"Fish and Wildlife. Agent Logan. This is Agent Preston," Dean said, flashing his badge too quickly to be read.

"Sheriff Hendrick Moore," the sheriff said, shaking their hands in turn. "What the hell is your interest in this?"

"There's some indication that a wild stallion may have run these kids down. Tell me, sheriff, is there a stables nearby? Anyone own a herd of horses?"

"Abe Campbell's got a draft horse that pulls his plow, but that thing was old when I was a kid. That's the only horse I know around here. You two did notice that the victims are headless, right? You really figure a horse did that?"

Same let the sheet fall over Kat's body, standing up as he did so. The wound is ragged, as if the head was torn free rather than cut. This wasn't the work of a blade. I haven't examined the other body yet, sheriff. Will I find the same sort of wound?"

"Yessir, the boy's neck wound is just about the same. I still don't see how a horse could—"

"Sheriff, what can you tell me about this article in your local paper?" Dean held the phone up, but the sheriff didn't even bother to look.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "That rag should be run out of business for printing that, if you ask me. Now, I don't want to hear you boys spreading any nonsense about a headless horseman. We may live in the wilds of the Hudson Valley, but we don't go in for wives' tales and fairy stories. You'll want Sleepy Hollow on the other side of the river about sixty miles downstream."

Dean pressed his luck. "Still, you have to admit the similarities in the stories."

"What similarities? The story took place in a Dutch settlement, while our town is mostly Scottish. There may have been a horse involved, but I just spoke to a group of witnesses that never saw one. This is more likely just a matter of hysteria."

A deputy came over, and the sheriff spoke to him for a moment before turning back. "If you're done with the body, the coroner's van is here. Closest place to do an autopsy is two towns over."

"Yes, I think we're done here," Sam said. "Thank you for your time."

"One more question," Dean quickly cut in. "I didn't notice a cemetery on the way in. Are you going to bury them two towns over too?"

"No, the cemetery is up the hill off Birch Street."

"Birch Street… That's…?" Dean said pointing back the way they'd come.

The sheriff pointed in the opposite direction. "Two blocks north, then turn left. Look for the historical society building, and on up the hill."

"Thank you, sheriff," Dean said, peeling off his gloves and dropping them in a trash can as the two left the coffeehouse. Once they were alone, he said "Did you hear that? Historical society. You want to check that out in the morning, maybe find out who our horseman is and where he's buried?"

"I thought we'd both go. What are you planning to do?"

"Our witness may have died, but she was killed in front of a couple dozen people. Somebody had to see something that can point to who he is."

The brothers found a place to stay the night, and in the morning they went their separate ways.

Dean's first stop was the home of Ava Smith, attached to the coffee shop she ran. She was a tired woman with thinning hair and eyes that were shrewd but reserved. "All I saw is Kat come running in, yelling about a horseman. I was looking at her when the doors shattered, so I didn't even see that. It all happened so quick, because the next thing I knew, she was dead in my bathroom."

"I noticed you have one of those internet cameras set up in the corner. Would you mind showing me what it caught?"

She pulled out her phone and brought up the security app. "Damndest thing," she said, but trailed off to let the video speak for itself.

The door was just out of shot, but there was Kat, backing into the frame, clearly agitated. She turned and ran, with most of the patrons watching her go, when a shower of glass covered those closest to the door. They reacted to that, with people standing up, overturning tables and backing away. It seemed to move like a ripple through the room, and by the time everyone was standing, the ones toward the front of the room were already running for the exit.

"And that's it," Ava said as the people on screen started trampling each other in their rush to escape.

"Wait a moment. Can you back up a bit?"

"Sure thing. I've watched it a dozen times though. There's nothing to see." She played the video again.

"There! Right there. No one was sitting at that table. How did it get knocked down?"

She played it again. "Huh. Must have gotten caught on one of the chairs or something."

"And didn't that guy look like he got shoved from behind?"

"I suppose… But I still don't see what did it."

"Me neither. Ms. Smith, this is a small town. Did you know everyone that was in the Tarry a'While last night?"

"Sure I did. There were some cheerleaders from the school right over there, Mr. Fraser and his wife Claire, Mr. André the Christmas tree farmer—"

"Christmas tree farmer?"

"Yeah. The Three Sisters was good enough for everyone else around here, but he had to go farming Christmas trees."

She had her eyebrows raised like she expected some reaction. "Three sisters has always been enough for me. Anyway, I'm going to need a list of all their names, if you don't mind."

His next stop was the doctor's office where a number of the witnesses were being treated for various injuries.

