Autumn had arrived in the coastal town of Jacquie Lawder. Trees were now decorated by leaves of red, orange, gold and brown. "Nature's fireworks," was Bertie the Spaniel's description of it. The air was also becoming much colder and the nights longer, but nobody minded it much. In fact, they were rather excited and looking forward to it. There was, of course, a good reason that everybody was looking forward to autumn.
Halloween. Before I go any further, I guess some backstory is in order. Nowadays, Halloween isn't really celebrated that much, except perhaps in the United States of America, but Ranjana was the country that looked forward to the holiday more than any other in the world. Like other countries Ranjana had no end of mysterious stories and folklore tales about strange appearances and disappearances, strange goings on, bumps in the night and so forth.
And long, dark, misty evenings, particularly those in the late autumn and deep winter, have a way of conjuring up old stories and legends long thought forgotten. "...and every year on the date of the accident he runs again, plunging straight into the gap, his whistle shrieking like a banshee from the west." "Chris, what on earth are you talking about?" "The Wreck of Forty of course."
"Poppycock and rubbish! You've been listening to the "Skull and Bones Season" program on the radio too much!" "So, you have too!" At the engine sheds, three of the main animal group of Jacquie Lawder listened to this exchange with boredom. Chudleigh the chocolate Labrador Springer Spaniel Cross, Jack the Labrador Jack Russell Cross and Bertie the Spaniel had come to hear Chris, the Caledonian Railway 439 Class telling the story of Forty, one of the most famous ghost stories in Ranjana.
He had been a non-faceless South Eastern & Chatham Railway C Class 0-6-0 who had worked on the Heroes End Railway as one of its first engines and had been chosen to take a Midnight Express, the first of its kind on the line, to the junction station of Corvantown. It had been a dreary night with heavy rain coming down. As he had puffed along he wasn't to know that the bridge beyond the station of Tarkington was out, the frames in the centre had given way due to neglected maintenance.
His driver had frantically slammed on the brakes, but he had been going too fast to stop. Forty and his train came off the rails and fell into the gorge below. He, nor any of the passengers on the train, were ever found again. It was said that when the fog rolled in the ghost of the unfortunate prowled his line as a warning to others. Unfortunately for him, his work colleague and friend John, a Metropolitan Railway G Class, had just come back from his morning commuter and was criticising the story he had overheard whilst backing down in the three-row shed they and their third friend, Stephen the LSWR Adams Tank, shared together.
"I have told you before that while I am interested by the supernatural, but do not consider myself superstitious," the red tank engine replied. "So, you say," Chris grumbled mulishly. "Are you two done?" Bertie asked, his jaws opening wide in a yawn, clearly seeing the possible argument that was going to take place. The two engines fell silent. "Thank you," said Chudleigh. "Now remember, you two are going to be triple heading the Fright Flyer this evening with Stephen, and he's not going to stand no nonsense."
Both Chris and John looked at each other nervously. Stephen was a good-natured engine and a friendly chap, but he had been known to break out into fits of great anger from time to time when roused to such a point. One time the pair had played a prank on him which had nearly had them run off the rails in revenge. Despite that incident, however, the three engines got along well and the idea of triple heading a special train was certainly exciting.
The Fright Flyer was a special Halloween train that consisted of a set of four London North Eastern Railway teak coaches that were painted black specially for the occasion. Jack-O-Lanterns were placed inside along with fake cobwebs, shadow stickers of mansions, lone dead trees standing over iron bars and gravestones. Glow sticks, red, orange, green and yellow were also placed around the interior of the carriages to provide extra lighting.
It would run from the town, stopping at other stations along the way before finally heading to the junction at Wurkrun Mile where it connected to the mainline and back again in time for the Halloween party at Cayston Square. Taking the silence as their cue, the three dogs headed out of the yard and back into the town. "Considering how often those two argue it's a wonder Stephen doesn't become a monster himself," said Jack as they padded along.
"I know what you mean," agreed Chudleigh. "But then again they're like us, so it's to be expected." "Hear, hear," chipped in Bertie. "So, are we going to the Badger tonight?" Jack asked his friends as they came out onto Moorplain Avenue and made a right-hand turn towards Crobberton Road that would take them to Cayston Square. "Of course, we are," Chudleigh replied. "We always do and always will."
