Syth and Axe: Snippet: Paul Bunyan meets the Headless Horseman

 1945

“What brings you to the Barrens, Cole.”

The hammering ceased for a moment, and the man, up until this moment stooped over the blacksmithing anvil, rose to full height. His duster flared out behind him, dark and ominous, carried with a nonexistent wind. A high collar rose up around his face and neck, a bandana covering his mouth.

He removed his hat and pulled down the bandana.

Paul sneered at the sight. He’d seen his share of ghastly sights through the years, and this didn’t compare with some of them, but a lesser man would have retched.

A gaunt face stared back, flesh clinging tightly to the shapeless remains of what had once been high cheekbones, but that had somehow worn thin from years of use. Paul didn’t want to think of what that meant. Had this man really been wearing the rotting face of his victim for so long that it had become a shapeless mess atop his shoulders?

A light green glow flickered from inside the hollow sockets, and the rictus grin cricked into place.

“Ah, ol’ Saginaw Joe. So good to see you again.”

“What’re you doing here, Cole? I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“No, I don’t reckon’ ya do, with all these trees around, I don’t think ya have much need.” Slurred the Hessian. He sighed. “I’m passin’ through.”

“Just when a new spirit enters the forest? Are you involved?”

The Hessian’s jaw hung freely for a moment. He reached a hand to his chin, stroked the stubble that had remained from the previous owner, and cracked it back into socket. “These ol’ bones just don’t work like they used to.” The jaw cracked free again. Cole chuckled, then stroked his chin again.

Paul watched in muted disgust.

“Hold a moment…” Cole grasped the chin with a broad hand and wrenched sideways. Muscle, dry skin, and sinew ripped free, popping and tearing - it reminded him of the harshness of torn paper. Then the jaw was gone. Cole chuckled, his dried out tongue hanging from his mouth like a strip of jerky. He tossed the jaw aside.

“We thingth of unnature thon’th neeth thith…” he muttered, his tongue attempting to make up for the lack of jaw movement. His cheek rose in a macabre mockery of a grin. Then he reached up his gloved hands and fished around the collar of his jacket.

“Hold jutht a thecond.”

And with that, his fingers prised back the desiccated, puckered skin around his scarred neck and with a tearing, shredding, popping snap, he wrenched his head free and tossed it aside.

“Much better,” came the hissing voice from where his head had been.

“Always with the theatrics, Cole.”

“Live a little, Joe.”

“I have. We both know that.”

The spectral voice chuckled, and the headless body turned. “I’m not with that walking tree, if you must know. I tend to work more… delicately.”

“Dropping off colonies of spiders to isolated villages?”

Cole chuckled. “Still trying to pin that one on me?” He dusted his hands on his dark pants and rose. “All right. I’m about done here.” With that, the anvil and hammer disintegrated, vanishing into a sac nearby. The fingers raised to an invisible mouth and he gave a shrill whistle.

“So sorry to hear about your ox.” 

Paul scowled again as a glorious black charger appeared from somewhere deep in the forest. Cole plucked the sac from the ground as if it were empty, placed it into the saddlebags, and mounted. “Til we meet again, Joe.”

And away he rode, passing through the trees with no resistance.

The head remained behind, sightless eyes staring blankly into the sky, tongue resting against the ground.

Paul stepped closer and took a knee. “Sorry, whoever you were.” He took a long look toward where Cole had vanished, the Headless Hessian once more. “And sorry to whatever meets him in these dark woods.”

When Syth found him again, he was kneeling over the freshly dug grave.

“Small grave. Child?”

“No. A head.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“I saw Cole.”

“He hasn’t been seen in years. What’s he doing over here?”

“He wouldn’t say. He claims he’s not associated with Tree Walker.”

“Believe him?” asked the hooded figure.

Paul leaned up from the grave and wiped his brow. “I don’t know. I doesn’t seem to be something he’s have a reason to lie about. Either way, he was here for a reason. We’d best be on our guard.”