Excerpt:
The animal stayed in the bushes, following along slowly and silently as it tracked its prey. He could smell it. Taste it. And it attracted him like nothing ever had before.
Do wolves think in the same way that humans do? Or do they rely only on instinct, hunting mindlessly?
Whether intellectual reasoning or animal instinct, the wolf knew it had to watch this woman. It wanted her. It needed her.
Ana breathed in the early autumn air as she headed away from the university and onto the darker streets of the neighboring suburb. It was an older neighborhood, built in the 1920s when the town of Rivelou had begun to spread from its central location on the river, south across the railroad tracks. This particular section of town had been built for the railroad workers: tiny shotgun houses lined up on even tinier lawns.
As Ana crossed Roosevelt Avenue, the streetlights ended, and the sidewalk was illuminated only by occasional porch or walk lights. She loved sauntering home from her evening classes this time of the year. The air, while it could not yet be called crisp, had lost its summer sultriness, a welcome change from the blistering heat of a Kentucky summer.
As she strolled down Harlan Street, farther from the more heavily trafficked avenue, the road became even darker. It was too soon for most of the leaves to have fallen; they were just beginning to turn red on this last week in September and were so thick on the trees that they hid the full moon. Part of the charm of the old neighborhood was the beautiful, large, old maples and oaks, but their roots also tore up the sidewalks. Ana tripped on one of those cracks. Papers, a lipstick, her wallet, and a few other necessary items spilled out of her purse, and she shook her head in disgust. How could she always trip in the same spot, night after night? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t memorized the uneven areas in the sidewalk after years of walking this way.
The young woman bent down to gather her various belongings and froze. Was that something growling? Somewhat spooked, Ana shoved everything back in her bag and hurried down the street. After a moment she slowed, listening carefully to the night noises around her.
Nothing unusual.
She shook her head. It must have been her imagination. She had slowed her pace and continued on when she heard the sound again. A low growl nearby. A dog? No one on this block had an animal big enough to make that sort of sound. That growl had definitely come from something larger than Mrs. Ahearn’s yappy little Pomeranian. She picked up her pace again.
Only a half block until she turned onto Sycamore, then another half block until she arrived at her own home.
The growl came again. She settled her purse more securely on her left shoulder, her computer bag on her right, and doubled her pace. There were no lights on any of the houses on this part of the block, and of course, the moon took that moment to hide behind a cloud. She took a deep breath and tried to walk at a steady pace. She wouldn’t run even though she could now hear the animal behind her as she rounded the corner. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her own porch light on as well as that of her neighbors, Joe and Linsdey. Only a few more steps to safety.
She was almost in front of her own door when she heard the rush of paws with nails clicking behind her on her sidewalk. With a howl, the animal knocked her down. Holding her computer case in front of her face, she yelled and pushed it at the animal’s huge, dark head. “Take a bite of that, you nasty beast!” It was all teeth and glowing eyes as it loomed over her, growling.
“What do you want?” she shouted. Though it had her on the ground, it didn’t make a move, just stood gazing at her. If she did move, it would strike. She had to do something. She drew a deep breath and prepared to scream when someone came running up behind her.
“Hey, you, get back! Get back!”
She turned her head and saw a man running toward her and the slobbering animal. The man grabbed a stick from the ground as he rushed forward, waving it at the animal.
“Back! Get back, you ugly beast!” he shouted again, striking the creature who turned, snarling at him. They stared intently at each other for a moment before the canine finally dodged the stick and lunged to take a bite out of the man.
The man got in a couple of good blows before the dog suddenly grabbed the stick, tugged at it, and knocked him to the ground. Fumbling in her purse, Ana took action just as the dog leaned back on its haunches preparing to strike. Just before he lunged on the fallen man, Ana found her can of mace and hit the dog in the face with the noxious spray. With a howl of pain, it ran into the darkness.
Several more porch lights suddenly popped on to light the night, and the street was filled with neighbors coming to check on the unusual commotion.
“Are you alright?” her rescuer, still gasping and out of breath, asked. “It didn’t bite you, did it?