"I didn't see anything," said Gavin Baltus. The owner of Baltus Towing was a heavyset man in suspenders and an oil stained cap. Dean found he kept getting distracted by the man's muttonchops. Gavin had been there with his two daughters, "but we were close the door, and managed to escape before people started pushing. I just got cut up when the door shattered is all. Twenty-two stitches in all," he said, holding up his left arm with its smattering of bandages.

Jamie Anderson, a young man with platinum tipped hair and a tattoo of an ankh on his neck, was there for a broken leg and bruised ribs. "I saw the cheerleader, of course, but she ran right past me, then everything happened at once. I heard the door shatter, while she was locking herself in the bathroom. Then everyone started screaming, and someone pushed me hard from behind and I fell to the ground. That's when I got trampled."

"And you never saw who pushed you? Who was sitting behind you?"

"Nobody sat behind me. It was a clear path to the door. I can't figure out who pushed me. Maybe it was the guy who killed the cheerleader. You're going to catch him, right?"

"We're going to do our best."

Ilsa Reid, a blonde cheerleader on Kat's squad, was in for a concussion. "Ow, mom! The bandage is fine. Stop messing with it." She looked back at Dean, or at least near him. She seemed to be squinting at a spot near his left ear.

"I don't know how everybody missed it. It was huge and black, and it just charged through the door like it wasn't even there."

"Can you describe the rider for me?"

"I can't remember much about the rider, I was too focused on that creepy-ass horse. It looked sick, but it was still huge and powerful. It was all black, but… I don't know it was like fungus was growing on it or something. It had like, yellow… roots, I guess, growing everywhere. And its eyes! They actually glowed red!"

The mother pulled her into a reluctant hug. "Officer Logan, my daughter suffered a brain injury. She's not crazy, it's just the concussion. If nobody else saw anything, I'm sure she didn't see anything either."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Reid."

Dean's next stop was the high school, where the principal pulled out two of the students, and one of the teachers for him to interview.

"No, she got it all wrong," Archie Baird told him. Archie hid green eyes behind thick glasses, and might have been good looking if he weren't so plump. "That horse was terrifying. Only it didn't have any skin—it was like it's muscles were all black, and that yellow stuff was its veins. Oh! And I don't think its teeth were normal. They were like fangs…"

"But what about the rider? Was he wearing any kind of insignia, or rank, or anything?"

"I think he might have been naked, actually…"

"I didn't see anything. Can I go?" said Brooke Webster, a short-haired blonde with six piercings in her right ear. She never met Dean's gaze, instead doodling on the corner of the desk the entire time they talked.

"I heard from a couple of witnesses that you were one of the first to react," Dean suggested.

"Yeah, well, Kat freaked me out. I was already ready to blow that scene when she showed up, raving like a lunatic. Then when the glass went flying everywhere, I was like, 'I'm out of here.'"

Reuben Selkirk, in a checkered shirt and v-neck sweater vest, was likewise impatient. "It's my by-class. This is the only chance I get to grade papers."

"We'll have you back in your class in a moment, Mr. Selkirk. I'm just trying to get some details on what you saw. I'm sure you can appreciate, one of your students has been murdered."

"Yes. Of course, but I already told Hendrick everything I saw."

"And I had some questions about that. Could you walk me through it one more time?"

"Someone on horseback was chasing Katrina Grant. He came crashing through the door. My wife and daughter were with me, so my only thought was to protect them."

"I understand. Did you get a good look at the rider?"

"No. The lights went out. I could see that he was holding something in each hand—not a sword though—branches or something. They were long, and forked at the end. Like claws."

"But what about his face, his clothing. Did you see anything identifiable?"

He shook his head. "Like I said, it was dark, and I just wanted to get my family out of there."

The day was getting long by the time Dean spoke to John André, a dark haired man in t-shirt and jeans, and owner of the Christmas tree farm.

"No, I didn't see the horseman," Mr André said.

Dean had heard this frustrating story all day long, and he clicked his pen, snapping his notebook closed. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course, I never see him. I still know he's there, though."

"You… never see him?" Dean said, turning back toward Mr. André. "You mean he's been around before, but you didn't see him then either?"

"That's right. I've been telling Sheriff Moore the thing's been wilting my trees for days now!"

"And, how do you know it's the horseman and not just, I don't know, bugs?"

"On account of the security footage," Mr. André said. "That and the hoof prints."

"Can I see this security footage?"

"Sure, it's back in the trailer, but I've already shown it all to Sheriff Moore."

"Still, I'd feel better if you showed it to me too."

"Come along then," he said, heading back toward the trailer in the center of his forest of manicured fir trees.

