The Horse-Drawn Hearse
By Jason K. Allen
Copyright 2014 Jason K. Allen
A lit pumpkin flickered on the porch as a pirate, witch and werewolf hurried past. It was October 31st, 1973. A quiet suburb in a small Nebraska town.
The masked children knocked on the door, received their handfuls of candy then excitedly rushed off to the next house.
As they ran across the lawn, they passed Daniel Taylor, an eight-year-old wearing a plastic Casper the Friendly Ghost mask. Daniel hardly noticed them, his head down, digging through his bag of treats.
Daniel stood alone in the darkness. He was used to being alone. He kept to himself and didn’t have many friends, and he was fine with that. He had never experienced loneliness and was quite capable of keeping himself entertained. And at this particular moment, inside his orange bag there was a world of wonders.
“Daniel?” An unseen woman called from afar. “Daniel, it’s time to come in, hon.”
Daniel glanced up in the direction of a nearby house. “Okay, mom,” he replied.
Removing his mask, Daniel peered into his bag. He reached inside and pulled out a piece of candy in an orange wrapper. He unwrapped and sampled it. It was peanut butter... one of his favorites.
While he enjoyed the chewy treat, he glanced around the neighborhood. All was quiet. Only two small groups of trick-or-treaters were still in sight. Most everyone had gone inside for the night.
Daniel dug into his bag again. He desired something chocolate this time.
Then he heard a faint sound in the distance -- the apparent “click-clack” of horseshoes on pavement. The steps were slow, methodical.
Daniel raised his head and looked down the road. This was a sound he was unaccustomed to hearing in his neighborhood. He squinted into the darkness but detected nothing. He shrugged it off and reached back into his bag of treats.
The “click-clack” grew louder... closer. Daniel glanced up again.
Now he could sense movement. There were silhouettes in the darkness.
He stepped toward the road to get a better look. Daniel had always been the curious type. But he was never one to be scared. Besides, he had always thought, what was there to be scared of?
Finally he saw -- slowly emerging out of the darkness -- what appeared to be a black horse pulling some type of wagon. Daniel took another step closer. Atop the wagon was the silhouette of a man.
Daniel watched, puzzled. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed this curiosity. But there was no one else in sight.
The horse and wagon drew closer. Finally it paused in the road -- directly in front of Daniel. The wagon was in fact an old-fashioned hearse. The driver, as best Daniel could tell, was a man dressed in all black and wearing a top hat.
Suddenly the crickets and other night critters went mute. The neighborhood fell silent.
With wide eyes, Daniel studied the hearse. It was a small, sleek, rectangular black wagon with large wooden wheels and a seat on top. In front of the wagon stood the massive, muscular black horse, which calmly stared ahead. Daniel’s eyes followed the reins on the horse, which led to a pair of pale, slender hands. The driver, with a long, angular, grim face and a splash of silver hair peeking out from under the hat, stared ahead motionless.
Daniel had never seen a horse-drawn hearse; nor had he ever heard of one. But somehow he knew what it was. And he thought it was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen. But what was it doing here? Was it part of some type of Halloween festivities? And why had it stopped?
The horse whinnied, causing Daniel to jump.
The hearse driver had not moved a muscle since the wagon had stopped. He stared ahead, as if frozen in time. Daniel studied him, wondering if he should say something.
Slowly the driver turned his head -- and stared directly at Daniel with cold, hollow eyes. Daniel took a couple of steps backward. There was something unsettling about the driver’s slow, methodical movements, his hunched shoulders, his pale, gaunt face, and his piercing glare.
Overwhelmed, Daniel shuddered. He turned and briskly headed for home. While walking away, he glanced back and saw the hearse driver’s eyes still upon him.
Daniel quickly made his way home. He jumped up onto the porch, opened the door and went inside.
Now in the comfort of his house, Daniel approached a nearby window. Still perplexed, he pulled back the drapes and gazed outside.
The hearse was gone.