Monday, November 4, 2024
The Hunter’s Moon by Lee K. Rogers
Wednesday, October 30, 2024
Deleted Scene - Magic Unleashed by Delta James
The air in the dimly lit back room of the Thorny Rose was thick with the scent of ale and the faint hint of incense. Griff, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity, leaned against the wooden wall, his tall, muscular frame relaxed but alert. He'd had a long day, dealing with the usual chaos of the New Orleans Police Department, and the weight of his responsibilities as a dragon-shifting cop seemed to rest heavily on his broad shoulders.Phoenix, ever the feisty fae, sauntered over to him, her ash-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and a mischievous glint in her green eyes. She could sense his fatigue and wanted to provide some much-needed relief. With a playful smile, she reached up and gently caressed his rugged jawline, her touch sending a shiver down his spine as she led him into a secluded nook within the Thorny Rose."You look like you could use a break, detective," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Let me take care of you."Griff's eyes narrowed, a mix of desire and suspicion flashing across his face. He was well aware of Phoenix's independent nature and her tendency to defy him, but at that moment, he couldn't deny the raw hunger that stirred within him. "I don't need anyone to take care of me, Phoenix," he rumbled, his deep voice laced with a hint of possessiveness. "But I won't say no to a little relaxation."Without waiting for further invitation, Phoenix dropped to her knees before him, her curvy figure accentuated by the tight leather corset she wore. She knew Griff's preference for curvy women, and she reveled in the way his eyes darkened with desire as he took in her hourglass shape. With nimble fingers, she unbuckled his belt, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were unwrapping a precious gift."You're so damn stubborn, Griff," she whispered, her breath hot against his hardening cock. "But I know how to make you let go."As her words washed over him, Griff's breath caught in his throat. He was a man used to being in control, both in his work and in the bedroom, but Phoenix had a way of breaking down his defenses. He allowed himself to lean back against the wall, surrendering to her skilled touch.
Phoenix's lips ghosted over the bulge in his jeans, her warm breath teasing his sensitive flesh. She unbuttoned his fly with practiced ease, her fingers deftly pushing down his jeans and boxer briefs, revealing his thick, erect shaft. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took in the sight of his impressive length, already glistening with pre-cum."Mmm, look at you," she murmured, her voice a sultry caress. "So big and hard for me."Griff's breath quickened as he watched her. He loved the way Phoenix worshipped his body, her every touch and word fueling his desire. As she wrapped her soft, warm hand around his length, he groaned, his head falling back against the wall."Suck me, Phoenix," he growled, his voice rough with need. "Show me how much you want it."She needed no further encouragement. Phoenix leaned forward, her full, pink lips parting to take him into her hot, wet mouth. She slid her mouth down his shaft, taking him deep, her tongue swirling and flicking against the sensitive underside. Her hands cupped his heavy balls, gently massaging them as she bobbed her head, her pace increasing with every moan that escaped his lips.Griff's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain his composure. The sensation of Phoenix's mouth on him was exquisite torture, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive him wild. He could feel his control slipping away, his body surrendering to the pleasure she so expertly administered."Fuck, Phoenix," he grunted, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."She hummed her approval, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through his entire body. Her fingers found the sensitive spot beneath his sac, and she applied just the right amount of pressure, causing Griff to buck against her. Her mouth moved faster, her lips sliding up and down his shaft, her hand pumping in time with her rhythmic sucking."I love the way you taste," she murmured between breaths. "So delicious, Griff."Her words, combined with the incredible sensations, pushed Griff closer to the edge. He could feel his orgasm building, a coiled spring of pleasure ready to snap. His hands found her hair, threading through the silky strands as he guided her pace, urging her to take him deeper."That's it, baby," he growled. "Take it all. Swallow me whole."Phoenix complied eagerly, her throat working as she deep-throated him, her eyes never leaving his. She reveled in the power she held over him in that moment, the way she could reduce this strong, dominant man to a quivering mass of desire. As she felt his cock twitch and swell in her mouth, she knew he was close.With a final, desperate thrust of his hips, Griff exploded into her mouth, his hot cum shooting down her throat. Phoenix swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him as he spilled his seed. She continued to suck and lick him through his climax, milking every last drop of pleasure from his spent cock. Griff was learning that with Phoenix, surrender could be just as sweet as control.