The Burrowing Badger was the most popular public house in Jacquie Lawder and used for many things. It served as both a pub and an inn as well as a brewery. It was also the home of another friend of the group, an Irish Wolfhound named Murphy. He belonged to the publican, innkeeper, or whichever term you prefer, a Mr Bonerman Barkerbur, and it was under his management that the Badger was run.
True he had a habit of forgetting things that were important. "One thing after another drove it out of my mind," was what he would say when someone asked him about it. Still, he was a good fellow and dependable despite this flaw. He was a good friend to all who came through the front door of his inn and helped them the best he could. Murphy was also friendly and sometimes walked into town when he had some free time to pick up on the latest gossip.
As such, he sometimes met Jack, Chudleigh, Bertie or one of their other friends and they would share stories about what went on around Jacquie Lawder. The group went there whenever they were close or when the weather was cold and wet. A room in the south eastern part of the inn, that had once been a parlor next to the bar, and the eating benches and tables, had been converted into a snug of sorts.
A well sized fireplace was built into the opposite wall from the door with three wide flat steps cut into the stone of the floor. This was covered with furs and blankets making it the perfect place for eating, talking, or just sitting and thinking. It had been specially made for the animal group and their friends as a place for them to rest and enjoy each other's company. Situated at the end of Breebar Street, the inn was a white building with the timbers like a black skeleton.
A large forecourt with parking spaces was at the front with a low stone wall bordering it on three sides, with a five barred gate at the back one forming the only way into the fields beyond as far as jumping over it. The brewery was situated in a large yard at the side of the building with a large shed at the opposite end of the open area allowing for vehicles to turn around in. It belonged and was inhabited by another set of the group's friends who you will hear about in another story.
When the three did arrive, they found the rest of their friends waiting for them outside the front door. They (just to inform you) were: Fluff the black and white kitten, Chudleigh's lady friend Molly the Labrador, Robby the Robin, Algy the Bulldog, Cloud the Greyhound-Irish Wolfhound Cross, and finally Cole the Border Collie. The last of them lived with Ben Thicket, a shepherd who lived on a farm just outside of the town and had a yearly room reserved for him at the Queen's Camp Hotel in the town.
This allowed Cole to spend as much time in Jacquie Lawder as he wanted for he only had a few duties to do on the farm. Around the same age as Chudleigh, he was one of the more senior animals in the town and their circle of friends as a whole. He was also a prime herding dog - especially if you were to ask the sheep who lived on the farm he called home. "How do everyone," called the chocolate lab cheerfully as they came up on the doorstep of the inn.
"Just fine Chudleigh," Algy replied. "You lot ready for Halloween then?" asked Cloud looking round at them all, his wagging with excitement. "Of course, we are old chap," Bertie replied as the others got up. "Well then, what say we adjourn to yonder hostelry and see what the good Barkerbur can do by way of fodder," suggested Fluff, her blue eyes sparkling with delight. Robby laughed. "You've been listening to The Wind in the Willows again haven't you," he tweeted mirthfully.
The rest of the group laughed before Chudleigh, being the strongest one out of the group, pushed the front door open and they padded, or in Robby's case, flew inside. They heard their claws clicking as they walked the short tiled floor space in the porch before the hollow thump, thump as their paws made contact with wooden plank, carpet covered floor of the bar. A few people were here and there on some of the tables and benches.
Some were enjoying a glass of beer while others were tucking into the food that they had ordered. Barkerbur himself, a short man with a somewhat red face, running slightly fat at the stomach, but arguably well built, in a white apron, was cleaning some pint glasses behind the counter when he saw them. "You can go on in," he said, nodding towards the bare doorway at the far end of the two large rooms. "It's quiet now though, heh, I've no doubt it'll be roaring later," he added with a chuckle.
"Thanks, Barkerbur," Murphy called to his owner as they filed into the snug. A fire had already been lit and the furs and blankets were warm and inviting. An array of food from chew bones to cakes with Halloween decorations to slices of meat, and seeds for Robby, were laid out along with bowls of water for them to drink from. Nobody could stop themselves from licking their lips at the sight.
