The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology

by Nikita Slater

  I’m in a loop. As the dream begins, I’m clueless about what’s about to happen.

  It’s only in the morning when I wake that I realize I’ve had the same dream yet again.

  Each morning when I wake, I’m greeted with reality. And the reality is that they’re not just dreams. They’re recollections of what happened to me on October 31st in Drowsy Hollow.

  It didn’t start out as a dream. I know this.

  I have the mark on my body that proves it and I may also have a baby in my belly to make it irrefutable.

  “And the soldier lost his head when the cannonball sounded with an enormous ear-splitting explosion and struck. It is said by some that each Halloween, he hunts for a new head, taking the first one he sees. But, some with more romantic hearts believe he may actually be hunting for the one true love a fortune teller had told him he’d find, when he was instead killed just before being sent off to go to war…”

  “I think he wants a new love,” Misty sang out in her tiny voice.

  “I think he wants to eat brains,” Jarod shouted.

  “Then you better not go walking in the woods or he’ll wind up starving,” Misty’s twin sister Lana snapped.

  The classroom broke out in giggles.

  I waited for the giggles to fade, finished sharing the rest of the tale, and read them the epilogue about the carnage being stopped by local witches. I then placed the closed book on the shelf behind me and clasped my hands together.

  “Okay, little ghosts, goblins, headless horsemen, headless horse-women, and assorted other creatures of Halloween, ten minutes until the bell rings and that signals the start of the party. How about if you practice your printing? I think there’s time…”

  I heard groans as I turned to the chalkboard.

  “Math then?” I called over my shoulder.

  More groans.

  I hid my smile as I lifted a piece of orange chalk and wrote out

  Just joking. Happy Halloween! Who wants candy?

  in large orange letters. The room broke out in giggles, me’s, and I do’s. I turned around to face seventeen very happy seven-year-old faces.

  “How about a game of duck, duck, goose, instead? I brought so much candy to get us all started on the festivities! Let the sugar rush begin!”

  Chapter 2

  THE JOURNEY BEGINS

  The whole town seemed to be at the school. After the bell rang, there was the annual parade of costumes through the school hallways and outside, marching to the village square.

  After that, a massive potluck dinner took place in the school gym. This was followed by a Halloween dance and trick or treat event for the whole town.

  For some reason, this town didn’t observe trick or treating in the usual sense. Instead of sending the children out into neighborhoods to ask for candy from neighbors and strangers, they set up each classroom with fun and games and prizes, which included piles of candy, candy apples, not to mention the coveted ribbons for best costume, scariest costume, most original costume, and so forth.

  As a substitute teacher, not someone on their staff, I wouldn’t have been expected to stay, though I was welcome to. But, I’d been told by the secretary that I was being considered for a permanent position and it would look good if I did stay, made myself a part of the festivities, hence seeming like I’d be a natural fit for the close-knit community.

  So, that was what I did. I stayed. I mingled. I handed out candy.

  And when I left? That was when it all began. That was when the course of my life would be forever altered by a man on a horse.

  A man without a head.

  Chapter 3

  THE BREAKDOWN

  I was standing outside my car. My broken-down car. Smoke curls worked their way around my ankles ominously. The smoke was thick enough that it looked as if it could squeeze me, rendering me immobile. Thankfully, it didn’t. I could move freely. But, I wasn’t feeling good about where I was or about what might be up ahead during a walk in the dark, in the cold, but hopefully not coming across any nocturnal creatures.

  My nearly new car stalled out of the blue and I couldn’t get a signal on my phone to call for roadside assistance.

  So, I moved slowly, trying to be mindful of my surroundings, meandering down a winding four-lane country road --- the flashlight on my phone lighting my way as I pondered the strange curling mist.

  The middle of no place, I was trying to find my way to any place where my phone would pick up a signal. I knew I was, at minimum, five miles away from civilization at 11:42 PM and thankfully, my phone was at almost full power. I was guessing the flashlight would use up a fair bit of it. I could only hope that whatever was stopping the phone from picking up signal, that the glitch would be over soon.

