“ Fear is your salvation, my friends. Do not shy from it. Do not run from it. If you do, it will control your path. It is only by grasping it and absorbing it that we can truly understand it, that we can revel in it and turn its power into our own. Fear is not the enemy. Fear will set you free.”
— Letter from Robert Crowley, Oct. 31, 1873
Tuesday, Oct. 31
All Hallow’s Eve
Quinn pulled onto the road feeling the butterflies in his stomach. He eased the car back from his not-very-fast speed of 15 miles an hour. It was tough even to go that fast without feeling like the car was shaking all around him. Easy does it, he thought. Easy does it.
Some part of him still wanted to run. No matter how angry he was, no matter that he wanted to face this thing once and for all, it was hard to put himself in a position where two bad things were liable to happen, maybe at the same time. Even if ol’ Headless didn’t show up, Kate and Quinn had made sure someone else would.
My God, we are desperate, he thought. There must have been another choice or some other way. But they couldn’t think of any. The Horseman would be here. To defeat Lord Halloween, Quinn must destroy the Horseman. And Quinn could think of no more worse spot than here, heading into a trap of his own making.
And what did Quinn have to protect him? Nothing. Not a gun, which he had no idea how to use and would probably end up in the hands of his assailant anyway. Not a knife or a sword. Nothing.
He had come empty-handed, unless he counted Janus’ lighter, which he still carried in his pocket. It was the only thing he had of Janus. And if he was going to do this, he needed all the support that he could get. He hoped it would be his good luck charm.
Not that he was entirely alone. Kate was waiting a couple of miles away. When he needed her, she would be there. He just wondered if it would be in time.
(I’ll be in time) she thought.
(I know.)
The road got bumpier and Quinn knew he was only a mile from the bridge. Not that he believed it would keep him safe, as it had in the dream. Quite the contrary, given whom he thought would be waiting for him. But it was one of the few landmarks he knew on the road.
A large popping noise came and Quinn felt the car shift violently to the left. He pressed the gas to keep it steady, but knew immediately one of the tires had blown.
He brought the car to a stop and got out.
Outside the car, he saw the problem immediately. The two front tires were both blown. He leaned closer to the road and saw why. Nails had been laid across the road.
Quinn shivered.
(Well, we knew he would do something.) Kate thought.
(Yeah, but I thought I would at least get to the bridge.)
(Don’t let it throw you.) she thought.
(Easy for you to say. Or think, rather.)
So Quinn’s car was out of it. And this meant the trap had been sprung. Lord Halloween was here.
Quinn looked up the road and then behind him nervously. The scene was too familiar. The moonlight shone brightly through the treetops, which waved slightly in the breeze.
How many times have I dreamt this scene? But this time it’s real. He took some comfort in the fact that this was the last time he would have to make this trip. One way or another.
He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked down the road. He was only about a mile away, he thought. He moved slowly, however. As much as he wanted to run, he was afraid of doing so. Whatever was planned for him at the other end of this little trip, he did not want to run in blindly.
And then he started to hear it. The sound was far away now, but in the distance he could hear a horse at full gallop. Quinn knew it would be here soon. He started jogging, but did not push himself too fast. It would not be good to run out of energy already.
He looked behind him, as he had hundreds of times before in his dreams, and saw nothing. Nothing but the forest on all sides.
Looking ahead, he hurried. Maybe the Horseman would find him too soon. Or finish him off. And Lord Halloween would find nothing out here.
Quinn picked up the pace and saw the field on his right. He had stood there only a week before, looking at a tree carved with the word Sanheim.
The sound of the horse was louder now. Quinn chanced a look behind him. Did he see it already? That figure at the end of the road, riding with his cape unfurled behind him?
(You will have to face him.) Kate thought.
(I know.)But he kept running instead. Now that the moment was on top of him, he did not want to face this thing. He was not ready.
Quinn reached the curve in the road, ran around it and could see the bridge ahead.
In that moment, the question of who might be waiting for him under the bridge was gone. Instead, the dream reasserted itself-he needed to get to the bridge.
