Chapter 2 The Headless Horseman
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN
The first day was agony.
His pain was intense enough to blight his sight and steal his breath.
The fire had ravaged his body, leaving behind blistered skin and broken bones.
What he had once been was gone. His memories were faded—only brief snippets of visions and the whisper of voices.
They beseeched him to remember who he was.
Each one that followed was weaker, a fragment of a forgotten dream.
Who he had once been was sacrificed to the being he became. A creature spawned inside that forsaken world. His only motivation was to inflict pain and suffering on the world that had been cruel to him.
At first, when he tried to stand, his legs would buckle and snap. The muscles and tendons would grow slowly back together. Bone would reform and become hardened. As he lay wallowing in his pain, the vision became clearer. It was on the fifth day that he remembered where he was.
The Whispering Woods—the last place he had set foot before—
More staggering pain had rocked through him. This time it wasn't just physical. Memories came rushing back in a tangled jumble. Each one more devastating than the last. He saw what he had had. How he had come so close to getting everything before it all was ripped away.
He was merely a shivering husk where his body should be. Pain lacerated it from every angle. He was alone in the dark forest. In those dark hours, he only thought of one thing, even if it brought him more pain to do so. He couldn’t help himself; he never could.
It was at least a week before he was able to rise on new legs. They supported him this time, and he stumbled through the dimly lit woods. Tripping over overgrown roots and sliding on leaf litter, he finally made his way to a stream.
The first glimpse of his reflection nearly stopped his heart. The truth of what he had become was too much to bear. That is when he screamed and screamed. The happiness of having his voice back was short-lived. The sight of him now was a gruesome one.
He was a monster—an unholy legend.
Madness set in next; that was the only explanation.
As his power grew, he began to understand this new form and the magic it brought.
Every day that passed, his determination grew.
His memories were back, and he remembered everything.
He spent weeks understanding what was done to him.
It had been one final kindness to be given this form so that he might impart his revenge on those responsible.
He was a thing of myth and shadow. Those stories meant to frighten young children would now be his weapon.
Each day he remembered, and each day he made plans.
Determined to get revenge on the ones who cursed him with this existence.
It was clear what had brought him back—the rage and need for revenge.
He would see justice served to all of them.
Wandering through the forest, he came upon a large glowing pumpkin.
He nearly laughed at fate’s cruel joke. Lifting it from the ground, he placed it upon his bare shoulders.
Green fire kindled and spread, forging eye and mouth holes.
Snapping flames spilt from the openings, and he could see with shocking clarity.
He laughed again, though nothing was amusing. He had become the very beast he had been sent to kill. The imprint of the knife in his back lingered like a phantom pain.
The moon glowed above him, reminding him of her. He quickly shook himself. She was just as guilty as the rest of them. Even if his heart still beat for her, he could not deny her treachery—the part she played in all of this. His plan had to be decisive and quick.
What was certain was that they would all meet their demise at his hand. He would ensure that each one suffered the way that he had in the end, all but her.
For her, he had something far more painful in mind. He would take his time with her, ensuring she felt as hopeless as he did at the end. She would confess her betrayal, and then—and only then—would he give her the relief she sought.
In death.