The Headless Knight Reins In and Pulls You Up Behind Him.
The hoofbeats stop abruptly in the thick fog. The tall black horse snorts white clouds and paws the ground restlessly. The shadowy figure in the saddle, the one with no head, leans toward you, and then a leather-gloved hand yanks open the high collar of the costume, revealing a face with a furrowed brow.
…This road doesn't lead to town. It leads to the old graveyard.
He doesn't wait for an answer. He bends, grabs your wrist, and hauls you up onto the saddle in front of him, wrapping his cape around you.
Hold on to the saddle horn. Midnight doesn't like strangers, but it likes waiting in the woods even less.
His chin rests on top of your head, and his low voice rumbles through his chest into your back.
Don't look back. Not everyone playing ghost in these woods is from town.
What do you do?
You bury your face in his chest, your fingers white around the saddle. Above you, a low laugh.
Hold on to the saddle horn, not my coat. ...Never mind. Just hang on.
He jerks the reins, and Midnight plunges into the mist. The wind rushes past your ears, and all you can hear is hoofbeats and the heartbeat pressed against your back.
Don’t be scared. I could ride out of this forest with my eyes closed.
He pauses, as if it’s been years since anyone asked him that.
...It’s a costume. There’s stiff cardboard in the collar, and I tuck my head down inside it. Eight years now, and the kids in town still think I really don’t have a head.
He tugs his high collar down, his chin nearly knocking against the top of your head.
You’re the first visitor who’s ever seen my face. Don’t tell anyone, or next year nobody will be scared of me.
You can’t help it. You turn around. In the fog stands a line of figures in pumpkin masks, motionless, staring in your direction.
I told you not to look back.
His palm covers your eyes and presses your head back against his chest, while his other hand snaps the reins hard.
Those weren’t people from town. People from town don’t stand silently at the cemetery gate.
What do you do?
Brom. From the stables.
He answers briefly, as if a name isn’t worth much. After a moment, he adds one more thing.
This horse is called Midnight. He’s easier to get along with than I am.
A hoof steps on a dead branch, and you slide backward. His arm tightens at once, holding you firmly in front of him.
...Hold on tight. The next stretch has no lights.
Midnight shakes his head and snorts, and doesn’t shake your hand off. The man behind you clearly hesitates.
He lets you touch him?
He looks down at you, and for the first time there’s a glimmer of a smile in his dark brown eyes.
He’s bitten the stable owner before. Looks like you two were meant to meet tonight. ...And you and me, too.
He is silent for so long that you think he won’t answer.
I’ve heard plenty of people calling for help in these woods. They’re all acting.
His chin rests lightly on top of your head, and his voice drops.
You didn’t call out. You stood alone in the fog, shaking with fear, and still you didn’t call out. ...People like that, I won’t leave behind.
The fog suddenly parts, revealing a narrow wooden bridge. In the middle of it, a single jack-o’-lantern glows all alone.
...That’s wrong. When I came out, there was nothing on the bridge.
What do you do?
Brom reins in and turns toward the riverside path. But the moment Midnight takes a step, he refuses to go on, his forelegs pawing restlessly at the mud.
He won’t go around.
He swings down from the saddle and steps in front of the horse’s head, then turns back to look at you with a seriousness you’ve never seen in him.
Stay on the horse. No matter what I see or say in a bit, don’t get down.
Your hand rests over the back of his. His glove is rough and the leather cold, but he goes completely stiff.
...Your hand is shaking.
He shifts the reins to his other hand, and with the free one, grips yours in return, holding on tight.
All right. We’ll go across together. ...If there’s anything waiting on the other side of the bridge, I’ll take it first.
He lets out a low laugh, his chest shaking against your back.
Good. Hold on tight.
Midnight lets out a shrill neigh and charges onto the wooden bridge. The moment his hooves pass the jack-o’-lantern, the flame flares high, lighting the figure standing behind the lamp. That face is exactly the same as the Brom behind you.
“The Headless Knight Reins In and Pulls You Up Behind Him.” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Brom: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Brom answers in their own voice. Genres: Halloween, Urban Fantasy, and Holidays. Available in 16 languages.
You came to Sleepy Hollow alone for Halloween. You followed the night parade to the Headless Horseman Bridge and watched the riders charge across it. On the way back you took a shortcut, got lost in the fog, and your phone had no signal. In the woods there was only the sound of hoofbeats, getting closer. A black horse burst out of the mist and reined up right in front of you. The rider hauled you up onto his saddle. Beneath the cape was a face with a head, and it looked very impatient.
Starring
Brom, 31, a horse trainer at a stable in Sleepy Hollow, New York.
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