by John Hansen
“Trevor, get off of the floor.” My fallen compadre’s head looked at me with despair in its eyes. “I said get the fuck up from the floor, Trevor.”
Trev was still in his gleaming red plate, although it was as opaque as my friend now was. His decapitated body gathered up his severed head and held it under its arm.
“What?” His ghost asked pitifully.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked him icily.
“I think I’m being dead, imprisoned inside of an ancient villain that killed me by taking me completely unaware. I was a Knight and I never even saw it coming. I clearly didn’t deserve to live anyway.”
If I thought I could make physical contact with the ghost, I would have made what the Horseman did look like a favor. “How did he get you? Tell me exactly.”
“I was in the Caribbean, relaxing on the beach of a very tropical island, when I heard a woman call out for help. She appeared to be drowning, and you know how I react to damsels in distress, so I dove in after her. Dragged her out, gave her CPR, made sure she was OK, turned to leave, and ‘pop’ went my head. My body is probably floating off in the sea somewhere.”
“How long ago?”
His headless body shrugged. “Time’s pretty irrelevant when you’re dead. It happened in September.”
“You’ve been dead for three months?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“If September was three months ago.”
“That means that the Horseman was already in the castle earlier today. He tricked us all.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was quite as bad for you though.” Said Trevor. “At least your ghost still has the head attached.”
“I’m not dead, Trev. I hopped in here looking for a way to kill the Horseman.”
His head sighed from under his arm. “Well, you’ll be dead soon enough, just like me.”
I tried to punch his body in the chest, but my hand phased through it. “That’s enough god damn it! The Trevor I know would be pissed right now. He would want to get back at the piece of trash that killed him… that’s trying to kill his friends. Instead of fighting back, you’re sitting here, literally holding your head in your hands, letting your murderer feed on your soul.”
A flash of anger passed through his eyes. “Do you think I didn’t try? I searched high and low for anyway out of here. There is none. So now I get to spend eternity trapped in here feeding the Horseman’s power.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What do you mean why? What option do I have?”
“You can fight.” I said through my clenched jaw.
“HOW?” His severed head screamed at me.
I took a deep breath to try and maintain my composure. “The Horseman feeds on the souls of the heads he consumes, correct?” Trevor performed what I think was supposed to be a nod so I continued. “If you’re floating around here, I’m assuming there are more, where are they?”
Trevor’s head lifted an eyebrow. “They’re around here somewhere, no one really talks much. What do you have in mind?”
“Just bring me to the rest of the victims.” I said with a vicious grin. “I’ve got a plan.”
***
There weren’t hundreds of victims – there were thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands. Each and every one of them was holding their own severed head, which looked downright depressed. It was disgusting… none of them had any fight left in them. There were ghosts here that clearly dated back all the way to the days of Camelot, but even the newer victims just looked totally resigned. I even saw the cop that the Horseman had attacked us as in Denver. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a few days, and he already had the look of someone who had given up.
I couldn’t stand it. “What is wrong with all of you?” I shouted at them as their dead eyes all gaped at me. “You were all killed by the same… thing, and none of you will stand up and try to get even?”
“Who are you?” asked a young woman’s head from where her body was holding it. This spurned a cacophony of other questions and I didn’t see any way to get them to shut up. Luckily for me, Trevor did.
He jammed two fingers in his detached head’s mouth and let out a brain-piercing whistle. The other ghosts simultaneously shut their mouths and stared at the deceased Knight intently.
He took a step in front of me and spoke like the man I had known in life. “Friends, I feel that I can call you friends because we all share something very intimate. Our murderer. I’m sure by now you all know who he is, the Headless Horseman. Now, based on your current appearances, I believe it’s safe to assume that you had your heads ripped off by the same assailant; although I’m sure he rarely looked the same while doing it. I can’t speak for any of you, but I for one am pissed off and would like to cause him some pain.”
He was interrupted by a little girl with her head under one arm and a teddy bear under the other. “Mister, what can we do?” she asked in a saddening, innocent voice.
The anger in Trevor visibly grew, and he seemed to turn a little bit more solid. “We kill him.” He replied evenly.
Shouts of “how” rose from the crowd and Trevor furrowed his brow. This is where I come in.
“It’s simple people.” I shouted over the din of their combined voices.” “Hey, listen up!” I shouted to no avail.
I turned to Trevor and tilted my head towards the ghosts. One more unbelievably shrill whistle later there was quiet, and it was my turn to speak again. “People, the Horseman needs you to power him. Don’t you get it? Band together, cut off his power supply, and poof; no more Horseman.”
“But how do we do that?” Yelled out the head of a man in a Spanish Conquistador’s clothing.
Of course this led to another bout of “Who’s the Loudest” from the ghosts, but no whistle was necessary this time. Trevor simply began to hover off the ground, and raised the hand not holding onto his head for silence. He seemed to grow more substantial with each passing moment, and his voice sounded off like a carrion call to the masses of ghosts before him.