Excerpt:
With no warning whatsoever, Phoenix bolted after it—whatever it was. She might be some badass faery enforcer, but he wasn’t about to let her go alone. Griff flung a handful of bills at Finn and bolted out the door behind her.
The muggy night smacked him in the face like a slap as he emerged, keeping one eye on the retreating figure and the other on Phoenix. Whoever or whatever it was, was fast, but Phoenix was faster. She seemed to levitate just above the ground—even without her wings—as she closed the distance.
“Phoenix!” Griff called, but to no avail. Phoenix didn’t break stride, turn around, or even slow down. The figure ducked into an alley, and Phoenix followed, the darkness swallowing her up.
Griff raced to catch up with her, rounding the corner just in time to see the figure disappear through a door at the end of the alley. Griff saw Phoenix skid to a halt. He could feel the presence of magic in the alley. Many parts of the city felt as if magic had been mixed into the mortar that held the buildings together.
Griff caught up to her, breathing heavily as he glanced at the door. “Looks like we found our lead.”
Phoenix nodded, her grip tightening on her knives. “And it’s not going to wait for us.”
With one last glance at Griff, she pushed the door open, stepping into the unknown.
Griff Broussard wasn’t a stranger to darkness. It lingered at the edges of his life, always threatening to swallow him whole. But tonight, as he stood at the threshold of the old door, staring at the door Phoenix had just disappeared through, that familiar darkness felt different. It was alive, pulsating with magic and danger, pulling him into its depths like a predator sizing up its prey.
The metallic tang of the night air filled his lungs as he pushed through the door behind Phoenix, muscles tense and instincts flaring. His senses sharpened. Even in human form, his dragon nature simmered beneath his skin, the beast pacing impatiently, ready to be unleashed at the first hint of a threat. He couldn’t help it—not here, not now, not with the echoes of his father’s unsolved murder still whispering at the edges of his mind.
Phoenix was already a few steps ahead, her movements fluid and silent as she navigated the narrow hallway beyond the door. Griff’s gaze swept the space, noting every detail—the cracked tiles on the floor, the flickering overhead light, and the faint trace of something old, something ancient lingering in the air. Magic. He could smell it, thick and oppressive, curling around him like smoke.
“Phoenix, wait,” he hissed, his voice low but urgent.
She glanced back at him, her eyes sharp and alert, but there was a flicker of impatience in her expression. Phoenix always charged headfirst into danger, relying on her instincts and speed.
Griff had always been the opposite—calculated, methodical. He needed to understand what they were walking into before they stepped too deep. But there was no time for planning now. The person they’d been chasing—their only lead—was somewhere ahead, and they couldn’t afford to lose it.
Without another word, Phoenix continued forward, her hand brushing the wall as she moved. Griff followed, the tension between them thickening with each step. He knew she could handle herself—hell, she was probably better suited for this than he was—but that didn’t stop the protective instinct that flared in his chest whenever they were in a situation like this. He hated that about himself. Hated how being around her always made him feel more… vulnerable. More aware of the fact that she was a storm he could never quite tame.
Thursday, October 24, 2024
The Witch’s Debt by Edward Rollins - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular
Of
Women Wronged: Hillbilly Hauntings
The days grow shorter, the air turns crisp, and something
deep within us all knows that the world is changing. Halloween draws near and
with it a thinning of the Curtain this world from the next, allowing haints –
restless spirits – to slip closer by than they were on brighter days.
No part of the world is without tales of restless spirits;
stories of the sorrow, anger, or injustice endured by the living. In Japan they
tell of the onryō, wrathful spirits devoted to revenge against the living. In
Mexico, they talk of La Llorona, who wander the water’s edge, mourning the loss
of their children. Across Europe they speak of the White Lady, symbols of
betrayal and life cut short. When it comes to tales of lost love and betrayal,
my beloved West Virginia isn’t without a tale or two of its own.
We tell the tales of Zona Heaster Shue, Screaming Jenny,
the Weeping Woman of Sweet Springs, Kate Carpenter, and our own White Lady of
Flat Top Manor. Each a spirit bound by sorrow, betrayal, or unfinished
business. Let’s take a moment and remember each, but take care, it’s said that
people die twice, once when their heart beats its last, and again when someone
speaks their name for the final time.