Daniel stared out the window, mouth open, looking all around. The hearse was nowhere to be seen. Finally he stepped away from the window and glanced down at his bag of treats, which no longer held his attention. He swallowed hard, deep in thought, wondering what to make of it all.
* * *
Inside the same house, a man in his late 40's walked into the den holding a cup of tea, wearing a sweater and a sad expression. He sat down behind a desk. A nameplate on the desk read: “Daniel Taylor”.
It was now October 31st, 2012 -- thirty-nine years later. The adult Daniel sipped his tea and sorted through mail.
Daniel was alone, still. But he was not so wide-eyed anymore. Even more so than his younger self, he felt out of sorts with this world. He had refused to lose hope, however. He was constantly searching -- forever looking to find his way.
The doorbell rang. Daniel stood and strolled across the room.
Opening the door, he looked down and saw a young boy made up as Dracula and a young girl dressed like a fairy princess. Both kids screamed out, “Trick or treat!”
Daniel smiled, studying them. He had always liked Halloween. Seeing their bright faces lifted his spirits. He had known that type of joy once. He reached into a bowl and grabbed two handfuls of candy, dropping it into their sacks.
The kids responded simultaneously, “Thank you!” They turned and quickly departed. Daniel watched them longingly.
Daniel stepped onto the porch and looked all around. Only a few trick-or-treaters remained in the neighborhood. Another Halloween was winding down. He looked down at his empty porch, now wishing he had a glowing pumpkin. This was the first Halloween he had failed to get a pumpkin.
A slight breeze kicked up. Daniel closed his eyes, letting it wash over him. He walked out onto the lawn and surveyed the night sky, admiring the moon and stars. He took a deep breath.
He watched the last of the trick-or-treaters disappear down the road.
Feeling a bit melancholy, he turned to head back inside. Then he heard an odd, faint sound in the distance. He paused, listened.
As the sound got closer, it became obvious: it was the “click-clack” of horseshoes on pavement. The steps were slow and methodical.
Daniel looked toward the road, but he saw only darkness and fog.
The sound drew closer. Perplexed, Daniel stepped off the porch and wandered across the lawn. He squinted into the darkness.
From out of the foggy night emerged a large black horse slowly striding along the road.
Daniel watched intensely, barely breathing.
Then a wagon appeared behind the horse. Daniel’s mouth dropped open as he unknowingly stepped closer. This couldn’t be. But it was.
It was the horse-drawn hearse -- appearing exactly as it had 39 years ago.
The memory came flooding back to Daniel. It had never left him, actually, but the details had eroded. Now all was made new again. Daniel attempted to comprehend and understand what he was seeing. But at this moment he couldn’t think; all he could do was watch -- and feel. He shuddered.
As the hearse got closer, it became apparent there was no one in the driver’s seat. In fact, no person was visible at all.
Finally the horse paused in the road -- directly in front of Daniel.
> Daniel could only stare at it, frozen. Whether or not anyone else could see it, Daniel did not know. At this point, he didn’t seem to care.
Although frightened, Daniel felt strangely drawn to this... thing. He cautiously approached the hearse -- his eyes now wide once again. His gaze moved from the wagon and into the black eyes of the horse, which calmly stared ahead.
Then something caught Daniel’s attention. In the back of the hearse, he noticed an old wooden box. It was, he now realized, a coffin.
The horse whinnied, causing Daniel to jump.
Daniel suddenly looked all around, aware of his situation. He noticed the streets were empty; the neighborhood was silent.
His brain finally stirring, Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He pushed a button, which turned on the pen’s tiny flashlight.
Grasping the light, he approached the coffin. He carefully examined the plain, nondescript box. Then he looked over the rest of the hearse. It was old but featured fine, classic workmanship. It seemed at once ancient yet pristine. Engulfed in its aura, Daniel suddenly lost all concepts of time and place.
