A Very Scary Halloween Story

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The moon hung low in the sky. Well of course there's a moon--this is a scary Halloween story. Every respectable Halloween story has a moon, and my offering will not disappoint. But do not expect to be comforted by the prosaic here, for this is a tale like no other. You had better keep the lights on, and perhaps a friend or two nearby.

As I was saying....the moon hung low in the sky. It was the darkest of nights. Despite a full moon that should have illuminated the way, the path forward was opaque. If the children had not been holding onto each others coats, they surely would have been lost.

There were three of them, each dressed in the most macabre costume their youthful imaginations and parents' meager wallets could manage. They had decided on a theme, which was intended to be a jab at their Sunday school teacher, an awkward, oddly disjointed youth, Ichabod Crane, who was new to the village. This taskmaster subjected the children to tedious memorizations, long tracts from the Book of Revelations, which he much favored over all other passages in the Good Book.

The children had devised a clever revenge this Halloween. Each of them dressed as one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Since they could only accommodate three of the Four Horseman, they decided Conquest was too benign and settled on Pestilence, Famine and Death. They managed to simulate these horrors to such good effect that their own parents were taken aback.

And so the three children, dressed as harbingers of the Apocalypse, made their way through the mud-like dark to the apse of the Church. There, the last stragglers from the village Halloween party would be making their goodbyes. Hopeful lads and lasses would pair off and exchange perhaps the kind of sentiments appropriate to such occasions. This the children depended on, because everyone knew Ichabod had set his cap for the Dutch farmer's daughter. The pair did not let them down, but walked hand in hand from the churchyard.

Sweet cider punch, a low-hung moon and solitary forest path would provide the Bible master with an opportunity to state his case with the young lass.

The children hurried. They wanted to catch the Sunday school teacher as he crossed the bridge that led back from the farmer's house. It was there that the headless horseman was said to lie in wait to snatch not only the heads of travelers, but also their souls.

The cover of dark served the children well as they hid below the ridge of the river bank. This was the River of Sorrows, named for all the souls who were said to have been stolen by the headless rider.

It was known throughout the village that the teacher was of a sensitive nature, easily moved by impression. Townsfolk remarked that he blanched when the cock crowed at the stroke of 12 during the Pumpkin Fest. The children hoped to play on that sensitivity with their provocative costumes.

Ichabod made his way on foot toward the Bridge of Sorrows. He proceeded at an unnaturally brisk pace, all the while muttering to himself. As he drew closer the children recognized the Psalm they'd been forced to memorize, "Guard my soul and deliver me". Over and over again Ichabod repeated the phrase. As he grew closer, his voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

When his foot touched the first wooden slat of the bridge, the children leapt from their hiding place and descended upon him. Horror was their reward. For the master did not cringe from their howling and screeching. He instead turned a cold and gruesome visage toward them.

In ink-black darkness of a low-moon Halloween night, light streamed from the Sunday school master's eyes. But these were not his eyes. And that figure held none of the comedic ungainliness of Ichabod. Instead a fiend grinned broadly and opened its wide cloak.

"Ah, my young ones, I have been schooling you for this night. Week after week I drilled into you those tedious verses that are vile to my ears. Patiently I waited as you, the cruelest of your lot, succumbed to your lowest inclinations. This is where it will end for you. I perform a service for the community, for humanity, as I take you from this earth. You will no longer trouble your parents, your siblings, your schoolmates. For now I possess you, body and soul, for all eternity."

A great void engulfed the children and they fell senseless under the weight of the thick cape and the terror of the night.

So it was their families found them the next morning. A search party had been assembled. The children lay at the foot of the bridge, their costumes in disarray, their faces alabaster as though all blood had been drained from them.

The river was dammed up after that and a lake formed at the top of the hill that overlooked the village. But the lake could not escape the legend of the river. Ever after, when children went to swim or fish in its waters, they would look for shadows and imagine they could see the three children struggling to be freed from Halloween Lake.

And did you think, dear reader, the children would rise the next day and return to their families? You were warned. There is no deus ex machina, no anodyne device to lessen the terror of the tale. For in a truly scary story, horror is the only harvest.

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I am submitting this story to @calluna's tellastorytome contest and also to @stevescoins Halloween 2018 Open Medium contest. It's a real bonus to be able to participate in both contests.

Requirements for the contests are a little different: @calluna wants to be scared by a story, either one inspired by a classic, or an original. @stevescoins wants a Halloween theme entry--or many entries--of any kind. Check the links to discover the rules for each contest. These are both fun! Don't waste time. Days still left to enter. Deadline for both contests is October 29th.

Also, check the links because you're bound to find many gruesome entries for your Halloween enjoyment.

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The inspiration for my Very Scary Story was Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. This classic tale from the nineteenth century has frightened generations of school children, and it did frighten me once. I borrowed the name of the protagonist and some chief elements. But certain aspects of the story are different here. Washington Irving allows for a more benign interpretation of the end than I do. Mine is a really scary story (I hope).

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The picture at the top of the page is a combination of two Pixabay drawings: A Ghoul and a Moon Scene