  A chilly breeze blew straight through me, so cold and so brittle that I felt it deep in my marrow. I shuddered, aware of the chill one body part at a time, starting at my toes and working up to my shoulders. And then it happened a second time, immediately after the first, only stronger… blowing my pointy black witch hat off.

  I looked over my shoulder, seeing that the hat was long gone, carried off on the breeze with a swirling funnel cloud of dirt and dead leaves. I blinked at it. I’d forgotten I still had it on.

  I swallowed and soldiered on, holding my unruly long blonde hair back in a handful so as to stop it from whipping around in the biting wind.

  It felt straight out of a horror movie. Not that I watched horror movies, if I could help it. I didn’t need them influencing me, dementing my mind.

  It’s Halloween. I’m not typically the least bit superstitious about it, but if I were…this setting certainly would be the setting for something horrific.

  It’s a little darker than I like to be walking in. It felt ominous. There was just something in the air…

  I’m an autumn nut. I decorate in autumn. My house, myself. I have an autumn wardrobe including nail polish and cosmetics to match the beautiful color palette of the outside. I’m all about the pumpkin spice.

  As for the scary parts of Halloween, they don’t exist for me. I’m in denial about it. I was conceived on Halloween night, according to my mother, and maybe that’s the biggest reason why I celebrate all the good in it. It wouldn’t be pleasant to think my existence was spawned from something evil.

  My jack-o-lanterns are happy-face pumpkins. Not scary. I go for the cute Casper-style ghosts rather than the horrific Scream themes.

  I joked, that day, substitute teaching for the second-grade students as I read them creepy stories, that the scary stuff was all poppycock, that they shouldn’t be frightened of anything in the stories I read. They’re just stories written by people with vivid (or, warped --- but I didn’t say that) imaginations.

  I read those stories not because I wanted to, because they insisted it was a Drowsy Hollow Elementary School tradition. I was dressed in my roommate’s witch costume (because I’d gotten called in to teach at the eleventh hour, so had to think fast): black raggedy broomstick gothic dress. Black and white striped tights. Lace-up Doc Martens. My blonde tresses were left wild today and I went heavy on the black eye makeup. I have a lot of white-blonde hair and usually tie it back when teaching, but today, had let it go wild for the costume. Even still, I looked like a happy witch, like Samantha from Bewitched, likely, not like a hag: no warts, no green-tinged skin.

  I’d taught twice previously at Drowsy Hollow Elementary School, and they seemed to like me. The staff were nice. The vice principal, serving as acting principal after the untimely freak accident that took the former principal, had hinted that when the new principal joined as of the thirtieth of November, he would be looking to fill some upcoming positions. When he left after dropping the hint, the secretary encouraged me to stay, show that I’d fit in well.

  The class I’d taught that day was coverage for a teacher was nearly ready for maternity leave. Her return would coincide with another teacher’s retirement, so it was highly feasible that I’d have a full-time, permanen
t position --- and soon.

  It was a longish forty-five-minute drive to my apartment in the city and on the way home I’d been thinking I’d need to move closer if I got the job. It’s a cute little town and I saw a sign in the window of the drycleaners, stating “Apartment for Rent.” The upper floor above the drycleaners appeared empty, with no drapes on the windows so I’d taken a photo with my cell phone of the sign as I paused at a red light.

  Katie, my roommate, wouldn’t come, but the rent would likely be cheaper and if I had the teaching job and lived local, thereby cutting down on travel expenses and in-general expenses, I wouldn’t have to have a roommate.

  Once I was out of the town limits, pondering how great it would be to move to the quaint little village, my car, which I hadn’t been having any problems with, simply stalled. It just died on the side of the road and refused to re-start. No power. No lights. And it was suddenly chilly out, so I knew I couldn’t sit there for long what with the sudden temperature drop. Ten minutes with no sign of a signal and no sign of any other cars, and I’d headed out on foot.