"Right," said Chudleigh, eyeing up the food and drink like everyone else. "Let's tuck in and then afterwards we can get down to the business of stories and songs." The others didn't need to be told. They were all ready to chow down on the food. "And do try not to eat too much too quickly," said Molly, ever looking out for everybody else. "Nobody does well with hiccups." And to that they all silently agreed.
Sometime later after they had all eaten their fill Chudleigh got and sat down with his back to the fire, which was slowly subsiding, so he could see and speak to everybody at once. "Now then," he said, getting everyone's attention. "I think you all know what it is time for. So..." He cleared his throat before he started to sing in a low voice:
When hinges creak in doorless chambers
And strange and frightening sounds
Echo through the halls
Whenever candlelight's flicker
Where the air is deathly still
That is the time when ghosts are present
Practicing their ghoulish delight
As the moon climbs high o'er the dead oak tree
Spooks arrive for the midnight spree
Creepy creeps with eerie eyes
Start to shriek and harmonize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
When you hear the knell of a requiem bell
Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
Restless bones etherealize
Rise as spooks of every size
When the crypt doors creak
And the tombstones quake
Spooks come out for a swinging wake
Happy haunts materialize and begin to vocalize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
Now don't close your eyes and don't try to hide
Or a silly spook may sit by your side
Shrouded in a daft disguise
They pretend to terrorize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
As the moon climbs high o'er the dead oak tree
Spooks arrive for the midnight spree
Creepy creeps with eerie eyes
Start to shriek and harmonize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
When you hear the knell of a requiem bell
Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
Restless bones etherealize
Rise as spooks of every size
When the crypt doors creak
And the tombstones quake
Spooks come out for a swinging wake
Happy haunts materialize and begin to vocalize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
Now don't close your eyes and don't try to hide
Or a silly spook may sit by your side
Shrouded in a daft disguise
They pretend to terrorize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
As the moon climbs high o'er the dead oak tree
Spooks arrive for the midnight spree
Creepy creeps with eerie eyes
Start to shriek and harmonize
Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize
When you hear the knell of a requiem bell
Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
Restless bones etherealize
Rise as spooks of every size
If you would like to join our jamboree
There's a simple rule that's compulsory
Mortals pay a token fee
Rest in peace, the haunting's free
So hurry back, we would like your company
As soon as the last echo died away the group erupted into a mini chorus of howls, yowls, and chirps. "And now," said Jack, who like everyone else was feeling flushed with success. "On to storytelling." The air seemed to grow heavy when this was said. There were all kinds of stories about supernatural happenings from all over the country. Some happened as far back as medieval times while some could be traced to quite recent events. But for the group there was one story in particular that was their favourite.
"Any volunteers?" Jack asked, even though he himself was itching to tell the story he had chosen in mind. "I've got one," said Robby, his tail feathers twitching with excitement. "Very well then," said Bertie. "Off you go then." Nodding the Spaniel in thanks Robby cleared his throat and began his tale. "They say that on dark, cold nights in autumn, like it is going to be tonight, that you can hear the wailing of a woman's voice far away in the distance... so the next time you're out late at night, be on your guard or you might be next-"
"Boring!" Jack interrupted dryly. "You call that a scary story Robby? I've got a scary story that's way scarier than any of yours." Just then they heard the hollow thumping of paws and a flutter of wings. Looking towards the door they saw a jet-black tom cat with green eyes enter the room. Fluttering close behind, and slightly above him, was a male Bullfinch. His distinctive black crown, rosy-orange breast and cheeks, and blue-grey back were easily noticeable as he landed next to Robby.
These were Alexander and Topper. The former was like Chudleigh, he belonged to anybody and everybody in the town. The latter was a friend of Robby's and often hung around the town, mostly in soft fruit or cherry trees as they were his favourite food. He sometimes took part in the group's adventures when the time came, but other than that he was quite well to do.
"Sorry if we interrupted," said Alexander, making himself comfortable next to Fluff as he saw himself as an older brother figure to her. Jack simply grinned wolfishly. "Not at all Alexander, in fact, you two are just in time to hear the tale of..." Here he trailed off for dramatic effect. "The Headless Horseman!" he finished this sentence in a voice that sent shivers down everyone's spines. Robby and Algy both gulped loudly. "Jack, you know that's not the sort of story to tell!" scolded Molly.