"André—that's French, right? How'd you end up in a town full of Scottish folks?" Dean called as he followed the man between the trees.

"The land was cheap. I had a nervous breakdown back in the city. The doctors told me I needed to 'simplify,' and I figured farming was as simple as it got. This was right around Christmas one year, and when they showed the Christmas tree lighting at the White House, I had an epiphany. One of these years that's going to be my tree on their lawn."

He got to the trailer and reached for the latch, then turned. "Just not on a Democrat year, of course." He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving his galoshes at the door and proceeding in socks.

"Of course," Dean said. He was going to ask what André did back in the city, but as soon as he got inside the trailer, he knew.

The trailer was set up as an office, rather than the living quarters Dean had expected. And what's more, it was a nice office. The carpet was a tasteful tan, the walls paneled in oak. There was a broad mahogany desk with a plush leather chair behind it, and on the wall behind them were three framed certificates. The first from The New York State Bar Association, the second from Yale University, and the third proclaimed itself the "Oath of Attorney."

"So this is how a lawyer simplifies," Dean said.

André failed to explain, he simply nodded as he tapped at his keyboard, then swiveled the monitor around. "Watch the bottom left." He handed Dean a post-it note that listed a series of letter-number combinations:

LL 01:21:18

UR 01:21:47

UL 22:31:04

LL 22:31:22

UR 22:32:01

Dean noted the timestamp on all the cameras was synchronized at 01:21:00. André hit another key, and the video started playing. At the eighteen second mark, a violent gust of wind whipped the branches of his trees.

"And you don't think that was just the wind," Dean said.

"Look at the branches where it passed."

Dean leaned in closer. Despite the footage being in full-color, it was difficult to make out any changes, but then the needles started falling off the branches leaving bare sticks behind. "Huh," he said.

"Now watch the upper right."

The second camera had a longer view along another edge of the property. Right on cue, another fierce wind blew through along the length of the camera frame. Dean waited before commenting until the needles started falling off. "Same thing," he said.

"Except, look there, in the dirt."

Dean leaned in. "Hoof prints?"

"Hoof prints. And no, they weren't there a moment before. I could show you more videos over the following three days, but it's all the same."

"Just out of curiosity, what were you hoping the sheriff would do with this evidence?" Dean asked.

"Same as I'm hoping you'll do. Set a trap for the horseman. Kill it if you can."

Sam closed the door behind him and stood, exhausted and angry, in the entry way to their motel room.

Dean, sitting with his back to Sam, held up a beer bottle. "I spoke to seventeen witnesses today, only four of them saw it at all, and not a single one got a good look at the rider. Oh, and here's a fun fact to add to the lore: Horsemen don't show up on video."

Sam snatched the bottle from Dean's hand, twisted off the top and tossed the cap in the direction of the trash can. "I spent all day looking through a loose collection of articles in twelve volumes, and until two days ago, there isn't a single report of anyone dying from decapitation." He sat down at the table across from Dean and took a swig of his beer. "Oh and here's a 'fun fact,'" he added, doing air quotes. "This town was founded in 1885, Dean. Twenty years after the Civil War. There weren't any charges across these fields, no cannonade blowing people's heads off."

"So, how did this town end up with a horseman?"

"Hell if I know, Dean."

"Wait, are you saying you don't think it is a horseman?"

"I don't know, Dean. It would sure help if someone had seen it."

"Someone did see it, Sammy, and it got her killed!"

"You think it came back for her because she saw it the day before?"

"I'm saying that's what it looks like."

"Hang on. It doesn't show on camera. And you spoke to thirteen people who were there last night and didn't see it? Dean, that means there are four potential victims it will be coming back for tonight!"

Dean realized Sam was right. "But they're scattered all over town now. We can't protect all of them. We can bring them all together so we can watch them, but then aren't we doing the horseman's work for him?"

"What choice do we have? If we separate we can still only watch two. I think we stand a better shot of fighting this thing off if we're together."

"Fine. We'll get them all to come to the high school gym. We'll bar all the doors except one, and when it comes, we'll be ready for it." Dean counted back over all that, fairly happy with the plan, then paused. "Only one question. What do we tell them to get them there?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever we have to."

"Could you say that again?" Sheriff Moore said over the phone.

"We found reports of a Satanic cult working in the woods nearby. They are giving their victims a hallucinogenic substance and returning the next night to kill them. We need the addresses of the four witnesses who believe they saw some sort of creature last night." Dean winced as he spoke. The idea sounded preposterous even to him. And it was his idea.

"I've got to say, Agent Logan, that sounds a lot more plausible than that crap about a headless horseman."

