Continuing with the theme of sharing how my wacky imagination works. This story came about like a flash. Rebel Ink Press put out the call for shorts for an anthology they were doing on twisted tales due to come out in time for Halloween. I knew I wanted to participate and what's the classic halloween story if not the headless horseman? That was the launch point. A "What if?" followed by "What If?" and another "What IF?" and there you have it.
Rebel Ink Press has been gracious enough to publish this story under it's own cover. What a Brilliant cover it is!
Blurb:
The Galloping Ghoul rides each full moon,
exacting revenge by frightening those who tormented his past. By day, he is one
of the town people, Nathaniel Hawkins, an affluent entrepreneur. He identifies with Ike Sandhill, a government
surveyor, and wants to protect him from the same thugs who drove Nathaniel to
revenge. Ike goes to the extreme to prove to everyone how straight laced
he is. He pursues Misty VonMix with the intention of marriage. Nathaniel
doesn't know how to confess his desire without driving Ike away. He comes up
with a plan of seduction. Before the night is over Ike discovers things about
himself he always knew, yet denied.
(DRAFT)
Massachusetts, 1790
Somewhere
in the Bridgewater Triangle, old wives tell tales in hushed tones about strange
lights in the sky and the Galloping Ghoul of Hockomock Swamp. They say the
specter rides on the night of the full moon. They don’t know what drives him to
haunt unsuspecting travelers. Those who’ve crossed his path flee in fear for
their lives. If the victims know why he rides, they never say.
***
. . .
Nathaniel drew
closer in the deadly race. The gap closed but not fast enough and his heart
jolted when the tired animal stumbled.
“Socrates!” Ike
shouted the encouragement to his floundering steed.
Nathaniel struggled
to rescue Ike from himself. He didn’t have time to calculate a fancy plan. He
just needed one that would work. His options were
limited but inspiration with a dose of blind luck seldom failed him. He threw
back the cloak of his headless ghoul disguise, surprised the costume survived
the mad race. The muskmelon head he carried to aid his full moon revelry would
be forfeit. “Mother luck, do not fail me now.” Nathaniel lobbed the ball shaped
fruit at Ike’s ridiculous hat to save
the life of the man he’d benefactored, secretly lusted after and suspected he
loved.
He watched in
horror as the horse hit the mud. Simultaneously the horse stumbled into the
muck and the melon impacted Ike’s head sending the man tumbling ass over ears
into a thicket of bushes. Pulling on Augustus’ reins, Nathaniel jumped while
his horse slid to a stop. He leaped to the ground as the wretched Socrates
miraculously scrambled to safety on the opposite bank of bog.
Nathaniel collapsed
to his knees by Ike, unmindful of the sharp sting of sticks slicing thru his
britches. Prickly bramble bushes had cushioned the surveyor’s fall. Nathaniel’s
shaky hand quested for a pulse and calmed at the pounding rhythm of life under
his fingers. He untangled Ike from the vines, fighting to inflict minimal
damage from the biting briers.
. . .
Augustus stood
patiently while Nathaniel hoisted Ike’s lanky frame up into the saddle and
mounted behind to support his unconscious burden. The flight brought them to the
borders of Nathaniel’s estate.
“Time to go home,
Augustus.”
Nathaniel’s pulse
pounded at the proximity of Ike in the saddle, his head resting on Nathaniel’s
shoulder. How badly he wanted to brush the wayward lock of golden hair back
from the man’s brow. No more hiding. Before the night was over Nathaniel would
be sure Ike Sandhill knew his full intentions. He couldn’t go on in this limbo
half-life watching from afar. By dawn, they would both be changed men. He
prayed he could convince Ike to take what he had to offer, to take a chance, to
take something, anything from him.
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