A Halloween Tale

A Halloween Tale
word count = 2732

         Was it real? I think so, but sometimes I’m not sure. Have you ever had a nightmare so vivid and horrifying that you could swear it really happened? On the other hand, have you ever experienced terror so oppressive that you knew for sure you were dreaming? Well, I have. Nightmare or dream, it matters not which, my life was permanently imprinted by the experience. I am only now beginning to believe it really happened.

         It was October 31, Halloween. I am not a particularly superstitious person; I don’t believe in ghouls and goblins—or at least I didn’t. I found myself, on that witching day, removed from my native Texan habitat and immersed in the life of those folks who live north of the Mason-Dixon Line. I was there on business as a consultant, helping the local government put their affairs in order. It was a particularly frustrating week. It seemed as if the locals were infected with more than their fair share of morons. At least the town of Shippley had certainly deprived much of Maryland of their village idiots, for they all seemed to live in Shippley. I was utterly amazed at the lack of brain cells in these folks. My pappy was right when he said, “Son, Yankees just don’t think right.”

         I finished my work there late in the day, somewhere around 7:00 pm. Before returning the rental car to the airport in Baltimore, where I would also catch my flight home, I stopped in the local eatery to get a bite to eat. I must admit the lack of common sense in Shippley did not prevent those folks from rustling up some good grub; even this Texan was amazed at how good it tasted. As I sat in a booth by the window, I noticed the local youngsters beginning to make their rounds in town, all decked out in their Halloween costumes. The young ones where towed in hand by their parents; the older ones foraged in groups. It conjured up memories of my own childhood.

          “They’re a cute bunch of goblins; wouldn’t you say?” The waitress topped off my glass of tea.

         I turned my attention to her, smiled and added, “Yeah, things don’t change much do they? They’ll be out late tonight getting into all kinds of mischief.”

         She shook her head, “Not in Shippley they won’t.”

          “Really?” I questioned, “What makes kids so different here in Shippley?”

         She turned serious, “Well, when night sets in real good, everybody in Shippley will be inside with the fire going strong and the doors all locked.”

          “And, why is that?”

          “You really ain’t from here are you? Strangers don’t understand; they think we are all nuts.”

          “You’re right; I’m not from here. So, tell me why it is you retreat to your houses behind locked doors.”

          “Well, you don’t have to believe this; but the legend is taken seriously in Shippley. Just prior to the Civil War there was a man, an evil man, who was hanged for murderin’ a whole family down in the Wallow. After they hanged him, they bashed his head in and left him in the bog to be eaten by the critters. The story goes that not long after that, mysterious things began to happen.”

          “What kind of mysterious things?”

          “Folks started to see things. Some say a man dressed in black leather riding a mighty Clydesdale began stalking lone wanderers who happen to be in the wallow. Every person who encountered the horseman lost their mind. Some went totally mad, some just became village idiots.”

          “That explains it.” I remarked carelessly.

          “Excuse me?”

          “Oh, nothing,” I covered. “Continue with your story.”

          “Well, there ain’t much more to tell, except that the specter seems to show up on Halloween night every year since that first Halloween. If’n I were you, I wouldn’t go out tonight. Wait until tomorrow to do any travellin’.”

          “You’re serious?” I questioned with a sheepish grin.

         She didn’t hesitate as she slowly replied, “Dead serious.”

         Perhaps I should have heeded her strange prompting to spend the night. The little bed and breakfast I had been staying in was a pleasant place and would surely have been willing to put me up for one more night. However, I’d had enough of Shippley and its morons and wanted terribly to be heading on my way home. So, I ignored the strange warning and decided to make the evening drive to Baltimore. My flight left at 2:00 pm the next day and I didn’t relish the thought of rushing down in the morning.