Quinn hoped he would make it in time. He looked at his watch. It was almost 10 o’clock. Quinn heard the hooves louder now and then heard something else-the sound of menacing laughter.
He turned to look, actually stopping dead in his tracks. And there in the distance he came, tearing around the bend in full fury. A headless figure astride a horse, with a blade swinging at his side.
(How could I ever think this was a good idea?)
(You have to face him, Quinn. You have to face him before you get to that bridge. You can’t go in there. It’s not safe.)
But he could feel her fear as well as she saw the thing bearing down on him. The Headless Horseman crossed the distance between them as if it was nothing.
(Move, Quinn, now!) she called.
Quinn’s only thought was for the bridge. But he knew he would not reach it.
Instead, he panicked and darted into the trees on the side of the road. Quinn ran through the forest, with tree limbs tearing at him. Everything seemed horribly familiar.
The Horseman did not stop. He followed at full speed, and the noise sounded as if the trees themselves were being thrown aside to make way for the headless Hessian.
(What do I do?) he yelled out in his mind.
But now he heard nothing, nothing but the terrible sounds behind him. Quinn suddenly felt very alone.
He ran deeper into the woods, afraid to look behind him. He went to the left, hoping the Horseman would not see the change fast enough to cut him off. But he seemed to predict Quinn’s moves. The crashing sounds were near deafening.
Quinn turned to the right again, back the way he had come earlier. He had to reach the bridge. Some part of him knew he would not be safe there either. He had to find a way to face this thing before he got there. But he couldn’t think clearly anymore. Around him, he heard what sounded like trees being ripped from their roots.
Quinn’s hands were now scratched and bleeding. He saw ahead of him a break in the trees and knew that the bridge would not be far beyond it.
The Horseman was almost on top of him. Quinn looked behind only to see the horse’s hooves about to crush him. He dropped and rolled to the right, and the Horseman shot by.
As the Horseman sliced his way through the forest and came about, Quinn threw himself to the left again and heard the sword slice near his head as the Horseman came by.
Quinn darted forward and zigzagged through the trees. He had to get out of there.
And suddenly he was out. He stumbled up the hillside. The bridge was 20 feet away.
Quinn ran and waited to hear the sounds of the Horseman behind him. But now he heard nothing.
Quinn didn’t stop to look back. He did not know what had happened and he didn’t care. He almost jumped to the bridge.
I’m going to make it, he thought. I’m finally going to make it.
He stole a look behind him, but nothing appeared to give chase. Instead Quinn stepped into the enfolding darkness of the bridge and could have dropped to his knees in thanks.
As he crossed the threshold, though, he saw another figure move in the shadows right toward him. It happened so fast, Quinn could not block anything, and suddenly someone grabbed him by the shoulders.
Quinn tried to break free of the grasp, but the figure held him steady. For a second, Quinn was worried it was the Horseman. That somehow he had gotten into the bridge and had been waiting for him.
“Calm down, Quinn,” a voice said as he struggled. “I don’t know what you have been running from. But you look like hell. Relax.”
Quinn suddenly focused on the face before him. At first, a sense of relief washed over him. A friend was here, he thought. Someone who could help him face what was out there in the darkness waiting.
And then all the memories of the past few weeks flooded back to him like a punch in the stomach. Quinn had not escaped anything. He had traded one monster for another.
The figure in front of him was Kyle Thompson.
“Hello, Quinn,” Kyle said and smiled benevolently, still holding his arms. “So nice to see you here.”
Quinn shook himself loose and practically fell over. By reflex, he looked again to the road behind him, but there was nothing there.
Quinn started, momentarily at a loss. They had known, of course. They had figured out who Lord Halloween was. But that was theory, this was reality.
“Quinn-honestly you’ve looked better. You look, and please don’t take offense at this, like shit.”
Kyle looked different than when he had last seen him. There was a large mark just below his left eye. It looked like a burn, one that wasn’t healing well.
“I’ve been wanting to congratulate you on your new relationship with sweet Trina. I had been expecting her too, you know.”
“You’re a sick fuck, Kyle,” Quinn said.
