Headless

  “Of course,” Amir nods.

  Harold's head lowers in disappointment. He nods, getting up from the desk and strolls past his friend. Amir waits for him to get to the bedroom door, before he starts laughing. Harold turns back to him, going from sad to angry.

  “What's so funny?”

  “Do you think I'd go and not invite you?” Amir inquires.

  “But you said --”

  “I know what I said. We're going to her dorm about five, so get ready to go, okay?”

  Harold runs to Amir, hugging him tightly.

  “Yeah! Can't wait! Thanks, buddy,” Harold shouts. “Wait, are there going to be other women going?”

  “I assume so, yeah.”

  “Yeah!” Harold cheers, hugging his friend again.

  “Take a shower!” Amir yells after him.

  “I just took one Wednesday!” Harold screams back.

  “It's Saturday!” Amir shakes his head.

  Amir walks to his computer and sits down opening his laptop back up. The woman in the porn on his computer screams out in ecstasy, the volume turned all the way up, and he closes the computer, shaking his head. He gets up and walks away.

  CHAPTER VI

  The rusty old baby blue pickup truck rolled to a stop at the entrance of the bridge to the old Sleepy Hollow town. It was something left over from the 1950's that was probably better suited for a scrap yard than the road, at this point. Ray's car still sat there from the night before, as the truck's transmission ratcheted over to park.

  Old man Mr. Jenkins pushed the truck door open, exhaling mightily as he did so. Scoliosis had set in, in his old age, and a man that well may have stood six feet tall at one point, was hunched several inches shorter, as he dropped himself out of the driver's side of the vehicle. A straw hat, faded and torn blue overalls, and a grizzled beard defined a man who was beyond the age of giving a single fuck about much, anymore.

  His jaw ground away with the same motion of a cow chewing on cud, before he spat a long brown mouth full of chewing tobacco out, onto the muddy dirt. He lifted the hat from his scalp, scratching his balding head, as he stared at the compact car in front of him. He walked to the edge of the bridge, staring past it at the pathway to the town on the other side.

  “Well, what the hell is this mess?” Jenkins grumbled, turning back to the car.

  He noted the jack-o-lanterns sitting to either side of the bridge, whose candles had since burned out from the night before. He walked to Ray's car, making his way around it. He noted that the door was unlocked, and looked around making sure he was alone, before popping the driver's side door open. He leaned inside, and began rummaging through the center console. He finds forty dollars hidden there, and pockets it, before moving on to the rest of the vehicle. He finds a few adult magazines slid down between the driver's seat, and the middle console and takes them out, perusing through them.

  “Whores shave everything but their heads and their eyebrows these days,” he mumbles as he continues to turn the pages. “Nope, there's one with a shaved head, too.”

  In the glove box, he finds a bowl, and a small bag of weed. He takes it out, and looks at it, opening the baggy to take a waft of it, before grumbling and throwing it back in the car seat, storming off towards his truck. He reaches in his own vehicle and pulls out the microphone for his CB radio, clearing his throat.

  “Sheriff Williams? Sheriff Williams, you there?”

  There's a moment of pause, after he let's go of the button. “This is Officer Hadley, who's this?”

  “Earl Jenkins out by the Sleepy Hollow bridge. There's a vehicle parked out here, unlocked, with drug things lying about. I think there may be some kids out here smoking the pot,” the old man responded, with a sense of pompous air about him.

  “We'll send someone out to investigate shortly, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “That's mighty fine of you. Just don't take forever this time son, like y'all did when them kids were harassing my dogs!”

  “Wouldn't dream of it, sir.”

  The old man threw the radio microphone back in his truck, and closed the door. He pulls a beaten up flask from his pocket, taking a swig of the whiskey inside, before he looks from the car to the bridge, and back again.

  “Damn kids in my woods bringing their sin, and sodomy and shit. I won’t have it!” The old timer growled out.

  He reached into the bed of his truck, and lifted out a double-barrel shotgun. He begins limping his way across the old bridge, clenching the gun tight to his chest, as he avoids hole, after hole. He stops staring down a particularly large one, into the water below.