  It’s only my third time driving this way, but I vaguely recalled passing a farmhouse last time I was on this stretch of road, between the school and the next little hamlet over, so figured I’d head in that direction, hoping to have a signal before then, and if not, hopefully someone would be home and kind enough to call a tow truck for me.

  I had no idea how no one else has passed on the road so far, being that the dance would’ve ended soon after I’d left the school and at least a few of the dozens of people there should’ve come this way.

  Fighting against the bitter cold… feeling like I was in January instead of the last day of October… I kept on moving, scanning my phone’s home screen with my eyes as I walked.

  Searching for Signal

  Chapter 4

  THE WALK

  The wind shifted directions, so instead of walking against the wind, it started to propel me forward, pushing my hair, my coat, the skirt of my dress, all forward. Something grazed the back of my head and by the time I realized it was my witches’ hat, it was too late; the hat had flown too far ahead for me to catch it.

  How strange that it would fly away from me and then whack me in the back of the head again. The wind kept shifting, switching directions.

  An eerie feeling soaked through me with the bitter cold. I raised my arm higher, squinting at my screen for any change in status. And then I looked ahead. More dark, more road, more leaves blowing, and nothing else.

  I was beginning to question my decision to walk. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my car.

  I glanced back, too far from it to see the car now, and strangely, the road behind me seemed to be bendy when I was sure it had been straight.

  I shook it off, deciding I had to be wrong. Maybe it was a mind trick, an illusion of the dark, as I could’ve sworn I’d been on a straightaway and approaching a bend. But it was straight up ahead, and the road was bendy behind me. It all seemed switcheroo’d around.

  I switched my phone off and then waited for it to power down, so I could try it again, hoping the reset found a signal for me.

  A clopping sound approached from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a small covered wagon, pulled by a horse, coming from a straight road. A straight road? It was just bending a split second ago.

  Ahead was a bend. I gave my head a shake, but didn’t have the chance to dwell, because I was relieved to see someone else.

  I stopped and when it was about fifty feet away, I waved.

  The wagon didn’t slow. At all. I saw the shadow of gloves holding the reins but couldn’t make out whether it was a male or female driving. I waited for them to slow, but they just kept going. I stood there, mouth wide open, shocked.

  “Wait!” I started waving frantically, calling out, “Excuse me? Help? Help!”

  They either couldn’t hear, or they ignored me by choice.

  Darn. I stopped and frowned at my predicament and at them.

  Who would see a woman alone on a dark night like this and at this late hour and keep driving? They would have passed my car and that would’ve made it clear that I’m stranded.

  I scrunched up my face and realized I wouldn’t get anywhere if I stood still like that. I debated between going back toward my car, and continuing on forward. It was getting colder by the moment and I felt it bone-deep in just a thin jacket and this black broomstick dress that was quite gauzy so not doing much to keep me warm.

  I had on thin striped Wizard of Oz witch-style tights and under my dress I wore a one-piece black Spanx-like shape bodysuit. I’m not overly curvy (though I’m sure not a size zero, particularly with all the fun-sized Snickers bars I’ve been chomping on the past few weeks in preparation for Halloween), but this worked wonders for covering up my most important parts under the semi-translucent black gauzy dress.

  An eerie feeling prickled the back of my neck, like the feeling you get when you’re being watched.

  I stood on the soft shoulder of the road, holding my phone, flashlight on, and then I realized I was down to 48% power, so this flashlight app was definitely draining my power. I wanted to switch it off, but I was concerned that I might be under the watch of some predator near low but dense bushes that lined both sides of the road.

  Was an animal watching me? If so, what kind of an animal? There was a big difference between a harmless looky-loo, such as an owl, and something more ominous, something more carnivorous. I decided that maybe I should head back to my car.

  My mind was racing, my flight or fight senses on the edge, because everything felt… off.

