The Black Carriage

In Which Magda Recounts a Chance Meeting, and is Saved by a Butter Knife

I am old now, so old that many of my memories are veiled and there are too many things that I cannot recall. But I remember him as though it were yesterday.

The dead man riding a dead horse, and his carriage full of the dead too. Like to put the fear of God in me, it was, except I do not think God was there that night.

Humph. A sad thing it is when a poor old woman like myself is left to freeze. Bring me another blanket, lass, and put another log on the fire. Now, don't "Oh Magda" me, or I'll not finish my story.

There, that's better. Well, the first time I met the Dullahan, I was a wee slip of a thing. Just an eighteen year old lass, young and in love. It's strange, but I find I cannot even remember his name, not anymore.

It was Mary's wedding day--you remember Mary, she used to give you that revolting tincture. Still and all, she was a grand old woman. We celebrated long and hard. Least I did, for it was right drunk I was. But that stays between you and me, eh, lass?

I wandered home that night, and as I walked, the crickets sang and the moon bugs glowed. It was a lovely night, as fine as the Otherworld where the Good Neighbors dwell.

I was, for some reason, holding a butter knife. I have no reason for it, other than that I was tipsy and it seemed a fine idea. Pay attention, child, because that butter knife saved my life.

Anyhow. I was walking, and humming to myself, when it grew chill. I tell you, child, though it was nigh on midsummer, I could see my breath in the light of my lantern as it misted in the night air. God's truth.

It was then that the crickets fell silent, and the moon bugs grew dark. I heard it then, the slow, funereal thud of horses' hooves.

I stopped singing.

I saw him. I saw the Dullahan, child, and oh, be thankful that it's a good long while until you do.

I remember the black horses, headless, with the open wounds sending clouds of steam into the icy air.

His whip of bone--a human spine?--and its sounds were the sounds of hell.

Ah, he was terrible, holding his head (looked like moldy cheese, it did; I could see the bone in places) and sitting there proud as you please.

But the worst was when I looked into the carriage's cracked window and saw the dull, despairing faces of the dead staring hopelessly out at me. I'll never forget the look in their eyes, not until the day I die. Which won't be long, not for an old woman like me.

He stopped the carriage, and I said, this is it. He will call my name and I will be no more. But he simply looked at me, from those dead eyes in that severed, dreadful head. Its lips grimaced, and the head looked slightly disappointed. Then the mouth smiled slightly, as if it knew something I did not.

And he and his horses and his carriage rode on.

I stood where I was, shaking and mute with terror.

I did not know why he had spared me, but something in those eyes told me that he did not often leave alive those who had seen him, and I knew he would be back for me.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

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December 8, 2016