The Shadow of Samhain: The Headless Horseman

What's that you say? It's the second week of November? Pshaw! The Shadow of Samhain lives on in The Vault, with a look at the enduring legend of the Headless Horseman, from Jeanette Laredo of Monsterland...

“Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that [the horseman] was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!”

--Washington Irving “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

Mention the Headless Horseman and most people will recall a larger than life specter that is a staple of Halloween lore and stories told around the campfire. A Hessian decapitated by a cannon ball during the revolutionary war, he wanders the back roads of town called Sleepy Hollow, searching for his head and spiriting away any traveler unlucky enough to cross his path.

The figure of the ghostly Hessian comes to life in Washington Irving’s 1858 spine-tingling tale of an awkward schoolmaster who encounters the supernatural. In it, the horseman pursues Ichabod down dark country lanes, while Ichabod comically tries to escape on his trusty steed, Gunpowder. The chase culminates at the town bridge, where Ichabod believes once he has crossed it he will be safe from the violent spectre, but this part of the old wives’ tale fails Ichabod, as the horseman flings his head across the bridge and knocks Ichabod from his saddle.

The next morning no trace of the schoolmaster can be found, save for his hat and next to it a shattered pumpkin.

While Irving may have given us the most recognizable version of the headless horseman according to Dutch lore, the galloping Hessian can be traced back to other instances of the headless rider in myth and folklore.

In Northern India there is a creature called the “Dund” that rides with his head tied to the pommel of his saddle. He appears before the doorways of villagers, a sword in each hand, and calls the name of the inhabitant within. If the owner of the name answers, he is sure to die from fever or some other malady.

This creature, like the famed Hessian of Irving’s story, has its own fabled backstory. In life his name was Kharak Singh and he continued to fight for his lord after being beheaded in a vicious battle. In order to defeat the spirit, local lore says he must be thrown over a piece of dirty cloth.

The Dund also has an Irish cousin, the Dullahan, an unseelie spirit that prowls the countryside. He is a figure of death, and in addition to holding his disembodied head under his arm, he carries with him other macabre trappings, including a whip made of a human spine. Wherever he stops, someone is due to die and he will call out his name. Like the victims of the Dund, the poor soul will drop dead on the spot. There is no way to stop this dark spirit except for gold. Apparently the Dullahan is afraid of the precious metal and very small amounts can drive it away.

The folkloric versions of the headless horseman give rise to other, more literary versions of the ghost in the 14th century tale of “Sir Gawain and the Green Night” and “Der Wilde Jager,” in 1777 by the German poet, G.A. Burger.

In “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” the massive figure of the Green Knight intrudes on King Arthur’s court during New Year’s with a challenge for the new King. He demands to receive a blow at the hands of the King, one that he will return a year and a day from now. Sir Gawain, the youngest of King Arthur’s knights, steps in to accept the challenge. His blow lops off the Green Knight’s head. Instead of dying, the Green Knight simply scoops up his noggin and rides away with instructions that Gawain meet him at the Green Chapel a year and a day from now to receive his equal blow.

In Burger’s poem, a cruel huntsman is condemned to be chased by devils for his inhumane treatment of man and beast on earth. Burger’s poem is one of many versions of the German folktale where the pursued horseman appears headless.

Though Irving thrills and chills us to this day with his timeless tale of the headless horseman and the hapless schoolmaster, he is definitely not the first to dream up the nightmare of a headless spirit, hell bent on revenge and destruction.

The Shadow of Samhain: The Jack O'Lantern

After a little post-Halloween breather, The Shadow of Samhain once against casts a pall over the land! Yes, we're continuing into November...just a few more excellent entries to go. This time, Paul Bibeau, best-selling author of Sundays with Vlad and a blogger in his own right, shares with us one of Halloween's most tried-and-true legends...

The cheery, gap-toothed pumpkin you see on every doorstep conceals a dark history. According to the excellent Halloween by Lesley Bannatyne, we’ve inherited Jack from an Irish folktale about a man thought he could trick the devil.

Stingy and mean-spirited, Jack found himself face to face with Scratch, who told him his time on the earth was up. Jack requested one last drink at the local tavern, and Satan obliged – changing himself into a few coins in Jack’s purse to speed up the transaction and bring him on his way. But the devil found himself trapped by the cross that lay there among Jack’s belongings. In exchange for his freedom, the devil grudgingly granted Jack another year.

When the time passed, he confronted Jack again – and this time Jack’s last request was for the devil to climb up a tree and obtain a delicious apple. Jack whipped out his penknife and carved a cross on the trunk, again trapping the poor Prince of Lies. And this time, Jack’s bargain was to be left alone. When he finally died, Jack was refused admittance into heaven, but the devil couldn’t house him either. He sent him on his way through a dark and windy afterlife, with only a lantern carved out of a turnip and lit with a single ember from hell itself to guide him.