“You know what’s sick, Quinn?” he said. “You are the second person to learn my identity and not go to the cops. Is there something in the fucking water around here that makes people act so stupidly?”
“Buzz,” Quinn said. He tried to send a mental image to Kate, but there was nothing. Whatever was blocking them from communicating was still doing so.
Quinn could barely see Kyle. The moonlight crept just to the edge of the bridge, but they stood toward the middle, where the light appeared to be swallowed whole.
“Yes, Buzz,” Kyle said. “Dear old paranoid Buzz. He came to warn you two, did you know that? He came to the hotel once he figured out that Kate was really Trina.”
Quinn thought of the security video and nodded. He had seen Buzz’s jacket, then. It was one piece of the puzzle that hadn’t worked with the theory, but now it fell into place.
“So one day I find Buzz skulking around my house, even sitting in my chair,” Kyle said. “For the life of me, even now, I can’t think of why he didn’t confide in someone. He could have told the police, or you, or Laurence, or somebody. I don’t get it, I really don’t. When I saw him in that chair, I thought the game was up. Seriously, he should have at least passed a note, or left something in his will, right?”
“He was paranoid,” Quinn said. “Just like you said.”
“Yeah, he had that whole thing with the police,” Kyle said as if reminiscing good-naturedly about an old colleague. “I thought that was pretty funny, actually. I have to say-Buzz was not on my target list at all. I never liked him, but he was respectful of me. Not of Kyle Thompson, I mean, but Lord Halloween. He was always talking me up. Talking about how I would come back, about how the police would never catch me. I thought he was a pretty good PR man myself. It is a real shame he had to die.”
“What happened?”
“Well, Buzz pulls out this gun and starts like he is the psychopath. I thought I could bluff my way out at first, but he didn’t go for it. No, he knew he had the right guy.”
“How?”
Quinn waited for Kyle to make a sudden move, maybe pull a knife, but he seemed enraptured by his own story.
“Who knows?” Kyle said. “I went to his house and there was a file on me that was unbelievable. He had detected movement patterns, sketches, a whole bunch of stuff. It was a pretty accurate record. I mean, I didn’t stop killing in those 12 years, did I? And Buzz somehow could see my work all over the place. Out in West Virginia. On the Appalachian Trail. Most of the time he got it right. But I still don’t know how he landed on me.
“So he sits there with a gun in his hand. Now I don’t like guns myself. I think they are overly violent and not as… artistic as a serious person would like. A knife-that is a weapon I can really embrace. But good ‘ol Buzz waited too long. I think he wanted to ask questions or something. He told me not to move, but I knew what was coming if I stayed still. So I jumped. He fired and missed me. I, on the other hand, did not miss. I never miss.
“He had guts, I’ll give him that. Not like you-running through the forest like a man being chased by a bee.
“So I looked at Buzz and realized it was time for Kyle Thompson to sail out of the picture. It was very liberating, Quinn. I just sliced and diced, and suddenly I didn’t have to worry about how Kyle looked anymore. Kyle was dead. And all I had to do was call Laurence once and talk with a really low voice. He really thought I was Buzz. That man is an idiot.”
“The police identified your body. They even had DNA testing. We couldn’t figure out how you pulled that off,” Quinn said.
“Come on, Quinn, catch up,” Kyle replied. “I mutilated Buzz’s corpse and killed a police courier that was taking the DNA sample for testing. I replaced the kit with some of my DNA. No one even thought about why I would kill a police courier. That is the benefit of being random all these years. When you do it on purpose, nobody knows.”
Kyle cocked his head to the side and grinned.
“Am I scaring you?”
“How many people have you killed?”
“I’ve lost count,” Kyle said. “I really have. But now it’s my turn to ask questions. You figured me out. How?”
“You just said it yourself. Not all your killings were random over the years.”
“Good. Very good.”
“This whole ‘Lord Halloween’ thing was a shtick, wasn’t it? I mean, you enjoyed killing people, but you could have done that without drawing attention to yourself.”
“I had become quite good at it,” Kyle replied.
“But you invented Lord Halloween. Why?”
“I think you must know,” he replied.
