Page 2 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
And of course, the rider has absolutely, positively, and unequivocallynohead.
I can’t rip my eyes away. He stops the horse a few feet from me, his whole body facing mine as the horse stomps one hoof. It feels like his sightless gaze is pulling me in, and I know I shouldn’t like it so much.
It’s not just an impressive Halloween costume. There is no head whatsoever. But it doesn’t stop him from commanding the night like he owns it. His presence is powerful, intoxicating, and dominant. It sets my blood on fire.
Holy Hecate! All right, get a grip, Belle. He’s literally headless.Congratulations, you did it, you summoned a headless horseman who’s probably got all the manners of a disembodied phantasm with no manners. Just breathe, and maybe try not to faint before he decides to make you his next fatal trophy.
But my pulse quickens, a mix of excitement and something more confusing, something deeper.
“Well, aren’t you just the epitome of dark and mysterious?” I chime, my snark still strong despite the chill carving through me.
He tightens his grip on the reins. The horse stomps quicker.
Sweet Sleepy Hollow of a reality check!—I shouldnotbe gawking like some fan girl with a Bronte complex.
Instinct kicks in, and I bolt, sprinting into the woods as fast as my legs can carry me. The fog thickens, disorienting, each step pulling me into unfamiliar territory. The paths I know like the back of my hand have vanished. This isn’t just any fog. It’s like the whole damn forest has transported me to another dimension—a darker, creepier one.
“Welp. I always wanted to get lost in a haunted forest,” I mutter, pushing through the dense mist and the branches clawingat me. “Cross that off the bucket list.” My heart races, not just from running but from the prickling sensation like spider legs skittering all over me. The air itself feels different, heavier, like I’ve crossed into some place out of a ghost story.
No matter how fast I run, the hoof beats grow louder. Panic grips my chest, tightening with every breath.Breathe, Belle. Just breathe.But my heart is pounding too fast, the familiar dizziness of my tachycardia setting in. My vision blurs at the edges, and my poor scarf catches on a branch, tearing away from me. Mimi’s scarf. My beret is long gone.
I turn just once toward the sound of a snorting horse. Sacred Samhain, he’s just off to my left, three feet at most.
Remembering my herbs, I reach into my pocket and chuck the sage, salt, and garlic at the rider behind me. He doesn’t even flinch. Why did I think that would work? It’s not like he has a head.
Lunging through a nearby thicket, I hurry as fast as I can, pushing past the brambles and brush. Too fast when I trip over a log, right into a muddy creek.
“Bloody devils, seriously!?” I practically screech, cursing the offending log and scrambling to my feet, my upper half completely soaked.
The hot breath of the horse drifts across my back.
And then, he’s beside me. The Horseman reaches out with his leather glove, grabbing me by the back of my neck. I can’t even scream before I’m lifted off the ground like I weigh nothing. The world jerks away, tearing my breath with it.
I squirm, try to fight, but his grip is firm, strong, powerful, but not rough. I’m too petrified to turn around. All I’m aware of is the too-rapid pounding of my heart, the strange gentleness of the muscled arm around my waist, and the unexpected warmth of his chest pressed to my upper back since he’s a good head taller than me.
My vision spins, blurring around me from my tachycardia. “Not the kind of pickup I was looking for tonight,” I slur, semi-conscious as my vision fades.
The world around me spins—fog and treeswhirling into shadows. Too fast. Pulse shredding my veins. The sensory overload pushes me past my limit.
I still feel the powerful rhythm of the horse beneath me, the solid strength of the Horseman holding me steady. And I can’t know why, but an odd sense of calm washes over me, like maybe this isn’t the end of the world after all.
Where is he taking me? All I can see is the dim gloom of autumn branches. And in the distance, I swear a great house looms closer as a silhouette and tiny flickers of light.
What is he going to do to me? If he was going to kill me, wouldn’t he have already?
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I mumble, “Where’s your jack-o’-lantern?”
Everything goes black.
2
Spirits haunt these halls, forever restless
HORSEMAN
She’s growing colder.
The air around my home is bitter and chilled from the ghosts haunting it and the corpses buried on its land. My long-lost home is a grim reminder of the bloodshed and death defining my last days walking this earth as a whole man. The air is oppressive with the energies of the dead.