In Greenbrier County they tell the tale of Zona Heaster
Shue who - in 1897 - was found dead under questionable circumstances. Her
husband, Erasmus, was quick to claim she had died peacefully. Zona’s mother
wasn’t having it. She claimed that Zona's ghost began to visit her in the dead
of night, accusing Erasmus of murdering her by snapping her neck. Confronted
with the charges, a local judge ordered Zona’s body exhumed, and the evidence
of Erasmus’ guilt was revealed. Erasmus was convicted of the crime, but Zona’s
spirit still didn’t rest. She is said to haunt Greenbrier County still, a
chilling reminder that justice isn’t bound by the grave.
In Jefferson County we find a different sort of tale.
There, when wind moans through the trees and the moon lights the ground just
so, it’s said that you can hear the pain filled screams of a woman long dead.
Screaming Jenny, a local woman who died in pain and terror. It was a cold night
in autumn when Jenny, poor and living in an abandoned railroad shack, tried to
warm herself by a fire. Somehow, her clothes were set ablaze and, in her panic,
she ran screaming and blind in search of relief. She ran right onto the
railroad tracks and into the path of an oncoming train. Locals maintain that
now and then the figure of Screaming Jenny - still engulfed in flames – can be
seen running through the night. Her ghostly shrieks a reminder of her final,
desperate moments.
From the tranquil beauty of Monroe County comes a tale of
another ghostly presence born of sorrow and despair. Known as the Weeping Woman
of Sweet Springs, it’s said that she was a bride abandoned at the altar or
perhaps a grieving mother who lost her child. Whatever the case, the young
woman fell beneath the weight of her broken heart, and cast herself into the
spring where she drowned. But she wouldn’t have a place on our list if that was
the end for her. It’s said that she still wanders, a ghostly figure draped in a
flowing white gown, her soft sobbing proof that some heartache is too deep to
fade, even in death.
From Mercer County and the grounds of an old plantation
known as Flat Top Manor comes the tale of the White Lady of Flat Top Manor, a
restless spirit whose tragic story is tangled in the past. Some say she was the
young bride of the manor’s original owner; others maintain that she was a
servant who died at her master’s hand. In either case, it is agreed by those
who believe, that her life was cut short by violence. Witnesses maintain that
the air goes frigid long before her shadowy figure - fleeting and ethereal – is
seen gliding through the manor's hallways or lingering at the edge of the
woods. The truth of it is left to you, but the accounts of witnesses and
investigators alike have gone a long way to make Flat Top Manor's reputation as
one of the most haunted locations in the State.
Silent and still, the Greenbrier River flows through
Summers County like an apparition itself. It’s a peaceful scene as beautiful as
any faery tale picture, but its waters gave birth to a tale of lost love and
lingering sorrow. Kate Carpenter was a young woman deeply in love with the
wrong man. Her family opposed her choice of suitor and refused her their
blessing. Unwilling to either set aside her love or go against her kin, Kate
threw herself into the river and drowned the dark, icy waters. But as is the
case in these tales, neither the depths of the river nor the touch of death
could quiet Kate’s restless spirit. She lingers near the place where she left
this world, a spectral form barely visible on misty mornings walking the
riverbanks. For Kate, death was better than the absence of the man she
loved.
This Halloween, when autumn leaves rustle in a cold wind,
remember the story of these women as you sip your pumpkin-spiced drink. Their
stories are the echoes of unimaginable loss and suffering, and they leave us to
wonder—what would we do if faced with such sorrow? Would we find peace, or
would our spirits, too, be bound to the places where our hearts were broken?
But let’s remember as well that these spirits weren’t content to shuffle off
the mortal coil the first time. Speaking their names again – breathing life
into their memory - might be enough to remind them what binds them to this
world.
Excerpt
"You all right, Buck?" He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of my weight than I intended.
"Yeah," I lied. "Bit of a headache." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I need to check on something. Be right in."
"Sure you're gonna be all right?" Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again.
“I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the pain I knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again.
The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottoman which could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it made finding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. There was no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn't ready to accept that it had. It was bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn't want to consider what it would mean if the thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel.
