The Headless Tiny (part 1) - Eroyan

The Tale of the Headless Tiny
By: Eroyan Barmy

You might think me mad as I speak these words. But I assure you I am not, for I am one who is in their right mind most assuredly. Could an insane person be able to recall with ever present detail the horrors of the night? Or could they possibly be able, with shuddering clarity remember the sounds and smells of an evening so vividly, that they must remind themselves they are not still there as it happens? What I tell you now; I tell all of our kind for we are not alone in this world. There are horrors so dreadful that to merely see them would drive a person to commit such acts that they would no longer be human.

It was October 1832 and a chill evening. The harvest mood was large and high in the night sky when we first found the body of George Lancaster. We would not, could not, let any of the women folk have a look upon him for it was a most gruesome sight to behold. His body was laid out in his cornfield as if he had been running for his life. His body was broken as if trampled by something but no marks could be found anywhere around him of the creature that could have done such a thing. What is worse was, whatever had done it had neatly removed poor George’s head and there at the top of the neck sat a pumpkin with a most evil face carved into it.

We summoned the sheriff and the doctor from town, Bill Peters even got the parson to come out. None of us could determine what had happened to George and began to grow nervous. If an animal hadn’t done this to George it must have been a man. But none of us knew who would hold a grudge against George he was an honest and fair man with many friends. It was decided that it must be an outsider. Some villain escaped from the city that had happened upon George in his field, killed poor George as he fled for some other murder from the city.

Sure of our-selves in our theory and angered at the sick joke this villain had down with the pumpkin. We gathered ourselves up into a party to find the villain and bring him to justice. In our party was the Sheriff, Bill Peters, Big Henry the Negro who lived down by the river, Justin York and my-self. We left the body in the hands of the doc and the parson to care for George’s body and poor soul and headed through the field towards the gully that ran along George’s farm. We were certain that the villain that had committed this deed would want to remain out of sight and that was the closest way to hide.

We had armed ourselves before we went. The Sherriff and Justin with their rifles and I had my pistol. Bill carried his lantern and stout club and Big Henry carried his axe with him. We moved into the gully by George’s farm and headed away from it. Still no sign of the villain as we moved closer to the woods until Big Henry called out. We nearly all jumped out of our skins, not realizing how quiet we were being till Big Henry called out. Turning he was pointing to something on the ground and looked like he had seen the devil himself for he was staring, eyes wide and looked pale at the ground. Big Henry had begun to jabber on in his native tongue as we moved back to him and looked where he was pointing. The Sheriff was trying to get Big Henry to calm down and talk about what he was seeing. For most of us looked and saw nothing.

Big Henry just pointed and at one point grabbed the Sheriff shaking him and almost yelling in his native tongue. I knew a few of the words he was speaking but it was hard to make sense of it all. Finally the Sheriff shook Big Henry off him and slapped the man, which I never thought I would ever see in my life, Big Henry was a man you didn’t slap but suddenly he blinked and looked at the ground then us. He began jabbering again but we could understand him this time.