“It was so simple we didn’t see it,” Quinn said. “Tim Anderson said you were always hanging around, that you were obsessed with the paper. You wanted to be a reporter.”
“Not just any reporter, Quinn,” he said. “I wanted to cover crime. I enjoyed it. I reveled in it. Crime was the beat for me.”
“But they already had a crime reporter.”
“And he was good,” Kyle said. “No, he was fantastic. There was no way they would give me that beat as long as he was there.”
“So why not just kill him? Why invent a whole persona?”
“For one, it was a fun challenge,” he said. “I’d been killing for years, but changing patterns, changing methods, ensuring not to draw attention to myself. This was different. This was a direct challenge to God and man to find me. Secondly, I wasn’t even a reporter yet, Quinn. If I had killed Tim, someone else at the paper would have taken his place. Then I would have had to kill them. At what point would someone figure out what I was up to? No, I had to create a disincentive to being the crime reporter. It had to be a job no one wanted 12 years ago. And it worked like a charm. Anderson ran off and… there I was.”
“The girl in the basement? She wasn’t random either, was she?”
“No,” Kyle said. “She wasn’t. I went on three dates with her, did you know that? I thought the whole fireman-thing would really work, you know? But she just wanted to be ‘friends.’ And man, was I cool about it when she told me. But I knew she was into Tim. Everyone was into Tim. So I made sure she was on the list.”
“Why not kill Tim?”
Kyle paused at this.
“Cause he’s the only one that truly stood up to me, Quinn,” he said. “His last article was begging for me to kill him. So I didn’t. He wanted death. I thought surviving would be harder for him. And it was.”
“Why now? Why bring Lord Halloween back now?”
“Look around you, Quinn,” Kyle said. “The world is dying. Journalism is dying with it. How long before Ethan sells the paper? The Chronicle is struggling and you know it. It’s not the business it once was. Even the mighty Post is going to die soon. So I wanted a good story before it all went down. And Lord Halloween was the best story this county ever had.”
Kyle paused and Quinn could see him smiling, even in the darkness.
“Of course, that was before someone tried to hone in on my story,” he said. “Before someone tried to steal it from me.”
“I never did, Kyle.”
“Oh, who could blame you?” Kyle said. “Lord Halloween is a sick, sick fuck. I’ll admit I’m laying it on thick. The theatricality that comes with that persona is addictive once you get started. But it’s not me. Lord Halloween will have his final stand tonight, and I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll get a reporting job in Bluemont, what do you think? You could have joined me, if you hadn’t left that message on my cell phone-a dead man’s cell phone-asking to meet me here. You were a good reporter.”
“I am a good reporter,” Quinn said.
“Yeah, gotta say-I just don’t think of you in the present tense anymore,” Kyle replied.
He laughed. But far from a maniacal laugh, this one was quite casual.
“You know, I’m really enjoying this,” he said. “All the others I wanted to put on a show for. You know? To live up to their expectations. But I’m just chatting with you. It’s very freeing.”
“So glad I could help,” Quinn replied.
“It was more than just the paper, though,” Kyle said. “I did this because it’s what I do. To know that every October, you aren’t like the bogeyman, you are the bogeyman. You are the thing that keeps people up at night, the bump in the dark, the figure they see out of the corner of their eye. You own these people. Is that enough for you?”
Kyle took a step forward. Quinn backed up.
“Hang on, hang on,” Kyle said. “I wouldn’t want you to go running through those woods again. I thought you were acting all crazy. But I guess you aren’t exactly acting, are you?”
“I’m not the crazy one here,” Quinn said.
“Oh no?” Kyle asked. “What was all that shit about the Prince of something or other? I thought I must have heard your girlfriend wrong, but you must believe some of it. Why else would you be here? Why not call the police and try to set a trap? I assumed that’s what you were doing, but they didn’t know a thing. I checked.”
Kyle checked his watch.
“It’s about 10:30 now, champ,” he said. “I guess you have an hour and a half to take the ‘great power’ and defeat me with it. Right?”
Before Quinn had time to react, Kyle rushed toward him, flashed his knife and cut Quinn on the arm.