Dean brightened. "Yes of course. Totally plausible. The thing is, we've managed to procure a few vials of antidote, but they have to be administered tonight, or there may be permanent side effects."

Sam tapped his watch impatiently.

"Yes that'd be very helpful. You can text us the list at 785-555-1204." He hung up the phone and turned to Sam. "I know. We're out of time, but the addresses are on their way to your phone. You go round them up, I'll get the school ready."

Dean yanked on the padlock, verifying that neither the chain, nor the door moved. His phone rang, and he brought it up to his ear on the way to the next door. "Where are you?"

"We're turning into the parking lot now. Which door is unlocked?" Sam said.

"The one on the left front of the gym. I figure it's the straightest shot for the horseman to take if he comes from the woods."

"Okay. Meet us at the door."

Dean hung up the phone and yanked on the padlock from the second door, then ran across the squeaky floor of the gym to the only entrance that wasn't locked tight. He pushed it open to see the Impala screech to a halt outside the door.

Sam got out and held the back door open. Archie Baird stepped out, while Reuben Selkirk stepped out the other side, and Finley Grant got out the passenger side back. Ilsa Reid followed Archie, and her mother came out after her.

The group jogged over to the open door. Dean stepped aside to let them in, but held the door in front of Ilsa and her mom. "Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder for the horseman who might appear any moment.

"You brought her mom along?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. She wouldn't let her daughter come alone. What's the big deal?"

"Witnesses, Sam. This thing comes back for witnesses. We still don't know who it is, so we don't know who to kill. Now, maybe we find it and kill it tomorrow, but maybe we don't. Either way, I don't want any witnesses for it to kill tomorrow."

Ilsa's mom gripped her daughter by the shoulders. "Wait, I though this was a hallucination… Just a little shot and she'd be… okay."

Sam turned to her, conflicted. "He's right. You can't come in. Look, we'll explain everything later, but for now, you've got to get as far from here as you can." He pulled Ilsa gently from her mother as he spoke, and ushered her inside the gym.

"Wait! No! You can't just take her!" the mother yelled.

Sam slipped in, pulling the door behind him. "I'm so sorry." Dean was ready with a folding chair and he dropped the legs of it behind the push-bar of the double doors. He nodded to Sam, patting him on the shoulder, before heading into the room. The doors flexed a few times as the mother desperately pulled on them.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Dean said over the noise. "That thing you saw, the thing no one else saw? It's real, and you're not crazy. Katrina Grant saw that thing, and that's why she ended up dead. It's how it picks its victims. For anyone who hasn't put it together yet, that means you four are next on its list."

Sam joined him. "The good news is, the two of us hunt things like this, and we're ready for it. By bringing the four of you together, we can defend you more easily."

Dean knelt down and unzipped a duffle bag, revealing a mass of pry bars, crowbars, tire irons, chains and pokers. He pulled a pry bar out of the bag and stood up. Ilsa, Archie and Finley backed away. "The horseman can be hurt with iron." Dean flipped the pry bar in the air and held it out. "If any of you can swing a bat, well, batter up."

He held it there, until finally Archie came forward and took it. Dean took a tire iron and a crowbar, handing the latter to Sam. The two of them stood with their backs to the others, facing the double doors. Mr. Selkirk came forward and took a crowbar. For a moment, he looked like he might try to use it on the brothers who seemed pretty crazy just then. Then Ilsa and Finley took their turn. Ilsa took a length of chain, twirling the end of it like a lasso. Finley took a poker and gave it a few good swings. Mr. Selkirk settled in, watching Sam and Dean for any tricks.

The mother's banging soon stopped. "You know she's going to the sheriff, right?" Dean said.

Sam looked apologetic, but said nothing.

Twenty minutes passed. The four locals settled in, tired of waiting. Mr. Selkirk was at the water fountain, rubbing a wet hand across the back of his neck. Ilsa was scrolling through memes on her phone. The Winchester brothers were still in position, watching the doors for any change.

The doors slammed inward, shaking the metal chair, knocking it to the side. The brothers spread out, but the four behind them bunched together.

Slam! The doors rattled again. One of the push-bars bent inward, and the chair fell to the floor. A third collision sent the doors flying. Ilsa screamed.

"Where is it? Dean, I can't see it!" Sam yelled.

"What are you talking about? It's right in front of you!"

The creature was reared up and pawing at the air with its front legs, eyes blazing red. The lights flickered and went out, and in that moment it charged straight at Sam.

Dean dove and tackled Sam out of the way as the beast galloped past. The rest of the group scattered, diving out of the way.

