by HorseFeathers, age 16

I watch over the murky laden swamp once called a forest many generations ago. Long gone are the foolish two-legs who used to inhabit this earth. Now, once again the creatures can prosper. I watch them grow and pass on back into the earth from which they were formed.

It has been centuries since I dwelt near a place the furless ones called “Sleepy Hollow.”

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I was a strong and steady four years old, at the prime of my life. My mother, sister and I lived on a farm that belonged to a two-legged called Baltus Van Tassel. I had a coat as dark as the midnight caves. No markings graced my body. Even my right eye was pure black. However, the left one was a foggy blue and the most advanced eye to my sight. My master called me “Ghost,” because of this eye he said.

Many days of my life were spent frolicking in the pasture with my dun-coated sister, Hay. Mother had called her this for the delicious life giving food the master fed us occasionally. Most of my enjoyable moments were spent with a two-legged. Surprising for my kind, I know. But she had been with me since birth. The female was known as Katrina Van Tassel, the master’s daughter. For all those years she had fed, groomed, and talked to me. Now, at the prime two-legged age of 18, Kat was an adult. One particular evening she came to me with a pocket full of hay and told me her secrets.

“Oh Ghost, what do you think I should do? Brom Bones and Ichabod Crane have asked for my hand in marriage, but I am so confused. Ichabod is a lean and smart schoolmaster but his superstitious side gets the better of him sometimes. Brom is very handsome but he as an infamous reputation as the town rowdy.”

I stared at her through questioning misty and coal black eyes. I could only understand a few human squawks like my name and “food.” I recognized her scent and tone though. It was full of excitement and passion. This same effect occurred when two males came to the master’s land and talked to Kat. Sometimes they would fight and yell over her. I assumed this was how two-legs fought for their mares, like stallions. One evening changed my life forever, and I would never see my Kat again.

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It was a peaceful evening. The ground was preparing for its winter nap and the trees were painting with coats of many colors. Katrina and her companions were having something they call a “party” outside the furless ones’ cave. Both of Kat’s contenders were there, among several other two-legs, trying to be tolerant of one another. Then smiling, the one called “Brom” beckoned the group closer and started squawking in a hushed tone. I stood behind the fence listening, and even though I could not understand, the male’s tone was mysterious.

“Listen up my friends and I’ll tell you the perfect Halloween story. You pay attention to Ichabod and maybe this here “student” can teach the school master something for a change.

Legend has it that we have our very own ghost haunting the Sleepy Hollow woods. During the younger days of the American Revolutionary War, a Hessian soldier faced a grim death. A stray cannonball shot the man’s head off and he fell dead instantly to the muddy forest floor. But, his soul was restless. It is said that on this night, every year by a full moon’s light, the soldier’s ghost rides a horse as dark as death itself, searching for his head across the long-forgotten battle scene. He lets no one stand in his way.”

When the two-legged had quieted, the others were shaking in fear. The other male, called Ichabod, was nervous; I could sense it on him, even if he did not show it. Ichabod stood and cleared his throat. He said something to Katrina, like a polite thank you, and left the party. The Brom creature smiled a wolfish, toothy grin as he watched his competitor go.

I watched silently as Ichabod collected his gray mare, whom I had been grazing with. He mounted her and rode off down the path. When the male was out of sight, I noticed the mysterious one get up and mumble something to Kat.

“I’m going for a walk; I’ll be right back Katrina.”

The Brom Bones fellow made his way towards me. He lured me to the barn with delicious sugar cubes and placed a bridle over my head. As he saddled me up that night he said something I didn’t understand like, “Ghost, it’s about time you live up to your name.”

Chuckling to himself, the two-leg put on some tattered old “removable skins” he had found in the barn. Once on top of me, the furless one pulled up the top skin so it appeared that he had no head. I didn’t think I would ever understand the ways of the two-legs.

We galloped down the dark lane and into the forest under the full Harvest Moon, away from Kat and the life I had always known. I had just rounded a bend on the trail when Brom suddenly pulled me to a trot. I scented something else in the air and nickered to the winds.

My rider quieted me through his headless coat as we saw something gray move into the clearing.

It was the other male on the friendly mare who had left the party earlier. Apparently, they had to travel through the “Sleepy Hollow” woods to get home. The Ichabod one smelled nervous as he looked around at the scenery before him, causing his mare to act skittish.

As soon as they were within five canters of us, the two-leg made me advance with a sharp kick of his heels. Screaming and shrieking like a mad animal, we began to chase the other rider. We pursued them through the forest, all the while my “headless” rider laughing like a thousand crows. He gave chase to the poor frightened mare and her rider off and on the trail again, each time progressing deeper into the foliage.

A wide but shallow creek came up ahead and the other rider quickly crossed a wooden platform the two-legs called a bridge. My headless rider did not see or hear the river in the night as he drove me onward. My lungs felt as if they were on fire and my heart set to burst. I heard the rushing of the stream all too late. At full gallop, I slammed into the riverbed and my front legs went under me as I slipped on the rocks. The two-leg flew over my head and landed safely on the bank.

I, however, could not move. My left front leg had been permanently broken because of that fall. The pain tore into my soul like a pack of wolves stealing the flesh from their victims. I knew I would never rise again and I screamed into the darkness for mercy — I could endure this no longer.

The headless rider, now with a head once again, rose to his feet and waddled over towards me. He looked me over with a sort of sadness and regret. I stared up at him with my “ghost” eye searching for help.

The two-leg pulled out a small thunder stick; a kind of tool that these creatures hunted with. With a sad frown, he pointed the thunderstick at my side and released its thunder upon my body. It was quick and silent. I felt the raging pain instantly leave me as I drifted into the endless sleep. This two-leg, who had taken me away from everything I had ever known, had at least brought me some peace.

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That was many lifetimes ago. I never knew what became of the frightened mare and her rider or my Katrina. Century after century I have watched the two-legs fight and destroy each other until not one of their kind was left. I remain here not of flesh and blood, but of wind, sky, earth, and water. I watch over this land for all eternity.