Daniel timidly stepped over to the horse, shining his light on the saddle. He squinted, noticing the saddle had an engraved nameplate. It read: “Thaddeus Chesterfield & Blackie”.
Daniel studied the nameplate, fascinated. Up to this point he hadn’t touched the hearse or the horse. But he felt an urge -- to make sure it was real. He slowly reached out toward the horse, but something stopped him. Something wasn’t right. What if it was real? Then that would mean...
Daniel slowly backed away from the hearse. He rubbed his face, suddenly feeling scared and confused. He swallowed hard as he eyed the horse once again. Finally he turned and wandered in a daze back toward for his house.
As he neared his porch, Daniel paused and looked back toward the road. The hearse and horse remained, slightly shrouded in fog but still visible.
Daniel closed his eyes. He began to question his sanity. He’d always had quite an imagination; he was admittedly a dreamer. What exactly had he seen on that Halloween night as a child? Was it a dream? Was this the dream?
Back inside his house, Daniel closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He looked down at the leftover Halloween candy.
Still, Daniel couldn’t contain his curiosity. He approached the window. As he pulled back the curtain to look out, a gaunt, ghostly, scowling face reflected in the window -- the face of the hearse driver. Daniel screamed and fell to the floor.
His heart pounding, Daniel glanced up at the window, unable to see anything. What is happening to me, he wondered? He closed his eyes and attempted to regain his composure. After a few moments, he stood, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes.
Working up a bit of courage, he approached the window. He slowly pulled back the curtain... and looked out.
There was no hearse driver. No reflection. The horse and hearse were gone. The street was empty.
* * *
Later in the evening, Daniel sat at the desk in his den, contemplating. Finally he picked up a pen and grabbed a piece of paper. He wrote down the words “Thaddeus Chesterfield” and “Blackie”. He stared at the words intently.
* * *
A bit later, Daniel sat anxiously at his computer, staring at the screen, typing a bit here and there. He searched for information and then read the results on his monitor.
Taking a sip of tea, he typed another search phrase. He examined the screen and clicked on the mouse. Suddenly he stared at the monitor in disbelief.
Visible on the screen was an old, somewhat blurry black-and-white photograph of the same hearse driver he had seen -- sitting atop the same horse-drawn hearse.
Daniel studied the hearse driver’s face. With his eerie scowl and hollow black eyes, the hearse driver seemed to be staring back at Daniel. “DANIEL!” shouted the face in the photo, causing Daniel to jump. Or was it just Daniel’s imagination? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Growing uneasy, Daniel turned away from the photo... but ultimately couldn’t resist looking back.
The photograph was part of an old newspaper article. Daniel scrolled up the page and noticed the date on the newspaper: “Dec. 5, 1973”. Then he scrolled back down and read the headline under the photo: “Missing Hearse Driver Presumed Dead”. The sub-heading read: “Thaddeus Chesterfield and His Horse Blackie Unseen Since Oct. 31st”.
Daniel’s jaw dropped. He jumped up and stepped away from the screen, terrified.
Finally he rushed back to the window, pulled back the curtains, and looked out. There was nothing out there. Yet he continued to peer into the darkness.
* * *
It was a sunny November afternoon. A plain, modest, wood-frame house sat isolated in a rural area of Nebraska. Bird feeders and bird baths dominated the front yard. Several flower beds were filled with withered plants that had finished blooming for the season.
Daniel looked all around the yard, and then he anxiously walked up to the door and knocked. He waited. The door opened and Daniel spoke to someone, and then he disappeared inside.
Inside the house, Daniel sat on an old cloth couch covered in cat hair. A woman -- late 50’s, roundish, hair in a bun, pleasant looking -- sat across from him.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me, Ms. Chesterfield,” said Daniel.
“You’re quite welcome,” she replied. “It’s always nice to have company. I don’t get many visitors out here. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?”
“Oh, no,” said Daniel. “Thank you.”
“So you wanna know about my grandfather, Thaddeus?” asked Ms. Chesterfield.