"Especially since it's Halloween tonight, darn it!" added Algy nervously. "Well, it's not my fault you two get scared easily," the other replied. "Who is the Headless Horseman?" Topper asked, his head cocked on one side in curiosity. "He's from Irving Washington's short story "The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow," replied Cole in answer. The Collie didn't consider himself superstitious, but he was intrigued by the field.
"It's said that he's the supposed ghost of a Hessian trooper who was killed during the Battle of White Plains in 1776. He was decapitated by an American cannonball, and the shattered remains of his head were left on the battlefield while his comrades hastily carried his body away," he explained. The Collie then looked at Jack with narrowed eyes. "And I'd like to know why you should think of that story now?" Cole added, questioningly.
"Simple," the Cross replied. "We've got our own Headless Horseman legend, right here in Ranjana." Of course, everybody voiced their questions at once, getting nowhere at all. This lasted for five or six minutes before Murphy finally barked loudly for silence. "Let him speak for goodness' sake!" he said firmly, and everyone fell silent. "Thank you, Murphy," said Jack. "Now as I was saying, we do have our own Headless Horseman, though the story is quite different."
Pausing once again for a slightly less dramatic effect he glanced round at them all. "The story goes that during the Battle of Alhan, the very port where the Heroes End Railway has its main base of operations nowadays, in 1873, during the Civil War, as you all know, a group of the Republicans were stationed at a powder store when it was suddenly hit by a cannonball.
'By some strange, and as you will probably agree, quite contrary coincidence, a cavalry trooper there at the time was flung from his horse and had his head blown off by the blast. Despite a lengthy search for it after the battle by Monarchist troops, it was never found again. And since his headless body was buried in the churchyard not far from the port itself, his headless ghost rises from beyond the grave every Halloween and rides out on his phantom steed in search of his missing head.
'Like his literary counterpart for more than 100 years this Headless Horseman has ridden into infamy. Now some say he might finally rest in peace after all these years. But he cannot rest until he has a head on his shoulders." Jack's voice deepened and his gaze swept round the company. "And it might be yours." Several audible gulps were heard when this was said. Robby and Topper drew closer together looking around nervously, their eyes were like small black buttons.
The Labrador Terrier Cross chuckled at his own wit. "Also, it's a good thing you asked about the Headless Horseman, Alexander," he said. "Why?" the tomcat replied, feeling he wouldn't particularly like the answer. "Well then, you're in for a treat," Jack replied. "A scary treat!" "Ohhhhhh, here we go," said Fluff, rolling her eyes in contempt as the small dog started off in song, springing to and fro in front of the others:
Just gather round and I'll elucidate,
On what goes on outside when it gets late.
Along about midnight, the ghosts, and banshees.
Get together for their nightly jamboree.
There's things with horns and saucer eyes,
Some with fangs about this size!
Some are fat! And some are thin!
And some don't even wear their skin!
Oh, I'm telling you, brother, it's a frightful sight,
To see what goes on Halloween night!
When the spooks have a midnight jamboree,
They break it up with fiendish glee.
Ghosts are bad, but the one that's cursed,
Is the Headless Horseman, he's the worst,
That's right, he's a fright on Halloween night!
When he goes a-joggin' 'cross the land, holdin' his noggin in his hand,
Demons take one look and groan, and hit the road for parts unknown.
Beware, take care, he rides alone!
And there's no spook like a spook who's spurned,
They don't like him, and he's really burned.
He swears to the longest day he's dead,
He'll show them that he can get a head.
They say he's tired of his flamin' top.
He's got a yen to make a swap,
So he rides one night each year,
To find a head in the hollow here.
Now he likes them little, he likes them big,
Part in the middle, or a wig,
Black or white or even red,
The Headless Horseman needs a head.
With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop,
He's out lookin' for a top to chop,
So, don't stop to figure out a plan,
You can't reason with a headless man!
Now if you doubt this tale is so, I met that spook just a year ago.
Now I didn't stop for a second look, but made for the bridge that spans the brook.
For once you cross that bridge, my friends.
The ghost is through, his power ends.
So, when you're riding home tonight,
Make for the bridge with all your might.
He'll be down in the hollow there.
He needs your head.
Look out!
Beware!
With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop,
He's out looking for a head to swap.
So, don't try to figure out a plan!
You can't reason with a headless man!
