They followed Comizio around back. The house was a nice large, brick colonial. It was in a good subdivision but backed up on a forest. In a few years, Quinn knew these beautiful woods would be gone, plowed down to make way for a new subdivision. But for now… it was nice.
“It’s back here,” Comizio said. They walked to the back of his yard and followed him as he disappeared into a copse of trees.
Quinn was amazed at how fast civilization seemed to disappear here. One minute he had been driving through a pleasant suburb and now all he could see were trees. Comizio stopped at the top of a hill and looked down a steep slope.
“It’s down here,” he said. “Watch your step.”
Janus nearly fell, but grabbed a branch to avoid sliding. The three of them carefully worked their way down the slope.
“It’s wild back here,” Quinn said.
“We’re on the old Phillips farm now,” Comizio said.
“Right,” Quinn said. He knew more than he wanted to about this place.
“Some developer wants to pay a fortune for it,” Comizio said. “It’s a huge space. About 60 acres of prime Loudoun land.”
They continued walking for a bit. Normally Quinn might have loved the opportunity for a walk in the woods. But he still felt jumpy from last night and had a strange feeling that someone was watching him.
“What do you think about the development deal?” Quinn asked. He was not sure he cared that much. But it was a conversation and Janus was being oddly silent.
“Well, I guess most of us are against it,” he said. “I mean, it’s historical land, isn’t it? That fantastic dirt road, you know? George Washington used it. And they keep that covered bridge in great condition. Well, the Phillips used to at any rate. It’s a little worse for wear now.”
“Right.” But Quinn didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. The feeling in his stomach had gotten worse. He felt queasy and the sense of being watched was stronger.
“You know the one, right?” Comizio asked. “People still use it occasionally to get out to Waterford, especially during the craft fair like the one last week. You have to go slow, of course, but people still use it.”
Quinn now remembered the bridge, but couldn’t remember taking it. He also couldn’t remember the last time he was in Waterford.
“Right,” he said.
“We’re almost there,” Comizio said again, as they walked up a short hill.
“I’m bloody out of shape,” Janus said finally. “I mean, I’m doing okay. I’m pretty sure Bill would have keeled over already. But still…”
“I started hearing it about a week ago,” Comizio said as they came to a clearing. There was a small, narrow field in front of them.
“Hearing what?” Quinn asked.
“Horses,” Comizio said quietly.
Quinn’s heart skipped a beat.
“Multiple horses?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Comizio said. “Believe it or not, you can hear a lot from the house. But the first night I thought I was dreaming.”
“What did you hear?” Quinn asked. He felt like he had to concentrate just to get the words out. Now he knew why he felt so terrible. The field, the woods, everything had a familiar feeling. In his head, he turned over Comizio’s words again. The road. The bridge. He felt like he wanted to run.
“It would be in the middle of the night,” he said. “I mean-it’s impossible to ride at that speed in the dark, especially through here, you know?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said.
“So I thought I was just imagining it,” Comizio continued. “It was the same thing every night. I would hear it at one o’clock one night, then two hours later. It was a little freaky.”
“I bet,” Janus said.
“I’m sorry again, guys,” Comizio said and looked down at his shoes. “This probably has nothing to do with what you are working on.”
“Why did you think it did?” Quinn asked.
“Cause I thought I was crazy, right?” Comizio said. “Then I came down here and started seeing stuff, too.”
Comizio walked forward a bit and pointed at a patch of mud near the edge of the field. Quinn did not even have to look. There were hoof prints in the mud.
“That was the first thing,” Comizio said. “Then it was other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” Janus asked.
Quinn could not move. He felt his heart pounding. He wanted very much to run or stay immobile. He could not decide.
Comizio and Janus appeared not to notice.
“Look up here,” Comizio said. He and Janus walked over to some trees near the edge of the field. Quinn couldn’t hear them anymore.
“You coming, Quinn?” Janus called back, but without looking.
Quinn did not know how he could. I won’t be able to take it, he thought. Last night a very real killer had been in the same room with him. He might be watching him even now. And now this guy was seeing Quinn’s phantom. Something that should not be real. I can’t take both of these things, Quinn thought. I’ll lose my mind.
“Quinn?” Janus called.
With tremendous effort, Quinn moved forward. He walked stiffly across the distance and could feel his legs wanting to break into a run.
“What?” he asked. His voice came out as a whisper.
Janus looked at him for a minute.
“What?” Quinn asked again.
“Cuts in the tree,” Janus said. “Look at the limbs on the right side.”
Quinn looked down the right side of the field. Branches hanging over the right side were broken, as if something rode through them.
“Someone has been riding up and down the field,” Janus said. “Apparently in the middle of the night. And look at this.”
Janus pointed to the tree in front of them. There were a series of cuts on it. Quinn knew what kind of instrument had done the cutting: a sword. The Horseman had been here.
“I think it forms a word,” Comizio finally said.
“Really?” Janus asked. He looked at the tree harder. “Is that an S?”
Comizio nodded.
“It took me a bit,” he said. “But I figured it out. Or at least I think I did.”
Before he could say it, Quinn knew what the word was. He did not know how or why.
“Sanheim,” Quinn said.
Comizio turned in surprise.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it took me a couple of days to figure that out. You have to step back. How did you even see it?”
“Sanheim?” Janus asked. “That’s just another word for Halloween.”
“What?” Quinn asked, suddenly turning to Janus.
“He’s right,” said Comizio. “I looked it up on the Net. It’s similar to the spelling of the Celtic word for Halloween. He was the God of Halloween, I think. All these Christian groups are going on about how Halloween is a pagan festival and stuff. They keep using his name. That’s why I thought you guys would want to see it. Because of that killer. I’ve only lived here six years, but I’ve heard the stories. Lord Halloween, right? Isn’t that his name? It wasn’t in the paper, but I thought…”
“That’s his name,” Quinn said. He stared at the word on the tree. It should mean something to him, but it didn’t. Or it did, but he couldn’t remember it. It was like having something on the tip of your tongue, but not being