“Well... yes,” said Daniel. “I mean, I’m interested in local history. I ran across an old article about him going... missing.”
She looked down, nodding, contemplating.
“I was eighteen when he disappeared,” began Ms. Chesterfield. “He was the last horse-drawn hearse driver around these parts. He so loved his job. He was, you see, a very spiritual man. He took great pride in taking people to their eternal resting places. But... times changed. They wanted him to use a motorized hearse -- a car. He refused. So they had to let him go. His last day on the job was October 31st, 1973. After he left work that day, no one ever saw him again.”
Daniel considered her story, mesmerized... and disturbed. He was unable to tell her what he had seen. What exactly would he say? Was he even sure what he had seen? He jotted down a few notes, uncertain as to where this was leading. But his curiosity grew. Was he the last person to see Thaddeus Chesterfield alive?
“It’s such a shame they took that away from him,” said Ms. Chesterfield. “Driving that hearse -- it was all he knew. It was his reason for living. It brought him... peace. The sad part is, he likely never got a proper burial himself.”
Daniel examined her, nodding, engrossed.
She continued: “He always hoped one of his kids or grandkids would take an interest in what he did -- take over the reins, so to speak. But it never happened. Driving a hearse isn’t the most glamorous job, ya know.” She chuckled.
“Grandpa was quite a character,” she added. “People were scared of him for some reason. I guess he did have sort of a hateful expression. But he was a gentle soul. I'll never forget that beautiful ring he wore on his finger -- it had angel wings on it. I still miss him terribly...”
“What happened to his horse?” asked Daniel. “And the hearse?”
“They disappeared, too.”
Daniel attempted to take it all in, overwhelmed. Thaddeus Chesterfield and his hearse were becoming an obsession.
“It’s strange...” Daniel remarked. “When I was a kid I had a fascination with hearses, burials, funerals... that sort of thing. I’d almost forgotten about that. I remember telling my dad once that I wanted to be an undertaker. He didn’t think that was such a great idea.”
A thought occurred to Daniel: Had he become fascinated with hearses and burials because of the horse-drawn hearse he saw
as a kid? He wasn’t quite sure.
Ms. Chesterfield studied Daniel, as if sensing something about him. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Taylor? If you don’t mind me asking...”
”I’m a banker,” said Daniel.
“Oh,” she said. “Do you like it?
“Not really.”
Ms. Chesterfield nodded.
* * *
Outside Daniel’s house, three kids wearing Halloween masks leaped off the porch with their bags of candy. Now it was one year later -- October 31st, 2013. Daniel stepped outside and watched them go, a faint grin on his face.
Daniel moved to the edge of the porch and surveyed the neighborhood. He watched the last of the trick-or-treaters disappear down the road.
Seeming a bit tense, he sat down on the porch step. He took a deep breath and gazed at the night sky.
* * *
Later in the evening, Daniel wandered across his lawn, holding a flashlight. He looked around the neighborhood. All was quiet.
He approached the road and glanced from side to side. He listened closely. There was silence.
Finally he sat down on the ground. And waited.
* * *
The night progressed and Daniel remained seated on his lawn. He was getting weary. He looked up and down the road, seeing nothing. He glanced at his watch which read “11:07”. He sighed, disappointed.
Finally he stood, turned and headed for his house. As he neared the porch, he glanced up and saw the horse-drawn hearse in his driveway. He jumped back, stunned.
The hearse was again without a driver. The horse gazed calmly at him. A heavy silence hovered in the night air.
Daniel cautiously stepped toward the hearse, frightened yet more fascinated than ever. He peered into the horse’s eyes.
“...Blackie?” uttered Daniel.
The horse nodded its head and whinnied.
Daniel turned on his flashlight and examined the hearse, walking all around it. He noticed the same old, nondescript coffin in back.
He decided he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip past. He cautiously reached out toward the coffin... and touched it. He rubbed his fingers over it. It was indeed real.
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