The story is part of a long line of folktales about mortals attempting to trick the devils – or the gods – and gamble with their own fate. And there’s usually a punishment. Because we intuitively understand, in that deep, dark place we don’t visit very often, or willingly… that we aren’t really in control of what happens to us. No matter what you do for the next few decades, or years, or even moments… soon you’ll find yourself, like Jack, being taken by the hand and told it’s time to go. No trick will save you.

A funny thing happened when the Irish came to the new world. They fell in love with these magnificent new world pumpkins, and substituted them for their turnip lanterns. And then the carvings of human faces became more elaborate. Jack became, in a curious way, trapped in his own lantern. Remember that as you trick or treat through a dozen country fields or suburban lawns this season. Because as you pass all those cheery, happy, well-lit faces, you might just hear one of them whisper your name as ask you:

Please. Please let me out.

Paul Bibeau blogs about horror folklore and posts his own scary, funny stories at www.goblinbooks.com.

The Shadow of Samhain: Dark Reign of the Fomorians

October is finally upon us, and I, for one couldn't be happier. But you'd expect that of me, wouldn't you--being the curator of The Vault of Horror, and all. In recognition of the month that brings us Halloween, the horror highlight of the calendar, I'm bringing you a special series that will explore the very heart of the holiday by taking a look at its distant history. You won't find anything here about Ben Cooper costumes or the Great Pumpkin, as awesome as those things may be. Rather, The Shadow of Samhain will be all about the pre-modern folklore, superstitions and traditions that have helped shape All Hallows Eve into what it is today.

Look for a series of special guest posts over the course of the next four weeks--but for now, I'll be starting things off myself with a look at an ancient legend that has long fascinated me...


From the oceans off Northern Africa they came--a twisted and evil race of sea-faring demons whose origins are lost to the mists of time. In Celtic lore, they were believed to have been the first settlers of the Emerald Isle of Ireland, and they ruled it once with cruel fists of iron. They were the Fomoire, or Fomorians; and their story is tied in directly with the Celtic festival of Samhain, precursor to Halloween. In fact, it can be argued that the linking of Halloween with all things frightening may actually find its origin in this terrible and horrifying race of monsters.

A breed of malformed and misshapen atrocities whose existence was believed to have far predated that of man himself, the Fomorians were a bizarre mix of human, animal and otherwise unnatural elements. They were varied in appearance. Some might possess the head of a horse and the body of a man, for example; others might appear to be giant fish with legs to walk on land with; some boasted a multitude limbs or eyes, while others might have only one of each; and still others might actually appear beautiful to the human eye, although their souls were just as black as those of their uglier brethren.

They were a warlike species--an inspiration, in some respects, for the race of orcs found in the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien--and legend had it that any people attempting to settle in Ireland were forced to contend with them and their bloodthirsty ways. The first to try were a group called the Partholons, who met their ghastly end when the Fomorians unleashed a deadly plague upon them. Next were the Nemeds, a tribe which found itself immediately enslaved by the monstrous masters of Ireland.

The connection of the Fomorians to Samhain begins here, as it was believed that each year on this day, October 31, the Fomorians demanded their annual tribute from the Nemedian people living amongst them. This tribute would typically include not only cattle but also small children, sacrificed to keep the Fomorian demons at bay. Thus, the practice of animal and human sacrifice many believe was once part of Celtic Samhain ritual was in part a commemoration of the days when the Fomorians came around to collect their yearly payment and satisfy their bottomless bloodlust.

The age of the Fomorians in Ireland was an evil time looked back on with dread. It lasted many generations, but at last approached its end with the arrival on the island of another race of beings, not quite as ancient as the Fomorians, but still older than humanity. They were the Tuatha Dé Dannan, a beautiful clan of god-like beings who wielded powerful magic, and whose coming was reportedly heralded by a mysterious fog that blanketed Ireland for days. Much as the Fomorians seem to have played a part in Tolkien's imaginings, so too did the Tuatha, resembling nothing so much as the majestic Elvish race described in the author's writings.

The Tuatha managed to co-exist with the Fomorians for a time, dividing the land amongst them, and even intermarrying with the ghastly creatures on occasion in order to further diplomatic relations between the two groups. Nevertheless, all this was a ploy, as the Tuatha awaited the opportunity to rid the land of the tyranny of their demonic neighbors.

This opportunity came in the form of one Lugh of the Long Hand, grandson of the hideous cyclops Fomorian chieftain, Balor of the Strong Blows. The result of a union between a comely Fomorian and a Tuatha, Lugh was beautiful in appearance, and discarded upon birth by Balor, who believed the child a threat (a common trope in ancient folklore). Taken in by the Tuatha, Lugh grew to become their savior.