To say there were plenty of jumps during the performance would be an understatement, the first being when Jack, who had barely finished singing the first verse when suddenly went nose to nose with Bertie causing the Spaniel to nearly fall over with surprise. The third was immediately followed by a sudden frightened yelp that caught everyone's attention and they all looked round to see Molly looking very sheepish.
Taking it in stride, Jack had taken up a central position in front of his friends and dove straight into the song whilst bounding about in front of them. As it progressed the others began to get into the swing of things, Molly and Fluff appeared on either side of Alexander and Topper making them both jump. Moving into the final verse the Terrier Cross stopped his prancing while his eyes moved from one end of the group to the other in a sinister fashion.
In a chorus everyone held the last line before finally finishing with Jack giving a dramatic flourish. Once again a round of calls sounded out in a manner of applause. They were all excited by the song and had thoroughly enjoyed it. "Alright, everyone," said Chudleigh when the noise had died down and they could hear him. "I think it's time we were going," he said. "It's getting late and besides, Barkerbur is going to have enough on his plate later without us going on in here."
They all agreed and made ready to leave, finishing off what was left of the food and drink while Murphy took the pan full of sand and used it to damp down the fire, having learned to so from watching his owner do it. As they filed out of the room, across the main area and towards the main door the bell of the telephone behind the counter rang. Barkerbur moved to answer it. Cole, who was at the rear of the little party, heard him talking to someone and moved closer to see what was up.
The innkeeper put the phone down and shook his head sadly. "What's wrong?" the Collie asked as he stopped in front of the counter. Murphy's owner looked down at him. "Well," he said, "I'm so sorry to upset this holiday. That was Doctor Ibbetson who just called. Your owner's sister has just been taken ill in Kaledon." "Oh my, that sounds serious," said Cloud, as he came up alongside Cole, he had come back to see why his friend hadn't followed the group out.
"I know," Barkerbur replied. "She'll be alright though, but a letter that's been sent to Ben does need to get through from the office at Trorkchester." He produced a note from his pocket and held it over to show the address on it to the two dogs. Cole let out a contrite filled tut-tut. "Well, there's no way that's going to come here. Besides, Trorkchester's a good ten to twelve miles away, and it will be difficult going in the dark."
They were in thought for several minutes when, suddenly, Cloud spoke up. "The Fright Flyer stops at Trorkchester. We can take it there, pick up the letter and take to Mr Thicket at the party, it'll be on by then." Cole smiled. "Cloud you're a genius." He turned back to the man in front of them. "That possible, Barkerbur?" he asked. Barkerbur nodded in approval. "Indeed, it will be," he replied, reaching behind him, and dialing a number on the telephone. He glanced back at them.
"You two get on. I'll phone ahead and let them know you're coming." "Right!" Cole answered. "Let's go, Cloud!" he cried, turning around and after pushing open the front door and holding it. His Greyhound-Irish Wolfhound friend needed little persuading as he too broke away from the counter and came after him. In a few minutes, the pair were out of the door, charged across the open forecourt of the pub, and then down and through the various streets in the direction of the railway station.
They covered the distance between the two buildings in just over eight minutes, more impressive considering Cloud was the more athletic of the pair. As they reached it and practically flew up onto the platform they were just in time to meet Stephen pushing the coaches of the Fright Flyer into the platform so that they were ready for the special. He spotted them as they came onto the platform and stopped beside the main station building.
"Hello you two," he said. "If you're here for the special then you've come a bit early for It," he added chuckling. Cole and Cloud looked at each other before back at the steam engine. "Actually, Stephen we're here because my owner's sister has fallen ill in the capital, and we have to deliver a note that's been sent to Trorkchester." "Oh, I see," the Adams Tank replied gravely. "Well, if you'll both wait a little while, you can board the train when things are ready."
It was around twenty minutes past seven, or just over, before Stephen, Chris and John were ready and the passengers who had gathered on the platform boarded the train, but to the two dogs it seemed like an eternity before things finally settled down. Finally, everything was ready. The pair climbed aboard the lead coach as the three tank engines backed down onto the train, John in front, Chris in the middle, and Stephen closest to the train, and were coupled up.
There was an extra wait while their crews made sure that everything was ready before the guard blew his whistle, which the trio answered with their own, waved his green flag and, with steam wreathing about them, pulled the train out of the station.