Headless Horseman

• Yvette Salloum, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

The moon held herself high above Tarrytown, shining light on the inhabitants down below that rested uneasily in their households, waiting and dreading the arrival of an unwanted visitor so common yet so feared.

For as long as the stars twinkled in the night sky and the crickets no longer felt the need to chirp, the townsfolk were never truly safe from harm. There lived someone, or something, so terrifying that no man dared to encounter.

And the presence of this skinwalker occurred every single night, at the exact same time. When the clock struck midnight, they walked the earth. Intent on consuming everything in their path in a murderous rage so fervent it was as if they were religiously devoted to being a shroud of death.

They were cloaked in mystery, frightening every poor fellow foolish enough to even dare cross paths with them. Many tales were told of who they were, or what they were.

Some say that they were once a soldier for the confederacy, but the legend predated the civil war by decades. Others say that they were a grave digger that harboured maggots infested in their skin, feasting on the rotting flesh barely clinging to their bones. They say that they were once a hopeless romantic that drowned themselves after being shunned by their lover, or an unlucky stable buck that lost his way in the forest and was preyed upon by savage animals.

But while every tale differentiates, a few key elements remained the same. They possessed a beautiful thoroughbred stallion, a heart as black as coal and no head upon their shoulders. They were a creature enveloped in suspense, an omen of doom for the people of Tarrytown. A beacon of hopelessness in a town so full of hope. Yes, for while every fable had its twists, this beast always remained the headless horseman.