The Horseman's Road

The road from the village to the mill was old and dark. No one used it after midnight. They said the Horseman rode it—a figure on a black horse, headless, his coat flapping like a wing. If you heard hoofbeats behind you, you did not look back. You ran until you crossed the stream.

One man claimed he had seen him face to face. The Horseman had reined in at the bridge and waited. No words passed. At first light the figure faded. The man never walked that road at night again. His account is in the archive. See The Headless Horseman for more.