         When darkness came, it descended quickly. It was 9:00 p.m. before I tied up all the loose ends and began my drive to Baltimore. A deep darkness shrouded the lonely highway leading out of town. It had been a warm day and the evening brought an eerie chill to the night. A mist formed along the warm roadway and wafted down into the low laying areas between the hills. As I neared a particularly wooded area, I read a sign that said “The Wallow”. It seemed lower than the rest and was flanked on both sides of the road with wet bog lands reminiscent of the bayous of Louisiana. I unconsciously slowed down as I entered the thick fog of the lowland. The beams of my headlights were useless, reflecting back into my eyes. I reduced to a crawl, keeping my eye on the center stripe, hoping I would soon be out of that mess.

         Suddenly, across my path darted a solitary figure, a young teenaged girl. Fortunately, I was barely moving as I hit my brakes. She frantically turned and placed both hands on the hood of my car. Terror in her eyes screamed for rescue from some unseen assailant. However, she didn’t utter a single word. Before I could get out of the car, she turned and scampered into the darkness of the bog beside me and disappeared into its murky mantle. Before I could register what had happened an ominous shadow passed over my car. Almost instantly, it was gone, leaving me to wonder if I had seen anything at all. However, I recalled the night a deer crossed my path down in San Saba, Texas. The startled animal crossed the road as I drove down it. Before the certain collision happened, the deer jumped over the car, leaving me with only the sensation of its shadow. It was the same on that obscure night on the outskirts of Shippley, except magnified ten-fold.

         Shaken, I pulled over to the side of the road out of the way of any blind driver bearing down behind me. I took deep breaths and willed my racing heart to slow down. What had I seen? And, what should I do about it? I knew I was not going to go back to Shippley. I picked up my cell phone resting in the tray beside me. I decided to call 911 and report what I had seen. If they didn’t believe me, well, that was their problem. At the moment, it was the best I could do. It turned out to be a moot point, though. My phone registered no bars for I was out of the service area. I conceded I had no choice but to continue on my journey to Baltimore.

         I shifted into drive and pressed on the gas. To my dismay, instead of pulling into the driving lane, my tires spun in the mud at the side of the road. I shifted back and forth from drive to reverse, trying to rock myself out of the rut. The car sank deeper in the mud. I realized I was going nowhere, at least not in the rental car. I got out of the car and walked to the back and looked down the road and repeated the same thing at the front of the car. There was no evidence that anyone else was on this deserted roadway on this black Halloween night. I reached in through the open driver's window and turned the lights off; there was no need in running down the battery.

         The darkness in that place was indescribable. It enveloped me in its icy tendrils. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end; I heard strange noises all around; and the stillness of the night masked hidden and secret movement in the blackness of the bog. I ventured a few feet from the car and peered hard into the darkness beside the roadway, looking for any sign of civilization and hoping for some indication that everything was going to be all right. I received no assurance. Suddenly, I perceived a flicker of a light a short distance into the bog. As I focused in the direction of the light, it appeared to waver and then grew brighter. Yes! There was a light! The moving branches of the trees covered it at times and then permitted me to see it clearly. I reasoned surely there was a cabin near. Moreover, if there is a cabin there is a telephone. Finally, there would be relief from this sinister darkness that engulfed me.

         I walked along the roadway looking for an entrance drive. Surely, there had to be a road leading to the cabin. I wandered back and forth along the road trying to find some relief in the undergrowth that signaled a trail. Finally, I found it. It was actually two parallel tracks where the tires had worn the growth down. I had almost missed it.

         I took a step down the trail and then froze. I looked back at the car. Even in its useless state it was a source of comfort. I considered going back to the safety of the car. However, the light at the end of the trail beckoned me to continue. My heart beat fast and my breathing was deep and regular, as if I needed all the oxygen available to feed my mind and senses. I entered the underbrush of the bog, walking along the trail, hoping it would terminate at a bright place with people and a telephone.

         It took only a few steps into the bog to lose all contact or reference to the highway and the car waiting for me on it. Even the promised light at the end of the trail disappeared. Hopefully, it would reappear around the next corner or over the next rise. I had no choice but to continue. When I stopped, the darkness seemed to close in around me smothering me with its shadows and threatening me with its nocturnal clatter. The only assurance I found was in walking, progressing to the end of the trail, into the unknown.

         Then I heard a noise inconsistent with the surroundings, totally out of context. It was a voice.