"Lose something?" Bonnie asked from the doorway.
Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain.
"Hello, Bonnie."
She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a pained smile on her lips. "That the best you have for me?"
There were people in this town I didn't care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn't one of them. She'd done nothing but love me.
I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, "Well if it isn't Bonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?"
"Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.
Wednesday, October 23, 2024
Ghosts of Sleepy Hollow by Sam Baltrusis - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular
SLEEPY
HOLLOW’S HEADLESS HORSEMAN
By Sam Baltrusis
For more than two centuries after
Washington Irving unleashed “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” the Headless
Horseman is still very much alive in pop culture.
Elizabeth Bradley, a historian and author of Knickerbocker: The Myth Behind New York, rattled off a few of the
various adaptations of the great American ghost story on the October 26, 2022
edition of WNYC News.
“It has such legs and you can see that in all of the different
interpretations,“ Bradley said during the radio interview. “There truly is a
version of ‘Sleepy Hollow’ for every generation.” It’s an impressive list that
includes Disney’s animated classic from 1949 and Tim Burton’s supernatural
horror flick starring Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci.
Of course, no one can eclipse the original which was initially published
with a collection of essays and stories for The
Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent in 1820.
“Irving's version of the Headless Horseman is set in the Hudson Valley
region, and it pits an outsider, a Yankee, named Ichabod Crane against a very
insular Dutch community,” Bradley said. “Throughout the course of the story,
Ichabod pursues a local Dutch heiress in an effort to integrate himself into
this community and is ultimately run out of town by the apparition of the
Headless Horseman.”
Bradley told WNYC that she believes the famed short-story writer created
the headless Hessian in an attempt to populate a young nation with its own
ghosts and mythologies. “You have to remember that Irving was born the year
after the American Revolution ended,” she said. “The war was in the rear-view
mirror of the people of Sleepy Hollow and a very new United States. It was an
opportunity to create a whole regional culture. He really seized the moment and
had a lot of fun with it."
How did “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” become associated with All
Hallows’ Eve? Bradley explained that the holiday wasn’t even on Irving’s radar
when he fleshed out America’s first monster. “He doesn't mention Halloween once
in the story,” she said. “[The Headless Horseman] is often associated with
having a pumpkin for a head,” she said, adding that the character’s
jack-o’-lantern prop was added in Disney’s The
Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad and, over the years, the haunting
imagery then seared itself into pop culture. “Most people only knew the Disney
version and that’s where the Halloween association really started to come into
play,” Bradley added.
J.W. Ocker, author of The New York
Grimpendium and creator of the OTIS:
Odd Things I’ve Seen blog, is on board with the idea that the Headless
Horseman has somehow become the unofficial ambassador of spooky season. “The
Headless Horseman is the spirit of fall,” Ocker told me during a sit-down
interview at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel. “Every monster wants to be associated
with autumn, but there’s something about him running through a forest with the
leaves changing colors that makes him the patron monster of Halloween. The
bigger Halloween gets, the bigger he gets. Everytime you feed Halloween, you
feed him.”
Ocker agreed with Bradley that the animated version from the Disney
movie has ingrained itself into the American psyche. “Our generation grew up
with the Disney cartoon,” he said. “You can’t think of the Headless Horseman
without thinking of the purple-cloaked, cackling creature from the animated
version. The imagery has almost become a part of the monster’s brand.”
The United States of Cryptids
author said he always thought the Headless Horseman had a jack-o’-lantern in
one hand and a battle sword in another, but was shocked to learn that Irving
didn’t include the macabre accessories in the short story. He was also
convinced that the Headless Horseman eventually caught up with Ichabod Crane on
a covered bridge. Not true.
“People who visit Sleepy Hollow always want to see the covered bridge,
but it doesn’t exist,” Ocker said. “If I could change one thing to the original
story, I would make it a covered bridge. It just seems fitting.”
Despite being tweaked a bit in the modern adaptations of Irving’s story,
Ocker said the Headless Horseman is still his all-time favorite galloping
ghoul. “Irving gave us the first real American monster,” he told me. “I’m not a
very patriotic guy, but as an American there’s something that speaks to me
about the horseman. It’s our monster. Frankenstein is from Germany and Dracula
is from Transylvania. Thanks to Irving, we have our own.”.