  Jenkins notices something as he's about to start walking, and squats down, touching the splintered edge of the hole. He pulls his hand away to find drying blood. He rubs his fingers together, checking the consistency, before sniffing the liquid. The scent of iron is familiar to him and he looks further down in the hole, but finds nothing.

  “What the hell happened here?”

  He grunts, using the gun to help himself to his feet, and walks over to the side of the bridge, looking out into the water below. He examines the waters downstream, but after a couple moments of searching, he finds nothing of interest. The old man pulls the flask from his pocket and takes another drink, before continuing on across the bridge.

  “Damn kids. Damn out of towners. Damn still being alive,” Jenkins grumbles.

  The octogenarian limps along the dirt path, keeping an eye on the skyline of the old town, as it nears slowly. He stops to peruse a spot in the mud and dirt where something large had slid. Paige's body had since disappeared from the spot. He slings the shotgun over his shoulder, and continues on.

  Another twenty minutes pass, before his slow pace brings him in sight of the town square. The cooler from the night before still sat there, and the cool embers of the fire only a few feet from that. Jenkins came to the bonfire area and looked it over, noting that the ashes had been drug away from the fire spot, as if something had been pulled from it. He walks to the spot, staring at the ash, as it led off further into the town, but there was nothing there.

  “Hello! Anyone here?” he yelled out.

  Silence.

  “Hello!”

  A few birds chirped back at him as he yelled again. But still there was no response from anything human. After a couple minutes of waiting to see if anyone showed up, the old man shrugged again and turned back towards the bridge. He stopped at the cooler, opening it and finding an impressive array of alcoholic beverages.

  “Damn imported beers,” Jenkins grumbled, digging through the cooler.

  He finally finds an American brand, and pulls it from the rest, twisting the cap off with his calloused hands, before chugging it down. He coughs, clears his throat and checks the bottle to make sure it's empty before slinging it over his shoulder. Jenkins cracks the cooler open again, taking another bottle, and starts heading back for the bridge.

  The headless horseman watches him from the doorway of one of the nearby buildings, standing perfectly still. As the old man disappears around the bend, the Horseman makes its way towards the tree line, and strolls into the woods. It knows the land far better than anyone could possibly hope too.

  Jenkins is about half way back on the winding road when a loud snap fills the air from the tree line. He drops the bottle of beer, instinctually, and with impressive speed for someone his age, the shotgun is off his shoulder and he turns to the sound, standing still, and listening.

  “Is someone there?”

  He waits. Another branch cracks. The gunshot echoes through the open space as he pulls the trigger. The raccoon that startled him splatters all over the trees and brush, blood and entrails covering the foliage. Jenkins breathes heavily, as he stares at his handy work, realizing he overreacted.

  “Damn rodents, scaring the shit out of me.”

  He breathes heavily, resting the gun under an arm, as he pulls the flask from his pocket, taking another long drink. The first neigh echoes over the grounds, and
it draws his attention down the path. As he makes eye contact with the jet black stallion, he stares in surprise. He clears his throat, and begins making his way towards the horse, and ultimately, his way out.

  As he nears the horse, it snorts at him, and he notices it's crimson eyes. Jenkins reaches up, patting it on the neck and finds that the animal is freezing cold. He pulls away, staring at his hand a moment before continuing on, walking backwards. The animal's presence confuses him.

  “Did you get loose from your owner, buddy?” The old man speaks softly at the animal.

  It rears its head back, snorting at the man. Jenkins limps around the animal, as it plods its feet into the dirt. Jenkins pats it on the hind-quarters.

  “Good boy. Want to come with me?”

  The horse neighs, and trots a few steps away. Jenkins shrugs, and continues on his way towards the bridge. After about thirty feet, the headless horseman steps from the trees, climbing on the horse behind the old man. It does a turn, before the horseman aims the horse in the old man's direction and flicks its reigns, causing it to speed towards Jenkins.

  The Horseman lowers his axe, the blade beginning to glow red.