Quinn didn’t take any time to respond. Instead, he leapt into the middle of the bridge where it was darkest.
He could still see Kyle closer to the edge of the bridge, but Quinn knew he was well hidden.
“Fuck,” Kyle said. “That was fast. But I still saw blood, my boy. I still saw you bleed. So I guess you don’t have supernatural abilities after all, do you? What was that bullshit, anyway? Something you cooked up for the girl? Was this just a ploy to get into Trina’s pants, Quinn? Her mom would not have approved.”
Kyle’s voice echoed in the bridge.
“Listen, buddy, you can skulk in the shadows all you want,” Kyle said. “But I have all night. Granted, I did have plans, but you know what, this ‘Lord Halloween’ stuff is kinda overblown anyway. I can kill them just as dead on Nov. 1. Oh, but wait. That’s the day you lose your superpowers, right? When you become a real boy?”
Quinn was shocked Kyle knew about any of this. But he must have been close enough to overhear them at some point.
“You aren’t invulnerable either, Kyle,” Quinn said. “How did your face get so messed up? Did Janus give you a taste of your own medicine?”
Kyle stepped into the shadows and Quinn lost sight of him. Slowly, Quinn started moving backwards.
It was pitch black in there. Quinn didn’t know why they built the beams so close together, but there was no light inside. He couldn’t see where Kyle was and he heard nothing.
“So it’s hide and seek, is it?” Kyle’s voice echoed inside the bridge. “I can play that. I’m the one with the knife. What have you got?”
It was impossible to tell Kyle’s position. His voice was bouncing off the walls around them. Slowly, Quinn backed up again and hoped his voice would pull off the same effect.
“Where are you going to go, Quinn?” Kyle asked. “The minute I see you in the light, I’m going to find you. And believe me, I’ll catch up. You may be younger, but I have had more training, if you know what I mean.”
Quinn said nothing. He worried he could give away his position.
“Where is your girlfriend, anyway?” Kyle asked. “She was supposed to be here, wasn’t she? She left the message, after all, asking for us to meet here. So what’s the deal, Quinn? You hoping to take me down by yourself?”
Quinn had backed now to the other side of the bridge. He was so close to the edge that he worried Kyle could see him. He couldn’t stay here. Eventually Kyle would find him and Quinn had nothing to protect himself.
He had to complete the original plan. He had to get the hell out of here and face the other monster first.
“Come on, Quinn,” Kyle said, and his voice sounded frustrated. “Where are you?”
Quinn knew he had to be quick. He darted out into the moonlight and immediately ran into the woods.
Behind him, he heard Kyle yell something-obviously aware that Quinn had run away. But Quinn thought he had a jump on Kyle, regardless of his “training.”
Quinn didn’t know where to head. He wasn’t sure what was in front of him, but he had very few choices.
Fortunately, the woods on this side of the bank were not as deep, and Quinn quickly came out into a clearing. Ahead of him was a barn-the old Phillips’ place he guessed-and an overgrown pumpkin patch. It was the only place Quinn thought to go. He moved across the field as fast as he could, reached the barn, and collapsed against one wall.
His insides felt like they were burning. Quinn couldn’t tell what was wrong, but he had been feeling it build up even while he was in the bridge. He lay his head against the side of the barn. Maybe Kyle wouldn’t find him.
He wished he could hear Kate in his mind, but the connection still seemed to be blocked. From a distance he heard the sound he had been waiting for. There was precious little time left, and while the trial had evidently been delayed, it was not over.
The sound of horse hooves approached. Quinn didn’t move. He was too tired to face both of them. He had thought he would have some idea of how to defeat the Horseman, but he was just exhausted.
The sound of hooves got closer. Good. At least it will be the Horseman that gets me and not Kyle. The sound was ringing in Quinn’s ears. The Horseman was almost on top of him. He came pounding into view a second later and wheeled to face Quinn.
Quinn stood up, still leaning against the barn, and looked at his opponent for what felt like the first time. Nothing about the horse looked right. Its eyes glowed a deep red and there was blood on the edge of its mouth.