The secret to the short story’s success? Ocker believes the ambiguity of
Irving’s fearless phantom somehow amplifies its mystique. “All we know is he
was a Hessian soldier who lost his head during the American Revolution,” he
told me. “There’s not much of a backstory to him. He’s this vague creature that
pops up in the graveyard and runs around on his horse. He’s not jumping out of
your closet. He has no face, He’s in essence an invisible man and there’s
something unnerving about him as a monster.”
In Brian Haughton’s Lore of the
Ghost, he mentioned that Irving was living in Birmingham, England when he
wrote “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and surmised that the celebrated American
author “probably picked up on some of the elements he used in the story”
overseas. “The headless ghost motif was known in German folklore at least as
early as 1505 when it was recorded in a sermon written by Geiler von
Kaysersberg, who mentions headless spirits being part of the Wild Hunt,” he
noted.
While Haughton wrote that Irving was strongly influenced by the stories
told by Dutch immigrants during his childhood in New York, he suggested that
it’s also likely that the writer was inspired by the recurring headless ghost
motifs from northern European folklore. “The tradition of the headless ghost is
found worldwide in many diverse cultures, and exhibits broadly the same
characteristics connected with death and death warnings,” Haughton reported.
“Popular tradition attributes such hauntings to the wandering spirits of those
who died by beheading, either by execution or accident.”
Haughton is in agreement that Irving’s story continues to leave a
profound mark on popular culture. “Irving’s dark story of the headless Hessian
soldier who rides forth every night through the dark lanes of Sleepy Hollow,
and the dénouement of the tale involving a supernatural wild chase through the
woods, has had a significant effect on the nature of American hauntings,”
Haughton wrote in Lore of the Ghost. “The
influence of Irving’s tale on popular culture is evident.”
Alex
Matsuo, author of Women of the Paranormal,
told me that there may be an underlying reason why “The Legend of Sleepy
Hollow” continues to strike a chord with American readers. “We don't think
about it often, but there are countless legends that were created to dehumanize
a group,” Matsuo explained. “Instead of perceiving the Hessian as a real
person, granted a terrifying figure during the time of the Revolutionary War,
he turned it into this story that is meant to remind people that the Hessians
were not meant to be trusted, even after the war was over.”
Even though Matsuo sees a deeper meaning to what could be viewed as a cautionary tale, she said the Headless Horseman keeps luring her back to the Hudson Valley area, “Between the story of the Hessian soldier who lost his head around Halloween in 1776, and Ichabod Crane encountering him while trying to avoid him at all cost, there is a lesson to be learned there,” Matsuo said. “But I think the way that Disney commercialized ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,’ plus the Tim Burton film, there is a romanticization of the spell-bound region that has cemented it into Halloween traditions.
Excerpt:
Sleepy Hollow, New York is brimming with ghostly legends that have somehow taken on a life of their own.
Nestled on the banks of the Hudson River, the fabled region —which includes the adjoining Tarrytown— has become the go-to place during spooky season thanks to the popularity of Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."
Late-night lantern tours in search of a decapitated soldier's galloping ghost? Yes, please.
If one spends enough time walking through the labyrinthine paths of the village's historic cemeteries, however, there's something sinister oozing beneath Sleepy Hollow's rustic, story-book facade.
It's as if the entire hamlet is under some sort of enchantment. Or, as Irving penned in 1820, it oddly feels like the locals are somehow bewitched and "are subject to trances and visions."
The revered writer referred to the area as the "spell-bound region," and rightfully so. According to several first-hand accounts, creepy music and disembodied voices emerge out of thin air
Based on Irving's mythical take on his later-in-life hometown, it should be no surprise that the Headless Horseman isn't the Valley’s only fearsome phantom seeking postmortem revenge.
The entire region seems to be teeming with paranormal activity. Several publications sensationally claim that both Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown together make the "most haunted places in the world."
But, is it?
After digging beneath the surface, it's difficult to pinpoint what's actually paranormal activity versus a made-up ghost story that has been collectively conjured over a 200-year period.
Alex Matsuo, a Maryland-based author and paranormal investigator who has written about the area’s alleged paranormal activity in her Spooky Stuff blog, believes that the line between fact and fiction is somehow blurred in Sleepy Hollow.
