It was then that Dee noticed the air had become completely still. A few minutes ago, it had been active, and now-everything was silent. He didn’t like it.
“The cops?” Dee asked.
“No fucking way, man,” Jacob said. “They don’t ride horses around here. Probably some rich dude out for a ride.”
Dee glanced at his watch.
“How many fucking rich dudes you know that go riding at 11:00?”
Jacob didn’t answer. The sound was now getting steadily louder-almost too loud, Dee thought. Should it echo like this?
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jacob said. “We’ll just let them pass by. If he stops, we’ll deal.”
But Dee, already nervous here, didn’t care about the jibe.
“You stay if you want to,” he said. “No weed is worth this.”
Dee turned to go to his car.
And then he saw it, tearing down the road in front of them. The sound seemed to come from all around them and Dee found it hard to take his eyes off him.
The horseman was riding incredibly fast, his black cape swinging out behind him.
“Holy shit,” Jacob said, but Dee didn’t look at him. He couldn’t look anywhere else.
The galloping grew louder and the wind that had vanished came back with a vengeance. Dee felt blown backward, as if it was moving ahead of the rider in a wave. The branches on the trees above him bent backward and he had trouble breathing.
“Shit, shit,” Jacob said.
For a second, Dee tore his eyes away to look at Jacob standing on the road. It appeared he could not move either. He just stood there, almost directly in the horseman's path.
Dee looked back at the rider. He had crossed the distance in remarkable time. Dee clenched his hands and felt sweat gathering on his forehead. He felt the urge to run but was rooted to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Jacob said.
Dee looked at Jacob to see what was the matter, but could see nothing.
Looking back at the rider, he knew.
The horseman coming at them-his cape billowing-had unsheathed a sword. And there was a second, much more urgent problem-the rider had no head.
Both boys started screaming then.
The Headless Horseman came full tilt at Jacob, never slowing or pausing. As Dee watched, the Horseman moved to his left side, letting his blade down on a perfect level for Jacob’s neck.
Dee wanted to scream or run, but could do nothing.
Instead, time seemed to slow down and he watched as the Horseman blew by them both, his sword clearly going through Jacob’s neck.
And then he was gone, riding off into the distance. Dee watched him go, still yelling at the top of his lungs.
When he looked at his friend, he wasn’t sure what he expected. But whatever it was, he was in for a shock.
Jacob stood there, in the center of the road-his head still firmly attached to his body-screaming.
Dee moved over to him and was immediately hit with a foul smell. Looking down, he could see that the other boy had wet himself, or maybe something worse.
“What was that?” Dee asked.
But Jacob didn’t respond, his lungs gasping for air and then screaming again. Dee looked for a sign of the blade, some cut or scratch.
But instead there was nothing.
All around them, everything had returned to its former shape.
It seemed like the horseman had never been there at all.
Dee ran to his car and got moving. He didn’t care about Jacob. He just wanted to get very far away.
Blackwell| Rob
A Soul To Steal
LH File: Letter #3
Date: Oct. 8, 1994
Investigation Status: Closed
Contents: Classified
Mr. Anderson,
The article on Weissman was a vast improvement. Even I wanted to cry after reading it. Such promise! Such talent! Such a tragedy!
Your article made his death sing, it really did. ‘Bob Weissman stares at a photo of his son, who will now be 16 forever.’ Have you been saving that one up? ‘All they want to know is why.’ Well, you could have told them that, couldn’t you? Their son died because he is a sign of the rot that is eating this county from the inside.
Bob Weissman should never have moved here. He’s not a farmer, he’s not even working class, like most of the Sterling residents. No, he’s just another suburbanite.
They will take over LoudounCounty, I promise you that. They will overrun us like a plague of locusts, tearing down everything in their path so they can put up rows and rows of shiny, metal boxes with no artistry and less personality than a concrete block. I know them, Mr. Anderson. They did it to FairfaxCounty already. Falls Church was once a small little town. Now, what is it? Just rows of street lights with tacky stores and sub-par restaurants.
Can you imagine what Leesburg will look like in 10 years, or 20? It will be just another suburb of Washington, D.C., a lifeless carbon copy of Fairfax or Reston. Think of all the history that will be destroyed. Union troops marched through this town, did you know that? They fought with their Confederate enemies at Ball’s Bluff. Over in Waterford, there was actually a Union regiment from Virginia. Many of them died, holed up in WaterfordBaptistChurch yelling for their mothers as their Virginia brothers shot lead into the building.
Weissman and his ilk will destroy this. They won’t mean to and that just makes it worse. They’ll come because they want a bigger house, and they won’t care about the added commute, or the acres of farm land that are plowed over to make their new dwelling space. Did Bob Weissman see his son much? Of course he didn’t. He had a 35-minute commute to RBS Industries in Rosslyn.
That’s the tragedy here. He grieves for a son he barely knew. He worked so hard to “provide” for his family, he never truly had one at all. Did his son think of that, as he bled to death, slowly dragging himself away from me? He didn’t say much, I can tell you that. He just stared at me, whimpering.
Will I stop the Bob Weissmans of the world? I can’t. I’m one person and the battle to save this land has not been joined. By the time others figure out what is happening, it will be far, far too late. But I will exact a price to pay. There are real ghosts here, specters that lurk just beyond the streetlight. I am their voice.
Here I am ranting again, I’m afraid. I’m giving your police handlers lots to think about. Maybe I’ve joined a preservationist organization? I could even be a Civil War reenactor! What do you think?
I’m glad you finally thought to use my name this time. I would have been so very displeased if you hadn’t. Of course, no mention of the letters-are you planning to save them? Maybe write a book when this is all over? And your description of me is so dry, so impersonal. “Police attribute the murders to a serial killer who calls himself ‘Lord Halloween.’” That’s it?
But I shouldn’t complain. It’s a start and we have some time left. I promise this will be a month that no one around here ever forgets.
Yours Sincerely,
Lord Halloween
P.S. The next body? Just look around. I made sure even the idiots at the police force could find it quickly.