  I twirled and picked up pace, heading back where I came from, glancing at my screen and seeing that there still wasn’t a signal. Shit. 36% power. 11:58 PM. It just said 48!

  Oh, my goodness.

  I turned it off as I walked, figuring I’d turn it on again to try to search again.

  Nothing in terms of signal and it was suddenly at just 23% power.

  What the fuck?

  It was getting colder. My teeth chattered, and my hands felt like ice.

  It even seemed darker, somehow more ominous suddenly as I came to a bend in the road that had forked in two directions. I definitely wasn’t here before.

  I got closer and saw a tulip tree, lying there, looking like it was yanked by the roots, the giant bulbous root system on display in the dark. There was a smashed pumpkin beside it. The tree didn’t block the road, had fallen the other way, so I stepped over the pumpkin, feeling a strange sensation, like your funny bone, but it was my whole body getting that odd buzzing / tingling sensation.

  Nothing looked remotely familiar. The ground beneath me, it dawned, wasn’t paved. When did it switch to dirt? I spun around to look behind me and the landscape seemed like it narrowed into thickening woods, rather than the side of the country road. My world tilted; I had a strange spinning sensation. I thrust my fingers into my hair and my phone thudded to the ground. I gave my head a shake and reached for it and that was when I heard the whinny of a horse.

  Did the wagon circle back out of guilt at leaving me on the side of the road? The road that disappeared…

  I looked up and saw that on the other side of the tulip tree was a wooden bridge, bridging what, I couldn’t tell, as it was too dark to see what was under it, but then the ground rose up a winding bright pathway leading to the top of a hill. My eyes must’ve been playing tricks on me as the landscape again looked completely different.

  On top of the hill sat a horse. But there was no wagon this time; instead, a rider was on it. Just sitting there. Watching me.

  There was no sound other than the wind and leaves rustling, but really… it felt like dramatic music should’ve started playing.

  Fear prickled the back of my neck with more intensity and the chill factor in the air seemed to simultaneously increase. The horse and the rider were both so very ominous-looking.

  The horse huffed, and mist blew out of his nose and seemed to m
ove in slow-mo, snaking toward me, like more fingers.

  Reflexively, I took a step back as a flashback played on the reels of my mind of the book I’d read that day, where a decapitated horseman rode on Halloween night to seek out both the solider that blew his head off with a cannonball as well as find himself a new head.

  I glanced down at the smashed pumpkin by my feet next to that felled tulip tree. The tree must have fallen recently, the tulip flowers still in bloom.

  How odd for them to be in bloom at the end of October. And what a shame that it’s down. The trunk’s circumference was absolutely massive. It must be a very old tree.

  My mind flitted over the fact that I’d read that story aloud to the seven-year-olds, who were rapt with attention, but I was thinking it was all kinds of wrong to read that sort of a story to small children who would likely go home and have nightmares about it.

  Those kids were rabid for the story and they told me that they had all heard it the year before, as well. The story’s setting was Drowsy Hollow, so my guess was that it was a local author, who had written a story for their home town and that was why every child in the school wanted to hear the story every Halloween.

  Drowsy Hollow was a very small town, just a few thousand people. If the book was popular, it would put the place on the map. I had no idea whether it was popular; I’d never heard of it before that day. Then again, like I said, I shied away from the darker elements of my favorite time of year.

  It was nice that the locals celebrated Halloween by reading about their local area, but that fictional tale certainly wasn’t appropriate for six and seven-year-olds and it also wasn’t appropriate for me, because it had evidently gotten into my head and freaked me out, making my mind play tricks on me.

  At the end of the storybook, the horseman caught a poor man traveling in the woods alone near a tulip tree and claimed his head as his own. This would satisfy him until the following year, at which time he’d need to obtain a new head, so the old head would transform to a pumpkin and he’d discard that when he saw a new head to claim. The moral of the story warned that the man shouldn’t have gone out during the witching hour on Halloween. He knew the tale and chose to be a skeptic, and thus, it was his demise.