us as the large horse navigated around the trunks with ease despite its bulk. My heart gave another painful thump, and this time a lump of fear rose in my throat. Why, I did not know, but my body knew something my brain did not, which was all the more frightening. “Who are you?” I demanded.
I received no answer. I asked again, bolder now, though I knew in my heart I would not get a reply. From what I could perceive, the figure did not even turn my way when I spoke, simply trotted along in the darkness near me, keeping pace with Gunpowder no matter what speed he took.
The gurgling of an approaching brook should have been reassuring, but even its slosh made the hair on my head stand up in fright. At this point I was certain that my strange midnight companion was not human. That thought chilled me to my very core, and I very nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. Gunpowder and I crossed the brook that was no more than ankle deep, and I chanced a glance to the side again to see that the rider and horse had vanished. I had no more let out a sigh of relief when a plashy tramp sounded behind me, and I turned to see the figure only a few paces behind me, on the path now. His horse had just crested the bank when a patch of clouds slid away from the moon enough to illuminate my follower and his steed.
Despite what I had already known in my heart, seeing the headless rider atop the shadowy horse sent a jolt of fear down my spine as I had never experienced before. I think I must have screamed, for suddenly the woods were echoing with noise, and Gunpowder took off at a clip so fast that he nearly pitched me from the saddle. His hooves pounded down the path as if the very devil were at his heels, but I could hear thundering behind me and knew that the black steed and rider were matching me pace for pace. I heard the snort and chuff of the ink-dark animal and was almost sure I could feel its hot breath against my back as Gunpowder ran for his miserable life.
Something behind me screeched, like a giant bird of prey, the sound raising every hair on my body. It was as if the woods were alive with thundering hoofbeats, the wild screaming of Gunpowder, the snuffling and growling and frightful whinnying coming from behind me. I was bent so low over Gunpowder’s neck that I couldn’t even attempt to look over my shoulder, only the cacophony of sounds behind me telling me where my pursuer was.
We came upon the fork in the road, the right of which would take us back toward the village and potential safety. Imagine my shock and horror when Gunpowder turned to the left and plunged down the dirt path, kicking up rocks and mud in his wake. I think I must have shouted to him, but he was beyond hearing, panting and making the most frightful noises. I suddenly felt the saddle slip to one side down his bony ribs. I clutched at the pommel to try to save it, but it nearly dragged me off of him, and I was forced to let it go and wrap my arms around Gunpowder’s neck so as not to be flung off. I heard the saddle hit the ground, and then heard it being kicked and trampled under the foot of the massive horse pursuing me. The strangest thought came to the forefront of my mind then, that Van Ripper would be upset over the loss of his saddle, and I would have to find a way to pay him back for it. Why that was what occupied me in that moment, I could not say. I clung to Gunpowder’s neck like a babe to its mother, jouncing this way and that with prodigious violence, wondering if, with the right angle of my body against the sharp ridge of his backbone, he might cleave me asunder.
Something swiped through the air, so close to me that I felt it skim the side of my head and heard the swish of it deep in my ear. I could not see what it was, but the splintering sound that followed right behind it told me that whatever it was had struck a tree and gouged it. I imagined the Horseman wielding a mighty sword or ax, with which to take off my head with one blow, and I am certain that I screamed in terror, and an answering call went up behind me in response.
Up ahead I could see a covered wooden bridge, and beyond that, the gleam of faded, whitewashed walls that I assumed was the abandoned church. Despite having no reason to believe it so, I thought that crossing the bridge and into the hallowed churchyard might provide me safety from my terrible pursuer, whom I could still hear only a few gallops behind me. I clung to Gunpowder’s neck with all of my strength as we hit the bridge, the sound of his running on the half-rotted boards deafening. It was not a superbly long bridge, and we burst out of the opposite end after only a few strides. It was when his feet hit the dirt path again that Gunpowder slowed to a stop, despite my desperate urging, wheezing and huffing, for he probably had not run so fast in his entire life. I turned to look behind me at the bridge, almost certain that the Horseman would be upon me in that very moment.