“Join me friends. Together we can end this poor, captive existence, and with it our joint tormentor.”
It was amazing. As his voice echoed all around, more and more ghosts began to float into the air around Trevor; leaving me standing alone while they hovered above. The name Wingback never seemed more appropriate as he floated gloriously, his red plate armor shining like an artificial sun.
He looked down on me. “Thank you, Godric, for everything.” He said smiling.
“A little cheesy for my tastes there, Buddy, but you’re welcome.” I called up to him.
“Yeah, it felt a little too soft.” He winked, flipped me off, and turned his attention back to the horde of ghosts before him.
Grinning broadly, he nodded and the rest of the ghosts began to glow and solidify. Soon I couldn’t keep my eyes open against the glare, and was forced to screw them shut. There was shaking beneath my feet, and the lights went back to normal. When I opened my eyes I was staring at the ceiling of the castle strategy room with Devin, the King, and everyone else kneeling around me.
Upon noticing my consciousness, Devin dropped to the seat of his pants, let out a deep breath, and said just two words. “Thank God.”
The King also breathed heavily, and then smiled fondly at me. “Nice work, Son. You had us pretty worried there for a second.”
Oh, did I forget to mention that the King is my father? My bad, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sir Godric Patronar, Knight of the Realm, Anointed Warrior, Master Blacksmith, General Smartass, and Heir Apparent to the Kingship of North America.
First Boy
by
Dennis Sharpe
“Matthew, you know I love you, but…” Her voice hung there, digitally dangling in his cell phone. He could picture her in his head, mouth open, unable to continue, as he fought the heavy winter winds to keep his cruiser on the road.
“Why do we have to have this conversation at least once a year?
C’mon, Holly. You knew what I did for a living when you married me.” He was trying to use his at home voice with her. She hated talking to him while he was at work and using what she called his “cop voice”. He was frustrated, but he loved her so he had to keep his tone as warm as he could.
“That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. I just can’t keep letting you go to work not knowing if I’ll see you again. I can’t do it! Not anymore, I just can’t! I won’t! I’ll be at my parent’s house when you get home. Please, just let it be over. Let me go.”
Five years of safe evening returns had done nothing to assuage her fears. She heard all the stories of close calls and violent encounters from the other wives of Forrest County deputies. It was like each story was a pebble in her shoe and now she was walking on gravel piles – painfully, and uncomfortably, every day.
“Honey, it was a car wreck, that’s all. I was the first on scene, not actually in the wreck! I’m fine.” His tone was steady, but only because he was keeping it that way with every ounce of self-control he had.
“Diane said you almost fell off the bridge. Matt, I’m not ready to be a widow. I just couldn’t handle it.” There was a torrent of tears in her voice, quivering on the other end of the line.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I have one more stop to make, and then I have paperwork. I’ll be home for dinner. We can talk it over then. Two days off in a row starts tonight. Cut me some slack and let’s just talk when I get home.” He paused, wondering if she was even listening, before punctuating his words with “I love you.”
The phone was silent for long enough that he had to look at it to see if she’d hung up.
“I’ll be here. I won’t promise I’ll stay, but we’ll talk. I love you, too.” She ended the call before he could add anything.
He told himself it was better that way, as he shifted his focus back on the rain-slicked pavement in front of him. With their conversation on hold, there was no chance he’d upset her more before he’d be there to hold her and make everything all-better. Holding her close always did a world to make her forget how bad things had been and he intended to do a lot of that tonight.
He passed the road he was supposed to turn down, twice, mistaking it for a driveway. The rain was picking up and with the cloud cover, four in the afternoon could have almost been midnight. He finally made the turn and looked for the address on his paperwork, cursing the cold wet weather under his breath.
Forrest County had more middle of nowhere than anywhere he could remember having been in all of his thirty-two years. If not for the radio and computer in his cruiser, he’d still be getting lost, even after eleven years on the job.
The house, if you could even call it a house, was not as difficult to find as the road it sat on had been. It had clearly once been white, though that was likely more than half a century ago if the peeling paint was to serve as a sign. The rotting three-story mammoth loomed above the road, looking more than foreboding in the gray haze of the afternoon. Even at a quarter of a mile away, the place gave him a chill the weather couldn’t compete with.
He shrugged it off and continued up the winding tree-lined drive. This was a routine check, likely nothing. He’d be on his way in no time, and then a pot of coffee and some paperwork were all that stood between him and Holly’s arms.
The crunch of the caramel rock driveway sounded like static on a radio, he thought, as he pulled slowly to a stop in front of the wide, decaying porch. He flipped the papers up on his clipboard to look. Someone had called this morning to report a child, possibly two, living abandoned and uncared for in this old heap. He should have been here hours ago, but he’d practically stumbled into that accident, and it had cost him hours.
Holding his cell phone in front of him, he considered fighting his poncho to get it back in his pants pocket. It didn’t seem worth the effort, but he wasn’t about to replace another Smartphone. As he stepped out in the deluge he decided to simply toss it up onto the dash.