          “Please….no….please”

         I was startled. The pleading in the voice was disconcerting. As much as I wished to forge ahead and offer assistance, something within me said to wait, to be cautious, to stay hidden until I knew what and who was sharing the darkness with me. I stepped off the trail and retreated into the brush of the bog. I stopped and listened.

          “Please…oh…please” the voice continued to plead.

         I inched through the brush, careful to not make a noise; surprised at how quiet I could be when I was frightened. Eventually, I distinguished a figure standing in the middle of the trail--the young girl who crossed my path earlier. She was frozen in place, as a rabbit in the middle of a field freezes when cornered by a wolf--frozen in terror.

         Then I detected movement nearby. Slowly walking down the road was a hulk of a horse. Its mighty hooves imprinted the ground as he walked. He stopped ten feet from the girl, pawed the ground, dislodging great divots of soil and debris. When he snorted the leaves on the ground parted in small whirlwinds. He shook his great mane and his side rippled with a twitch.

         The rider blended into his back like an ominous grotesque growth. However, with a smooth motion he swung out of the saddle and jumped to the ground flat-footed. He was clad in leather from head to foot and wore a sword at his side. He wore no hat and, as he turned to the girl, I could see a massive hole in the back of his head. Surely, his brain was missing, evidenced by the massive void located there.

         Slowly he walked to the girl, as she remained frozen, trembling in horror. He reached out to her; she recoiled from his touch, which angered him. He responded by striking her with the back of his gloved hand, sending her to the ground, where she landed in the leaves and brush in front of me. I cowered back against the tree I was crouching next to, trying to become a part of it, blending myself into the bog itself.

         The rider approached the fallen girl. Slowly he lowered himself to a kneeling position, hovering over her. I felt he could reach out and touch me and expected him to do just that. However, instead he reached out to the teen and grabbed a handful of hair at the base of her neck. She whimpered at his touch. He pulled her forward to him, bringing her face close to his own. I saw his red eyes look deep into her’s. Her eyes spread wide with terror, as the rider probed them with his gaze, searching for some lost and mysterious secret. He stood there concentrating on her for what seemed like an eternity, almost as if he were feeding on her terror. His free hand reached to his sword suspended at his side, closing tightly around the grip. I watched the hilt of the sword expecting to see it draw from the scabbard. It did not move. Instead, the terrorized girl screamed and then fell limp, still within the wretched rider's grasp. The sinister specter released her, letting her fall back into the brush at my feet.

         I gasped. He slowly rose, tilting his head to the side as if he were registering the source of my gasp. I stopped breathing. I hugged the tree and didn’t move a muscle. His red eyes stared into the darkness through me. I dared not look away. I dared not move as he stood over the girl’s body staring into the blackness of the bog—staring at me, past me, through me. He remained motionless for what seemed like a lifetime and then turned and walked to the waiting horse. He pulled up into the saddle, again blending into the horse’s great back. He slowly returned his gaze to the girl, to me. I know he saw me; I know he knew I was there. But, perhaps I was just too terrified to think otherwise. In any case, he slowly turned his horse and began walking away, glancing one more time over his shoulder as they disappeared into the darkness.

         I dared not move. Shortly, I noticed the girl move. She whimpered and began to crawl away. As she reached the trail, she rose to her feet and stumbled down the trail towards the cabin. That was the last time I saw her. I’m certain she is now mad or has joined the other village idiots inhabiting Shippley. As a result of the encounter, I often doubt my own sanity.

         I, however, did not move from the spot until daybreak. Eventually, I made my way down the trail to the highway, where I found my rental car waiting for me. With a little help from a passing farmer in a Titan pick-up, we pulled the car out of the rut. I considered telling him what had happened the previous night. But, I didn’t know where or how to even begin. I chose to just keep it to myself. After all, I was trying to convince myself it really happened—that it wasn’t just a horrible nightmare. And, so with a single press on the gas, I drove away from Shippley Wallow and down the highway. I made my appointment with my flight; I came home to Texas. Nevertheless, there will always be a part of me that went mad one night--the night I encountered the Brainless Horseman of Shippley Wallow.