Emergency lights came back up, and Dean saw the creature fully for the first time. The descriptions of the jet-black, skinless horse were dead on. The tail was skeletal and wrapped in veins a fungal yellow in color. At first it looked like the rider had no legs, but Dean quickly realized that the rider was part of the horse, his torso emerging from the middle of the horse's back. He too, was black and skinless, but he wasn't headless at all. If anything, his head was larger than normal. It was round and earless, with glowing red eyes and a mouthful of jagged teeth that wrapped around almost to its jawline.

One of its arm, three times normal length and ending in scythe-like claws, reached out and grabbed Mr. Selkirk by the leg.

"You all right?" Dean said to Sam, who nodded. Dean got up and charged the creature, swinging his tire iron at its hind leg. It flinched, but no more. Both its heads turned toward Dean, and its leg shot back, catching Dean in the shoulder . He fell as the creature lifted Mr. Selkirk above the rider's head. The mouth unhinged, Mr. Selkirk was lowered screaming, and the mouth snapped shut, biting his struggling victim's head clean off.

Ilsa screamed again, and this time Archie and Finley joined her.

"Sam! Twelve o'clock, twenty feet ahead!"

Sam nodded and ran toward the creature, leading with the straight edge of his crowbar. He crashed into it, driving the crowbar deep into its haunch.

The creature took off running, and discarded the teacher's body. It made a lap around the gym and came back toward them at full gallop. The rider screeched, a sound like running a sharpening stone across fine crystal.

"Grab another one, Sam!" Dean yelled. The creature was heading for Archie, and Dean moved to stand in front of him with his tire iron ready to swing. At the last moment, Dean stepped aside and plunged the iron into the beast's side. It continued on, heedless of the iron bars protruding from its side and rear. It reached for Archie and he swung the pry bar, batting the creature's hand away. It screeched again.

Sam appeared at Dean's side and handed him a pry bar. "Where is it?"

"It's over there, turning around and heading back this way. Sam, the iron's not having any effect on it."

"What else do we have?"

"I don't know, maybe running water will still work? Just run back to the Impala and… And grab everything!"

Sam ran off, and Dean headed toward Finley, when the creature started bearing down on him, then it turned and went for Ilsa. He quickly turned toward her but didn't get there in time. As he reached for her, she loosed her chain. It pinned the beast's arm to its torso, but it simply reached across with its other arm and grabbed her.

"No, no, no, no!" Dean yelled. He leaped at it, plunging the pry bar into the rider's torso. The creature seemed entirely unbothered. Dean was being dragged alongside the creature as he watched it raise the girl to its mouth and snap her head off. Dean was drenched in blood. He let go of the pry bar, falling behind.

Sam showed up with another bag. "Dean!" he called, and when Dean looked, he tossed him a shotgun.

Dean's face hardened. He placed himself in the creature's path again and as it approached, he emptied both barrels into its horse face.

Some of the yellow sprayed across its neck, but the creature kept coming. Dean pushed Finley, and the two rolled out of its way.

He threw the empty shotgun back to Sam. "What was that?"

"Rock salt."

"Try silver!" Sam gave him a pistol loaded with silver bullets, and took out a machete dipped in silver.

The creature charged again. "One o'clock, sixty feet and closing," Dean said. He chambered the first round, leveled his gun and emptied it into the beast.

The creature turned toward Archie. "Three o'clock! Forty feet! It's going for Archie!"

Sam charged toward Archie. Archie held his pry bar like a spear. When the creature was upon him, he fell back and plunged the pry bar upward into its belly, but the creature trampled him, ignorant of the pry bar protruding from it's belly. It turned around and grabbed Archie by the head.

"On your right! Swing, now!" Dean yelled. Sam swung, and the machete bit deep into the horse's neck and shoulder, but it didn't slow down. It galloped past him, biting Archie's head off along the way and casting his body aside.

Finley took off running.

"Finley, no!" Dean called. Sam pulled another machete out of his bag.

"Screw you guys! You can't protect me!" He ran for the broken doors leading to the parking lot. Dean and Sam ran after him, but the creature was in full gallop and passed by them. Dean emptied another clip impotently into its back.

The creature scooped Finley up just before he reached the doors. His screams were cut short when the creature bit his head off.

Sam and Dean chased out the door after it, but stopped short as car headlights caught them full in the face. Police lights came up on top of the two cars, and the brothers couldn't see anything, but they heard the car doors open, and guns being cocked.

Dean looked down at the weapons the two of them were holding, then at the body of Finley Grant laying between them and the police vehicles. He dropped his pistol, and Sam dropped the bag and the machete.

They laced their fingers behind their heads.