  As the animal nears, the old man turns and instinctively falls out of the way, as the animal speeds past. He doesn't even have time to notice the horseman swing its axe at his head, as it rides by. The old man groans, lying there in the dirt. He spits a mouthful out, slowly turning over on his back. He fights to pull the gun out from under himself, as the horseman turns his steed on the old man, hovering over him.

  “Who the Sam Hill are you?” the old man inquired.

  Then he noted a very particular, and strange thing. The lack of the Horseman's head. As the Horseman raised his axe, the old man finally managed to get his shotgun up, and let the second shot ring out. It echoed across the area, as the force pushed the old man back against the ground. The power of the gunshot sent the Horseman reeling back off the steed, and landing with a massive thud on the earth below.

  “Damn practical jokesters!” Jenkins screams, staring at the body laying behind the horse.

  Jenkins breathed heavily, using the gun as a crutch, as he rose to his feet, watching the Horseman's body lie there motionless. The old man began digging in his shirt pocket for a couple more shotgun shells, changing out the ammunition as the Horseman began to rise to its feet. The entity reached over, grabbing its axe from the mud, and rose, towering over the old man. Its horse let out a deafening whinny as the old man cocked his shotgun again.

  “I don't know what you're supposed to be, but this ain't funny. This here land is cursed, and you ought not be playing games on people!” Jenkins yelled out, as he fought with the gun.

  He looked up in time to see the Horseman close the gap between them in two long strides, and as it did so, it's body turned, swinging the axe across Jenkins' neck. The old man's head spun through the air, landing about twenty feet away. Blood, and chewing tobacco splattered from his skull, as it spun through the air. And his body clenched up and he lowered the shotgun, squeezing the trigger and shooting off a good portion of his own foot.

  Old man Jenkins stares at the bridge as the life fades from his eyes. He was closer to escaping than he will ever know.

  The Horseman towered there, staring at the body as it shook violently, before buckling at the knees, and tipping over. The horseman grabbed the old man's body by the belt buckle and lifted it with incredible ease. It flung the body deep into the woods, then strolled over to the head, lifting it up. It stared at the expression on old man Jenkins' face as the muscles still convulsed, trying to speak. The look of sheer horror and fear apparent.

  Its horse clopped over to the entity, stopping at its side, and it turned to the steed, placing the head in a bag on its saddle, before lifting itself on to the animal, and riding back off towards the town. Leaving not a single trace of its existence out for anyone else who may come along.

  CHAPTER VII

  Dougie loads a cooler, and several bags into the back of the van. He stands just over six feet tall, broad shoulders and a slight gut, but the majority of his physique is muscle. He's closer to strong man than fat slob. The same can't be said for his best friend Caleb, who sits in the side door of the van, lighting a cigarette. Short, broad, and fat, he rocks frosted tips, a couple ear piercings and a leather coat over expensive clothes.

  “You know you could lend a hand mother fucker?” Dougie leans around the back of the van, looking at his friend, who is preoccupied with his phone.

  “Looks like you got it all under control.”

  “Could you at least look up from the screen when you say that, bro?” Dougie scoffs, going back to loading things up. “So what's the deal? Any fine bitches going?”

  Caleb shrugs, continuing to scroll through the information on his phone. He wasn't absent-minded by any means, but simply had a knack for zoning people out when he didn't feel like talking. Dougie knew this about his friend, so after a moment of no response, he went back to his work without further inquiry.

  “Jackie and her roommate, Kat. Sam and her girlfriend, Tina. Danny, us and I think Jackie said Kat is bringing someone along. I think that's it.”

  “So a burn out, a prude and lesbians? I don't like these odds, man. I don't like them one bit.”

  “There will be plenty of girls at the party. Chill.”

  Dougie closes the back of the van, and starts to walk around the back of it, when another bag is outstretched to him. He looks up to find their pal Danny grinning back at him. He's an attractive young man, wearing a local rock band's t-shirt, and cut up jeans. The linebacker stares down at him, and shakes his head, as Danny's grin widens. He smacks his lips loudly, obnoxiously, as he chews on a piece of gum.

  “You forgot one, bro!” Danny points out, shaking the bag at arm's length.

  “I ain't your bro; I'm not your homie, and I'm sure as shit not your house nigga. Put your bag in the back.”