The figure on top of the horse was dressed in black, and now Quinn could tell it was a decayed uniform. Just like the story. A Hessian mercenary hired to make war on the colonists, his head removed during battle by a cannon ball.
The rider did not move. His horse snorted and pawed the ground, but he remained fixed there.
Quinn stepped away from the barn and walked toward him.
“Let’s finish this,” he said.
It was as if the Horseman had been waiting for it. He swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. He unsheathed his sword and took a step toward Quinn.
Quinn stood his ground. He had no plans or ideas. He was not even sure he could bring himself to fight back. But he was done running. He was done being afraid.
The Horseman came forward and held out his sword while Quinn stayed motionless. The Horseman raised his arm and prepared to bring down the stroke that Quinn knew would kill him.
He heard it slice through the air, but at the last moment he jumped forward, straight into the Horseman’s chest. The sword went awry, falling to the ground, and the Horseman momentarily fell back.
Quinn didn’t know where the strength had come from-he had no idea he was going to make a move until it happened. He realized he would not just stand there and die meekly.
The Horseman seemed as surprised as Quinn, stopping momentarily. When he bent down to pick up his sword, Quinn jumped for it at the same time, beating him to it.
As Quinn picked up the sword, the Horseman hit him squarely in the chest, a blow that sent Quinn into the air before crashing near the barn door. But Quinn had held on to the sword.
Quinn stood up and waved the weapon uncertainly in front of him as the Horseman strode toward him. Maybe this was a way-if he could slice the Horseman with his own sword, he could finish him.
The Horseman closed the gap between them quickly and Quinn cocked back his arm to swing the sword. But he was too inexperienced and the blow was awkward. The Horseman dodged it easily and then hit Quinn again. This time the blow knocked the sword free from Quinn’s grasp and tossed him against the barn door, which creaked open behind him.
The Horseman strode over to his sword on the ground and picked it up.
So much for the idea of killing him with his own sword, Quinn thought. He backed into the barn. Inside was the smell of mold, decaying hay and gasoline. Quinn thought it had not been used in years. Unlike the bridge, the barn’s wood slats were far apart and moonlight streamed in everywhere.
Quinn saw a ladder to a loft in the barn and headed straight for it. He scurried up it and started looking around for something-anything-to use against his opponent.
The Horseman followed Quinn into the barn and never slowed his pace. He started to climb the ladder, sword in hand, but Quinn kicked the top of the ladder, attempting to jar it loose. The Horseman tried to slice at his foot, but missed, and Quinn heard the satisfying sound of tearing wood, as the ladder came free.
The Horseman jumped off before it crashed to the ground.
“Did you think this would be easy?” Quinn asked. He moved around in the loft, still looking for a weapon of some kind. There was nothing but an old gas can.
The Horseman stood on the floor of the barn, his body following Quinn’s movement. But for now he stayed in one place.
“You got your smarts from me after all,” he said. “So you can’t be that stupid, right?”
Quinn was talking just to hear himself speak. He wondered how late it was. Was it 11:00 p.m.? He could try and stay up here for an hour, couldn’t he? Then the Horseman would be gone.
But he would be back next year. And then Quinn would have all year to dream about his return, waiting for next October. Quinn wasn’t doing this again. This had to end tonight.
Quinn faced him from the upper level.
“Do you know how long I was scared of you?” he asked. “I was five years old when I saw the Disney cartoon. And you scared the shit out of me. It took my Mom days to calm me down. Every time I walked through the woods, I half expected to see you there.”
The Horseman stood impassively.
“I’m not sure why I was so scared,” Quinn said. “I think I didn’t like the idea of poor Ichabod, hanging on to his horse, just trying to get home. And you wouldn’t let him.”
The Horseman moved suddenly, throwing the sword in the air in Quinn’s direction.
Quinn dropped to the ground and heard the sword slice barely above his head. The entire loft shook and Quinn could feel it about to give way.
Below, he heard the Horseman laugh. The sound bounced around the walls of the barn and seemed to come from inside Quinn’s head as well.