But, to my shock, the Horseman and his shadowy mount had stopped on the bridge, right in the middle. His body was turned away from me, as if looking at something behind him, and his horse stamped impatiently, as if it had been halted in the midst of a mad dash that it wished to continue. My heart suddenly slammed again into my ribcage with such force that I bent double, clutching at my chest with one hand, struggling to draw breath as terribly as the horse beneath me. The pain was so great that my vision blurred. My lungs felt as if they were clutched in the grip of a monstrous fist, my heart pounding like Gunpowder’s racing hooves in my chest. The world suddenly tipped sideways, and I hit the dirt path. And then I knew only blackness.
Chapter Three
WhenIwokeup,I was lying on something hard, but something had been draped over it. I forced my eyes open. The world was topsy-turvy. It was dark, and my eyes were unable to find something on which to focus to bring them into cooperation. I tried to reach up to rub them, only to find that my hands had been tied together at the wrists behind my back. The knot felt loose, the ropes barely clenching my skin. I then became aware of another sensation, that of something wet and cotton on my face. My tongue poked up to explore, and I realized with a startled gasp that there was a cloth tied around my mouth as a gag. It too was fairly loose, but panic still quickly set in as my body thought I was not drawing air into my lungs. I pushed myself from my side where I had been lying to full uprightness, giving a panicked yank at the rope around my wrist.
“Please, stay calm,” came a voice from nearby that nearly made me leap out of my skin. I turned toward the sound, but my eyes could not penetrate the thick shadows that surrounded me. The voice was low and a little hoarse, with a bit of a Germanic accent to it.
I am not ashamed to admit that a whimper of fear escaped my throat as I thrashed at the rope.
“Please,” came the voice again, in a tone that sounded like a farmer trying to soothe a frightened horse. “No harm will come to you.”
My bound hands seemed to belie this statement, but though the cinch was not tight, I was not going to be able to get it off quickly by myself. My lungs fought for air again, and I closed my eyes to concentrate on taking a deep breath. The cotton gag in my mouth was damp with my own saliva, but my throat and nose were unobstructed. I inhaled, then let it out again. The next breath was easier, and now I could smell the air as my pounding heart began to slow. It was damp and a little musty, like inside of a root cellar, though without the fresh, earthy smell that accompanied vegetables. There was something in the air, almost sweet, but I could not determine what it was, though that was not my priority at the moment. I inhaled again, then exhaled, opening my eyes and turning them toward the darkness where the voice had come from. There was someone there. I could feel their presence, though I could see nothing more than a few steps beyond me. I glanced down to see that I was lying on what seemed to be a pile of blankets made into a make-shift bed. My legs were curled under me, as I had been lying in the fetal position upon waking, and I cautiously stretched them out, keeping them on the blankets as though they were a log raft upon a fierce river that would otherwise sweep me away. I turned my eyes to the darkness again, trying to soften my features from the panic that I was sure was still evident in my eyes and my tensed shoulders.
“I am sorry I had to tie you,” said the voice, and it sounded genuinely remorseful. I could discern now that it was a male voice, world-weary and rough, but kind. I couldn’t stop from making a muffled questioning sound through my nose. “I have much to explain. I know you saw me on the path, and I know my appearance can be shocking. But I swear that no harm will befall you, and your questions shall be answered. I can see you in this darkness, so nod if you understand me.”
The blackness was so complete that I was unsure how any man could see more than a few steps from him. My breathing was still much too fast as I realized that the origin of the voice was none other than the haunted creature I had seen behind me as we crossed the stream. The singular glance I had seen under the moonlight had been enough to shake me to my very marrow. The only other vision I had was of the figure in the middle of the bridge, turned away from me, so much in silhouette that the form would not have been immediately clear to me had I not known.
