Because I watched Disney's 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,' I give you this:
(By the way, it's set in regular times. And I promise, it will not go off into random plot stories, or follow Sleepy Hollow's legend all the way, as it is set in modern days. And the setting is in a city, so how much sense would it really make if there was a headless horseman in the middle of a town, surrounded by people? Sorry, rambling.)
Halloween.
Its beginning is often misunderstood—most people believe it is Lucifer's birthday . . . Which, in all fairness, is not too far from the truth.
What those people do not know: Celtic priests (commonly known as the Druids) would honor Samhain, Lord of the Dead, on October thirty-first to November first. It was rumored that on the thirty-first, he would conjure the souls of the dead into bodies of animals to pay for their sins. This day was believed to be All Hallows Eve. Over the many years, it was shortened to "Halloween."
The Romans honored their god Pomona, god of fruit, by offering apples and nuts and playing games on November first. They took over the Celts (France, Wales, etc…), and reigned for four-hundred years. Over that time, the Samhain and Pomona Festivals became one.
In the Middle Ages it became The Night of the Witch—witchcraft had risen and was believed to be a cult against the Catholic church. This put a whole new meaning to 'The Witching Hour,' also known as midnight.
Tonight, as it was now—Cecil Terwilliger checked his watch—twelve o'nine, it was officially All Hallows. The wind swept the remaining leaves off of a nine-foot oak tree, and right into his face.
He shivered, and held the cape with both his hands over his chest. The streets were empty, except for a dog digging through some trash in a nearby alley. The town of Springfield had taken Halloween to a whole new level this year: they had re-created the basic 1800s town, and it would remain so for two weeks through the holiday to attract tourists. For one week before Halloween, and another afterwards, the entire town had to dress up and play the parts of nineteenth century families.
Cecil himself had on a black turtleneck shirt, cape and a three-edged hat, resembling Ichabod Crane's appearance in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Even the prisoners had to look the part.
Not that he was one anymore, but the last thing his family—yes, meaning Bob—had to do was attract attention by dressing in this century's clothing. It was only two days ago he had been released on parole, and Bob was supposed to have passed his own hearing today. They were to meet tonight. He groaned and checked his watch again. Bob was late. He was supposed to have met Cecil on *Hidden Street forty minutes ago.
He began to pace now, and shivered again as the wind kicked up. It was a full moon tonight. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind him and sighed in relief, turning.
"Thank God, I was about to—"
He stopped. There was nobody behind him, much less on the street. The dog had moved, though, and began to whine as the wind howled around them.
Just the dog, then.
It barked at something behind Cecil, whined, and ran off with its tail between his legs. The man backed up now, unnerved by this odd behavior, and heard footsteps behind him again. He whipped around, and there was nothing.
Not the dog.
He was not a man to be controlled by emotions easily. Emotions clouded judgment, the mind, and were the one weakness of every human being. Cecil knew fear was the one that got to men the most. Panic was what killed underwater divers in tough times. Seeing a nearby shark, swimming up too fast, getting the Bends (or attracting unwanted attention from the shark in the process…).
"Bob?" He had to yell over the wind now.
A few leaves passed him, and he heard the heavy footsteps again.
Though he hadn't even stepped foot on the beach in years, he knew panic would cause unwanted attention. Bob was not going to come quick enough. He turned away from the steps, and rushed to get back to the motel.
The follower matched his pace.
He broke out into a run; so did the follower.
Though he did not trust emotions, he trusted intuition. And as of right now, he knew he would be hurt if the follower caught up to him. Perhaps he was a mugger. There had been a prison break a few weeks before, scattering some of Springfield's most dangerous and twisted minds throughout town.
And that was when the laughter broke through the wind. It sounded as if it were right in his ear.
He turned and caught a glimpse of a black shadow running behind him.
It started as a soft and low "heh-heh-heh," and grew into heavy laughter, like the Joker's from Batman. It was horrible and insane laughter that let anyone who heard it know he was in danger beyond a shark attack or the bends. Cecil ran past his limits now, legs aching yet not daring to let up. He was about three-quarters to the motel now, not nearly as close as he wanted to be.
He turned a corner to a shortcut, through the small park.
It followed him.
Jumping over a flower bed, he eyed the small bridge that would take him a mere block away from the motel, and then he would be safe. Right? No mugger was brave enough to walk right into witnesses. All this time, the laughter didn't cease one little bit. This told him that the follower was used to the chase, strong, and definitely would not give up if he had chased him across a park.
**Cecil crossed the bridge, and he no longer heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw a flaming pumpkin flying right into his chest. He saw it too late, gasping.
His hat flew off as he fell onto the pavement, and he desperately patted down the fire that threatened to burn him alive. He felt skin brake as his wrists rubbed against cement, and warm, oozing blood covered his hands.
Cecil rolled over quickly, prepared to put up a fight before the follower got to him. However, his heartbeat slowed in utter dread at what towered eight feet above him, still laughing, and his eyes grew wide as an innocent child's. His lips parted, and, for the first time in years, he felt an icy cold hand of fear and darkness grip at his mind and heart.
He had thought the follower would be a mugger, or one of the men from the prison break (that, ironically enough, his ENTIRE family had not been a part of) that had consisted of three rapists, six muggers, and five robbers. One of the rapists named Arnold had been looking at Cecil in an odd way before the break, relieving him even more when they broke free and left. Sometimes Arnold would be smiling at him in a way that made him ask the guards about it, and they'd say they would keep an eye on him.
He made a soft sound between a slurred word and a whimper before the shadow lunged into his own body. He cried out before It silenced him.
A security camera caught the shadow of Cecil's body on the side of a building, now standing, arch his back and outstretch his hands. Bones cracked and conformed to the follower's figure, and it grunted in pain a few times as it shoved the terrified human soul back so that it was no longer in charge. The shadow against the wall stood upright again, growling from the back of it's throat. The body somehow seemed taller now, though no vertebrae had been stretched. Even the follower knew better than that. He just had power now.
Yes. That was it.
Cecil's old eyes changed from the jade green they used to be to the color of blood as he strode calmly yet quickly back to the motel, leaving the hat and broken pumpkin behind.
As I have said, this isn't based entirely off of Sleepy Hollow, but will have some of the story intertwined. Speaking of which, here's something that I will be dropping into later chapters:
*- Get it? Hidden Street? If not, Google it with 'Headless Horseman.'
**- Yes. I do NOT own this scene, and I know you know that. It's too famous a scene for someone to claim as their own (like the other day, a woman let her dog poop on the beach, watched him do so, and walked away without cleaning it up. A friend of mine confronted her about it, and she said she didn't see the dog poop - and the witnesses were only the entire beach! 0_o Disgusting). So no flames!
Get it? ;D