Scrambling to his feet, Quinn saw the sword along the back wall and picked it up. He held it in front of him, but felt ridiculous. He had no idea how to use the thing.
The Horseman strode over to the right barn wall and began pounding on it. At first, Quinn was not sure what the point was, and then it became obvious. Each blow sent a shiver through the whole building, and the wood groaned beneath Quinn’s feet. The loft was going to fall down, if the whole building didn’t first.
Quinn would have to get out of here. He held the sword in front of him, unsure of what to do next.
Boom, another blow came, and Quinn heard his floor giving way. Not thinking, Quinn dropped the sword, grabbed the gas can, still half full, and winged it in the Horseman’s direction.
Although Quinn had never been much of an athlete, his aim could not have been better. The can caught the Horseman fully in the chest, knocking him back and over. Quinn saw gasoline spill out on top of him.
He didn’t wait. He picked up the sword and threw it to the floor below, then dropped down himself.
The Horseman was still on the ground. Quinn picked up the sword and headed straight for him. This could be his only chance. He was not sure where to cut so decided he would hit him right in the chest.
He never got the chance. The Horseman picked himself up and as Quinn tried to bring a blow forward, the Horseman caught his wrist. And squeezed.
Quinn felt incredible pain and immediately dropped the sword. The Horseman released him, reached down to pick up the sword, and prepared a blow for Quinn’s head. Quinn punched the Horseman in the chest to knock him back. But the Horseman appeared unfazed.
Quinn stumbled back and looked around for any other kind of weapon. He ran over to where the gas can lay on the ground. So far it was the only thing that had done him much good.
The Horseman paused for a moment and seemed to watch Quinn’s movement.
Quinn picked up the can and stood looking at the Headless Horseman.
The Horseman came toward Quinn, and Quinn decided to run. He needed to find a better weapon than this. Maybe at least a stick or something outside could help stop any blows. As Quinn ran out into the night again, the Horseman was right on his heels.
He turned to look behind him as the Horseman brought his sword through the air. Quinn dropped to the ground and kicked at the Horseman’s knees, hoping to throw him off balance. The Horseman fell backwards.
Grabbing the gas can again, Quinn lurched away from the Horseman, scrambling to stand up. But he tripped over something and fell headlong into the pumpkin patch. The gas can came loose and fell to the ground, spilling gasoline as it went.
Quinn landed on two pumpkins. Flailing, Quinn tried to right himself. He could hear the Horseman getting up.
Quinn grabbed a pumpkin and ran forward, trying not to trip over any other pumpkins. At the far edge of the patch, he turned and cocked back his arm to throw the pumpkin, but nearly dropped it. It was too slick and smelled of…
The Horseman paused for a moment, as Quinn and he faced off across the overgrown garden.
Kate had assured him he would know what to do. And now-finally-he did.
Reaching into his pocket, Quinn pulled out Janus’ lighter.
“You know what?” he asked. “For years, I’ve identified with Ichabod. But I think that’s over.”
He flicked the lighter with his left hand and lit the pumpkin on fire.
The Horseman started to move toward him, but it was too late. Quinn cocked the flaming pumpkin back, oblivious to the intense pain in his hand, and let it fly.
The pumpkin hit the Horseman full on in the chest and he immediately caught fire. The Horseman stumbled back and now Quinn laughed.
“I’m not Ichabod Crane,” Quinn said. “Go back to Sleepy Hollow, you headless son of a bitch.”
The Horseman was consumed in flames. The sword disappeared in a flash and the Headless Horseman appeared to burn from the outside in, collapsing in on himself. There was a mist of fire and smoke and then he was gone.
Quinn sank to his knees. His hand was in pain, but he was happy for the first time in a very long time. He had won. He felt a stirring in his blood, as if the fire were starting to spread through him. But it felt good.
Quinn had won. He had not believed he could but he had done it.
He was so relieved that he barely noticed the other figure striding toward him, who moments later stood in front of him.
“You know, Quinn, a lot of screaming and burning stuff is not the best way to hide,” Kyle said, and pulled a knife from behind him. “Let’s finish this.”
Kyle brought the knife down toward Quinn’s neck.