The routing of the Fomorians from Ireland came on the day when Balor's detachment of tribute gatherers appeared at the castle of the Tuatha, demanding their unspeakable payments of cattle and children. Lugh butchered the Fomorians where they stood, leaving only a handful to skulk back to Balor's tower stronghold, located on a small island off the northwest coast, to tell the tale. Enraged, Balor mustered his Fomorian armies to make war against the mighty legions of the Tuatha, led by his own grandson.

That would be the final Samhain on which the Fomorians would ever lay claim to any Irish land. On the plain at Mag Tured, in the Connacht region of Ireland, the Fomorians and the Tuatha De Dannan waged a fierce, epic battle. The demons took an early advantage, slaying many of the proud Tuatha, until Lugh slaughtered his grandfather in one-on-one combat. Leaderless, the Fomorians fled, and were completely wiped out by the Tuatha, save for a mere four of them, forced to take refuge in Balor's tower.

Ireland had at last been freed from the yoke of these unspeakable creatures, and on the very feast day of Samhain on which they had wreaked their worst yearly terrors upon the land. The remaining four would stay far off the coast in Balor's stronghold--bizarre, ancient curiosities to be avoided by any sailing those waters; a lurking remnant of the fearsome hordes that had once ruled Ireland without mercy. The Tuatha would come to rule from then on, and after they eventually vanished into obscurity and legend, man would at last come to live on the land once fought for by gods and demons.

Among the Celts, and particularly the Gaels who would come to dominate Ireland in the Iron Age, the harvest festival of Samhain was associated always with the Fomorians. Whatever its origin in reality, whether inspired by some tyrannical human tribe, or fabricated completely out of thin air, the legend of the Fomorians loomed large over Gaelic culture. The horrifying tribute collected each year; the bloody battle of Mag Tured--Samhain was an annual reminder of these things. Perhaps then, despite the many positive aspects of the festival, this was why there was also such an element of deep-seated terror attached to it. A "race memory", if you will, of events that existed only in the realm of folklore. Or did they?


Photo Credits
The Fomors by John Duncan, 1912
The Fomorii by Andrew L. Paciorek
Daghda by A. Fantalov, 1998
Lugh by Mickie Mueller
Combat of Balor and Lugh Lamfada by Miranda Gray, 1995
Fomorian by Rowena Morrill

A Quarter-Century of Krueger: Freddy's Folkloric Origins

Despite being one of horror's most unique characters, and certainly the most unorthodox and original of the classic movie slashers, Freddy Krueger does indeed have his origins as a fictional creation. Wes Craven himself has on occasion spoken of the Germanic and Teutonic folklore that partially inspired the character, and is the reason for the writer/director giving him the German name of Frederick Krueger in the first place.

And so, if we delve into the area of such Germanic folklore, we do find evidence of the concept of the dream demon--a figure which bears more than a passing resemblance to everyone's favorite movie maniac. Often referred to as an incubus, an alp, or a mare (hence, nightmare), these creatures have persisted in the cultural memory of the same region of Europe which gave us vampires, werewolves, and so many other staples of modern horror.

Alp is typically the name associated with the kind of creature that inspired Mr. Krueger. Kind of a cross between an incubus and a vampire, amongst the only distinguishing characteristics of the alp are its propensity for attacking children during their sleep, and its trademark hat (sound familiar?) The alp also commonly has the ability to shape-shift.

It is almost always male, and chooses as its main target a female victim. An alp attack, known as an alpdrücke, stems from the alp's ability to enter its target's mind and create horrible nightmares. The alp was believed to very literally "feed" on dreams, much like its cinematic descendant. It is also known to sit atop the sleeping victim, creating intense pressure that will either awaken the person, or kill her. Some have indicated that this may have been an early explanation for what is now diagnosed as sleep apnia. Unlike the incubus, alp attacks were rarely reported to be sexual in nature.

The belief that nightmares were the result of demonic intervention was fairly common in the ancient world. The mare was a creature thought to take the shape of a decrepit old woman. Like the alp, it was believed to press on the chest of its victim and impede breathing. The French referred to this creature as a cochemar. The Swedes called it a mara, and such a being was thought to have taken the life of King Suercher of Sweden in the 12th century.

The French peasantry believed that pregnant women were particularly susceptible to the attacks of the cochemar, which interestingly enough, ties into Freddy's actions in the fifth Nightmare on Elm Street film, The Dream Child.

Like a rogue character from one of the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm, Fred Krueger represents a direct link between our modern-day movie monsters and the more ancient, mythic evils that once inspired dread in the days long before they became sources of entertainment. Maybe this basic, primal connection is part of what has given the character such an undeniable appeal. Much as he is to the protagonists whose dreams he haunts, perhaps Freddy is somehow present in all our minds, in one form or another...


Freddy cartoon by Montygog.