Headless Spectre

Another of Ichabod's sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and sputtering along the hearth, and listen to their marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him.

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the chimney-corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!  It was then that Ichabod recalled the most frightful portion of the wives' tales  -  that of the curs-ed fate of the Hessian's victims.  If one's head was lamentably claimed by the Horseman, their headless spectre was doomed to walk the shadowy acreage of Sleepy Hollow, perhaps forever!

Short video here.

The Woods

"[When] we got home, we immediately called our local sheriff… a few days went by, and he showed up to let me know that we were not imagining things, and someone really did chase us. I asked what they found and who it was. He looked down at the ground and then looked up, and said, ‘I'm not going to tell you what we found or who it was because if I do, you will never hike anywhere again. What we found was not normal and will not happen up here again.’ I never found out what they found or who it was. I never hiked that section of the trail again, and it completely burnt last year."

Image source.

Text source.

Witch Of The Woods

And click here for a short video.

Haunted Attraction Walkthrough

Lots of neat atmosphere here.

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The Hag

The Hag is astride,

This night for to ride;

The Devill and shee together:

Through thick, and through thin,

Now out, and then in,

Though ne’r so foule be the weather.

- Robert Herrick

Now Playing: A Forest

By alva noto.

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Forest Of The Hanging Travellers

Image by Aaron Fellmeth Photography.

Winter Witch

Winter was her season.
Thick pelts, silent sleeping insects. Everything weak and slow.
Her favorite were the middens of rodents;
Small hidden treasures of seeds, herbs, bones, and bugs.

I Hiked Back For More Photos

Toad's Barrows

I always heard the tales about Toad's Barrows, but figured they were just some kind of ghost story.  Well, today, deep in the woods on an early morning walk, I think I found them.  At first the markers blended in with the trees and leaves, but then I noticed they were all around me, and spreading off into the distance, deeper into the woods.  I got out of there pretty fast.  And only got this one photo.

Bumped Into This Lady This Morning

I don't think she noticed me, thankfully.

Fog

Coleoptera

The art of Denis Zilber.



deniszilber.com

Walnut Forest

Image by vbagiatis.

A Different Place

The trees group themselves differently; they draw closer together, as if in fear. The very silence has another quality than the silence of the day. And it is full of half-heard whispers - whispers that startle - ghosts of sounds long dead. There are living sounds, too, such as are never heard under other conditions: notes of strange night-birds, the cries of small animals in sudden encounters with stealthy foes or in their dreams, a rustling in the dead leaves - it may be the leap of a wood-rat, it may be the footfall of a panther. What caused the breaking of that twig? - what the low, alarmed twittering in that bushful of birds? There are sounds without a name, forms without substance, translations in space of objects which have not been seen to move, movements wherein nothing is observed to change its place. Ah, children of the sunlight and the gaslight, how little you know of the world in which you live!
Ambrose Bierce

Image by President Joe.

Autumn In Germany

Image source.

Autumn House

From Interior Alchemy.

The Boarded Window

One day Murlock was found in his cabin, dead. It was not a time and place for coroners and newspapers, and I suppose it was agreed that he had died from natural causes or I should have been told, and should remember. I know only that with what was probably a sense of the fitness of things the body was buried near the cabin, alongside the grave of his wife, who had preceded him by so many years that local tradition had retained hardly a hint of her existence. That closes the final chapter of this true story--excepting, indeed, the circumstance that many years afterward, in company with an equally intrepid spirit, I penetrated to the place and ventured near enough to the ruined cabin to throw a stone against it, and ran away to avoid the ghost which every well-informed boy thereabout knew haunted the spot. But there is an earlier chapter-- that supplied by my grandfather.

Ambrose Bierce


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Puzzlewood

Would LOVE to Haunt something like this.


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Some more information.

More Haunted Overload

Some wonderful photos from Haunted Overload's facebook page.






More Event photos here.

And click here to see construction photos.