Headless

 Never mess with Miz Flora's girls

“So, will you come with me to visit Miz Flora on Halloween?” Janet grinned at her boyfriend, who rolled his eyes.

“Is that the height of horror in this town? Roll up and see the creepy old lady? I can think of better things to do.”

Janet laughed. “If you want to fit in around here, you need to know the local legends. Miz Flora not only knows all of them, she is one, herself. Everyone hits Miz Flora’s house last on Halloween, to hear her tell the story of the Headless Ghost of Foxfire Creek.”

“Does this involve a big black horse and a flaming pumpkin?”

Janet shook her head slowly, her eyes promising mischief. “She’ll be our first stop, so you can hear the story from someone whose family has passed it down from first-hand accounts.”

“How true is it likely to be, then?” Bill laughed, but Janet’s expression didn’t change.

“Every folk tale has a grain of truth at the core,” Janet told him. “That’s what Miz Flora says. You’ll see.”

Bill took her into his arms. “I’ve got a job waiting for me with a good firm in Houston. We’ll get a nice little house off the loop.” He patted Janet’s belly. “The mother of my son isn’t going to live above a hick town ballet studio, teaching a bunch of no talents.”

Janet’s expression changed, though Bill never saw it. There were many things about Janet that Bill never saw because he was always looking at visions of his own success. He found them preferable to the sight of Janet’s hometown and wondered how the hell he’d let her talk him into spending Halloween in the middle of nowhere.

At ten o’clock that night, Janet led him up the steps of a small, neat, frame house surrounded by small, neat flower beds. The gingerbread-trimmed porch was lined with artfully carved Jack-o’-lanterns and a row of costumed children seated at the feet of an old woman.

The creak of her rocking chair played counterpoint to the creak of the oak branches in the night wind. “Y’all wanna hear ‘bout the Headless Ghost?” the old woman asked.

“Yes, please, Miz Flora,” the children sang in unison.

Bill and Janet sat down on the porch steps. A handful of parents lingered about the lawn, pretending not to listen. Miz Flora leaned forward in her rocker.

“Y’all know why nobody swims in Foxfire Creek?”

“The Headless Ghost!” The children sang.

“That’s right,” Miz Flora cackled. “That ol’ ghost don’t want no one messin’ round the Foxfire, not down by the old trestle, ‘cause that’s where he lost his head. Went sneakin’ through the pines to see his gal, took the shortcut ‘cross the trestle, got himself caught by the midnight express. Not no diesel train, no. Big steam engine, whistle screamin’ like a banshee as it come up on the trestle, big ol’ headlight, like the full moon fallin’ out of the sky, right on top of him. Pistons pumpin’, drivin’ rods pushing those big steel wheels so fast they’re a blur. Some said it was the drivin’ rods tore him up, stroke by stroke, till there was nothin’ left but his head, wedged between the spokes of a drivin’ wheel. Crew found it there at the next water stop, but no one ever found the body. Some say his head got tore off clean, and the body fell right back into Foxfire Creek. Say it happened so fast, he didn’t even know he’d lost his head. Which is why if you look down into the water on a full moon night, you can see what’s left of that ol’ trestle, and you can see him, still swimmin’ round down there, lookin’ for his head. You go swimmin’ there, that Headless Ghost, he’ll grab your head!”

The children scrambled back, shrieking with delighted fear, as the old woman rocked forward with clawed fingers reaching for their heads.

 Miz Flora stood up, and the children gathered up their bags, lining up for their treats. Within minutes, the street was empty as the little goblins faded into the night. Porch lights went out, and Bill suppressed a shudder as darkness and silence closed in around them.

“You kids want a nightcap before you go for your walk?” Flora ushered them through her front door, and on into her kitchen. “Wanna try a nip of the family ‘shine, Bill?”

“Now, Miz Flora,” Janet half warned, half teased. “You know I’m gonna take him down along Foxfire Creek. That ‘shine of yours sneaks up on a fella. He’ll set off feelin’ fine and be stumblin’ drunk just in time for something dreadful to happen, just like that Headless Ghost.”

“Dandelion wine, then,” Miz Flora replied, guiding them into her kitchen. She poured three small glasses of golden liquid and joined them at the table.

Bill took a sip of the dandelion wine. It went down surprisingly smooth. He found himself staring at the Halloween centerpiece, a skull with flowers protruding from the eye sockets and a black rose between its grinning teeth.  He gulped down the rest of his wine. “So, this Headless Ghost, who was he? Or is he just a story?”

Continue reading the story in the anthology:

https://books2read.com/u/mq5qNO