He slowly examined the outside of the house and its immediate surroundings as he stepped to the far side of the porch. There were no signs that anyone had been here in his lifetime. Even the driveway was growing green in large patches. This was a ridiculous waste of time.
As he made his way slowly around the cracks and holes in the porch, his weight on the ancient boards caused a series of unsettling creaks and moans that filled his mind with images of falling through into God only knows what down below. He took another moment’s glance around as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand up, and then knocked firmly on the door. To his amazement, it didn’t just fall in.
Even more astounding to him were the sounds that followed. He could swear he heard voices and footsteps inside. Then there was the loud clicking sound of a deadbolt sliding back. There was someone here.
Instinctively, Matthew took a half step back and rested his weight on his left foot as his right hand unsnapped his holster. His eyes narrowed as the door creaked back into the dark, trying to identify any threat before it could react to him. Then his mouth fell open in shock.
Standing there in the open doorway was a clean, if not well dressed, little girl. She couldn’t be more than six years old. She looked up at him with a profound sadness in her eyes, as if she were mourning the loss of a pet.
“You shouldn’t be here.” She said very softly as she stepped back away from the door.
Shaking his head slightly, as though it would help dislodge his shock, Matthew stepped forward as he bent down toward her. “What’s your name, sweetie? Where are your parents?”
The smell of mildew and rot was almost overpowering, slapping him in the face as he dared to enter. It felt like a warning, but he was trained to ignore danger when it meant helping others.
A male voice from deeper in the darkness answered for her, “She’s not supposed to talk to you. You really should go.”
Matthew glanced around quickly, trying to locate the source of the voice. All he succeeded in doing, though, was losing sight of the little girl. He crept further into the house trying to let his eyes adjust to the near pitch black of the room.
As he began to make out a staircase opposite where he had entered, the door slamming shut behind him startled him again. He spun around on his heels, hand on his pistol, only to vaguely make out the girl’s small shape standing in front of the door. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she was looking at the floor.
“Your name plate says ‘Burroughs,’ so should I call you ‘Deputy Burroughs,’ ‘Officer,’ ‘Sir,’ or would you prefer to have me call you by your first name in an attempt to endear me to you?” The male voice was also a young one, but old enough for the chiding tone to be annoying.
“Where are you?” Matthew asked, realizing he was quickly losing control of the situation. He needed to calm down. He was the authority here, not these children. He needed to take charge. “I’m not playing games with you. Step out where I can see you. Now!”
“Why, Deputy… you sound cross.” He was sure this boy, somewhere in the dark, was mocking him.
“I said now!” He said firmly again, stepping back toward the door and putting his hand on the girl’s shoulder.
The clicks of light switches being flipped echoed in the room for a moment before the room was lit by the dim glow of a single, low-watt bulb in a lamp near the base of the stairs. In the amber light, he could now make out the boy. He sat on one of the lower steps, his left arm stretched up onto a panel of switches on the wall. He didn’t look to be more than twelve. He also looked very clean, but shabby, with a wiry frame below his close-cropped dark hair.
“Do you feel safer now? More in control? Aren’t they supposed to teach deputies not to be afraid of the dark?” The boy asked it with a face completely devoid of emotion.
“Where are your parents, son?” Matthew asked as he stepped toward the boy, leading the girl by the shoulder next to him.
“My parents? They’re dead. Her parents are dead. What does that have t
o do with anything?” The boys looked up the stairs, and then back at Matthew. “Are you here to save us?”
“Save you? Are you living here alone? Are there any adults in the house?” The thought that there might be a violent, possibly armed adult in the house dawned on Matthew. He stopped near the center of the room and looked up the staircase behind the boy.
“Father is the only adult who comes here. But he’s not actually our parent…just our caretaker. He doesn’t approve of visitors either. Not even if they have badges.” He nodded slightly at the wall off to Matthew’s right.
In the faint yellow light, Matthew could make out a large, wet looking stain on the wall. As he stepped toward it, the dark red and black smears looked thick and putrid.
“Is that…” Disbelief softened his words, but the boy heard him and interrupted.
“Blood? Yes. It was Boy. Father did it. He had to, otherwise we wouldn’t learn.”
Turning his eyes back to the boy on the stairs, Matthew noticed what he thought was a faint smile on his face. This kid was screwing with him, trying to freak him out – and it had almost worked. Almost.
“Look, kid, are you here alone or not? I need to talk to an adult, or you’re both going to have to come with me.” Matthew looked down at the girl next to him for a reaction, but got none.
“Father wouldn’t like that at all. He’d have to punish us. You really should just leave. You don’t know…” this time it was Matthew’s turn to interrupt.
“Stop playing games! I don’t have time for it. Where are your parents, or whoever is looking after you? This ‘Father,’ or whoever?” He was pulling the girl with him and quickly closing the distance to the base of the stairs.