“After Washington Irving's infamous tale plunged the area into fame, I would hypothesize that perhaps some of the paranormal activity could be attributed to thought-forms,” Matsuo told me. “There's also the case of self-fulfilling prophecies that people can accomplish without realizing it.”
Matsuo cited the replica of the bridge in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery as a potential hotspot for ghostly encounters that are freakishly fueled by the expectations of thrill-seeking visitors.
“Just by knowing the tale and the true story behind it, they would already get a case of the creeps,” she explained. “Then, with tensions rising, they hear a branch break or footsteps, and they get really spooked. They go home and tell their friends and family about the creepy experience, unknowing that there was an animal nearby causing the ruckus.”
Also, there are what paranormal researchers call thought-forms or an outward manifestation of the heightened emotions of those who visit Sleepy Hollow during spooky season. Matsuo believes that based on this concept, extreme fear can somehow take a physical form within the spirit world.
“When you have a massive amount of people invested in a story, even a fictional story based on real people, that energy has to go somewhere,” she said. “In the case of Sleepy Hollow, it may have manifested into paranormal occurrences. I would guess that most of that energy is more organized, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of that energy was displaced, which could explain some of the random paranormal events that have happened over the years.”
Black In White by JC Andrijeski - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular
Excerpt:
I tilted my head, still smiling, but letting my puzzlement show.
“Why are you talking to me at all?” I asked finally.
“Why shouldn’t I talk to you?” he said. “I’ve already told you that you’re the first person to walk in here that I thought might be worth my attempting to communicate.”
“Because I’m female?” I said.
“Because you seem to be less of a fool than the rest of them,” he corrected me at once.
“But you said Nick had a mind?”
“I said he had a mind of sorts. Not the same thing at all. Although, given the nature of his intellect, he has undoubtedly chosen the right profession for himself.”
I smiled again. “I’m sure that will be quite a relief for him.”
I heard laughter in the earpiece that time, right before Nick spoke up.
“See if he’ll tell you his name,” he said to me.
“Certainly, if you really want to know,” the suspect said, before I could voice the question aloud.
“My name is Black. Quentin Black. Middle initial, R.”
I stared at him, still recovering from the fact that he’d seemingly heard Nick give me an instruction through the earpiece.
Clearly, he wanted me to know he’d heard it, too.
“You heard that?” I said to him.
“Good ear, yes?” he said. Smiling, he gave me a more cryptic, yet borderline predatory look.
“Less good with you, however. Significantly less good.”
He paused, studying my face with eyes full of meaning.
I almost got the sense he was waiting for me to reply—or maybe just to react.
When I didn’t, he leaned back in the chair, making another of those graceful, flowing gestures with his hand.
“I find that… fascinating, doc. Quite intriguing. Perhaps that is crossing a boundary with you again, however? To mention that?”
I paused on his words, then decided to dismiss them.
“Is that a real name?” I said. “Quentin Black. That doesn’t sound real. It sounds fake.”
“Real is all subjective, is it not?”
“So it’s not real, then?”
“Depends on what you mean.”
“Is it your legal name?”
“Again, depends on what you mean.”
“I mean, could you look it up in a database and actually get a hit somewhere?”
“How would I know that?” he said, making an innocent gesture with his hands, again within the limits of the metal cuffs.
Realizing I wasn’t going to get any more from him on that line of questioning, I changed direction. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?” I said.
“Rayne.”
“Quentin Rayne Black?” I repeated back to him, still not hiding my disbelief.
“Would you believe me if I said my parents had a sense of whimsy?” he asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Would you believe that I do, then?”
I snorted a laugh, in spite of myself. I heard it echoed through the earpiece, although I heard a few curses coming from that direction, too.
I shook my head at the suspect himself, but less in a “no” that time.
“Yes,” I conceded finally. “So it is a made-up name, then?”
The man calling himself Quentin Black only returned my smile. His eyes once again looked shrewd, less thoughtful and more openly calculating.
Even so, his weird comment about “listening” came back to me.
Truthfully, he was looking at me as if he were listening very hard.
The thought made me slightly nervous.