  Danny frowned and shook the bag one last time. Dougie brought a large hand up and slapped the bag, sending it tumbling to the ground.

  “Bro, that's Gucci!”

  “You can't buy Gucci at the 99 cent store,” Dougie points out, laughing. He turns his attention to Caleb. “So when are we heading out?”

  “They should be getting here any minute.” Caleb notes, getting to his feet. He walks back to Danny, who has opened the back door of the van, and tossed his bag inside. Caleb and Danny give each other a quick hug. “What up, man?”

  “Shit. Just got off work a bit ago. Boss is still riding my ass.”

  “Not his fault you suck at your job.” Caleb chides, grinning. His eyes still on his phone.

  “Nah, I think the dude wants to fuck me. I heard he's a regular at the Rainbow Room, and he likes playing hard to get.” Danny shakes his head.

  “Well, you were wanting that promotion weren't you? Wouldn't be the first one to suck dick for cash.” Caleb flicks a cigarette butt away, looking between his two friends.

  Caleb and Dougie laugh. Danny holds up a middle finger, shaking his head. He's not incredibly amused.

  “You know what? I don't need this shit, I got plenty of other parties I can go to, where people respect me!” Danny crosses his arms over his chest.

  “They don't respect you, they let you in because you give 'em a good deal on weed, mother fucker.” Dougie notes as he opens the driver's side door, sitting on the seat facing out of it.

  “Eat me,” Danny retorts. Dougie is off his feet lightning quick. He towers over Danny, looking down at him. Danny cranes his neck, looking up at the all-star. He pokes him in the chest, clearing his throat, “Just as long as you're sorry. We're all good.”

  Dougie grins and walks back to his seat, sitting down. Caleb laughs, shaking his head.

  “Look man, did you bring the stuff we need, or what?”

  Danny nods, not taking his eyes off Dougie. He reaches into the van, grabbing his bag and sits it on the seat. Caleb takes a look around, before stepping close
r. Danny unzips the bag, revealing a plethora of illegal substances. Marijuana, cocaine, Vicodin and mushrooms are the first things Caleb takes note of. He points to various small bottles, and baggies.

  “Ecstasy; morphine; K2; Ambien,” Danny rattles off.

  “You're a fucking pharmacy, aren’t you?” Dougie leans over the back of the driver's seat, looking down at the bag.

  “My customers have eclectic tastes,” Danny looks at the driver, grinning widely.

  “And this?” Caleb lifts a pistol out of the bag. Danny grabs it quickly, and sticks it back with the narcotics.

  “That is what I like to call the last resort. And it's not exactly legal, so...” Danny clears his throat, looking around. The nearest people are at least fifty feet away, but he still watches them like a hawk.

  “Yeah, because if a cop opens this bag, the gun is what you've really got to worry about.” Caleb scoffs, walking away.

  “Man, I'm getting tired of waiting, where are these fucks?” Dougie grumbles.

  “They'll be here. Dan, give him something for his nerves, he needs it.”

  Danny pulls a pill bottle out of the bag, holding it up to Dougie.

  “Get that shit out of here, I gotta drive,” Dougie notes, slapping the pills away.

  Amir knocks at the girls' dorm room door. He clears his throat and adjusts his shirt, and pants quickly looking down to make sure his clothes weren't wrinkled or out of place.

  “How's my hair?” He asks, looking at Harold, who is disheveled as always, an extra-large baggy sweater, and dingy sweats.

  “Except for that bald spot, you're all good,” Harold says pointing to the top of Amir's head.

  Amir quickly reaches for his hair, and when he finds that Harold was just playing with him, he quickly punches his friend in the arm. “Dick.”

  “Ow. That hurt, man.”

  The door opens, and they look in at Katerina, who smiles back at them. Past her Jackie and their friends Sam and Tina stand, bags on their shoulders. Jackie has a bandana on with fluffy cat ears attached to it, and whiskers lazily drawn on her face. She wears a matching black bikini top, and tight jeans. Sam is fairly butch, with short hair, baggy clothes, and hardly any makeup.