I did not wish to see. Every fiber of my being resisted the desire to see my captor full revealed, as I sat here, bound, unable to scream or run, with very little of my own autonomy left. But sitting here in tense silence, knowing he was there, beyond my vision, was worse, so I hesitantly bobbed my chin once.
A window across the way from me was suddenly opened, flooding the space with blue moonlight. I flinched my head away, my eyes stinging for a moment at the unexpected brightness. I heard a lantern being lit. I was able to crack my eyes open again with less pain now. The lantern was suddenly lifted from what I assumed was a table, and I could see the vaguest outline of a figure. The lantern swung to face me, and I forced myself to focus beyond it so as not to hurt my eyes by staring into the glow. It drew closer, the rustle of footsteps over the ground as quiet as a church whisper. Out of the darkness slowly materialized an arm holding the lantern out, covered in what appeared to be a black coat with some sort of brass buttons on the sleeve. A step further, and the light began to illuminate a chest and lower torso, then traveled down to gleam off of polished riding boots. It was a broad chest, to be sure, strong and formidable. Another step closer, and the light slid further up the chest to the high-necked collar of the jacket. My eyes lifted to where the next step would reveal a face, but as the figure took another halting step toward me, the spot stayed in shadow. One step more, and my captor was revealed in full, only slightly more than an arm’s length from me.
The collar of his black coat stood unsupported, for at the base of his throat, where his shoulders joined to create what should have been his neck, was nothing. It was such a sudden and unexpected blankness that I almost missed what was cradled in his left arm, held to his breast. It was a head, with deceptively bright eyes that were focused on me, the thin lips slightly parted to reveal the faint glint of teeth, dark hair, and sharp cheeks.
My breath caught, and I could not tell if my heart sped up or stopped altogether. I only know that in that moment, I was seeing the impossible, and I had to be dreaming. I thought I might have screamed through the gag around my mouth, but I slumped backward against the wall as the world went black again.
I do not know how long my mind kept itself in the fearful darkness, but when I became aware of my surroundings again, something soft and damp was pressing against my face, blotting away the heat from it. I was lying down on my side again, for my hands were still uselessly tied behind me. My eyes fluttered, and I first saw a heavy, black coat and trousers in front of me. A hand stroked the cooling cloth over my face again, and my gaze traveled up the sleeve to the shoulder, and then to nothingness again. I inhaled sharply, sure that I was not dreaming this time.
“Let me explain,” came the accented voice. I turned to see that the lantern had been set nearby, moonlight still illuminating the small, wooden space with a high ceiling above me. Resting on the floor only a few paces from my own face, was a head. A head with dark hair tied back, though strands escaped and floated around the pale face. As I have mentioned, the eyes shone, as alive as any I had seen, the irises a very dark brown. The lips were thin, made thinner still by the fact that the lips were pursed in concern. The sunken look that accompanied death was not present in this head; if it were not for its utter lack of a body, I would not have given it a second thought.
And then the lips moved, the head shifting ever so slightly where it sat. “Let me explain,” came that hoarse voice again, and I watched the words come from the head’s lips that moved with perfect synchronicity. I stared in shock, then jumped as the cool cloth brushed over my hot neck, reminding me of the figure that knelt next to me in a state of decapitation that should not have been possible. It was indeed the Headless Horseman I had seen earlier in the woods, that pursued me through the trees and over the bridge toward the solitary, abandoned church. A whine involuntarily escaped my lips, over the gag that still prevented me from screaming, and I drew back from the hand with the damp cloth, though it admittedly did feel nice against my overheated skin.
The headless body moved back from me, giving me much-needed space. Then, while I watched in fascinated horror, it lifted its head up from the floor with both hands and held it in front of its chest like some sort of ancient sculpture of a Greek monster. My lungs felt tight, swelling into my throat until I thought I might choke, and I forced myself to breathe so as not to be lost once more to the blackness.
