Rise of the Dullahan

"The Dullahan is a headless rider, usually seen on a black horse and carries his own head under one arm. The head's eyes are small, black, and constantly dart about like flies, while the mouth is constantly in a hideous grin that touches both sides of the head. The flesh of the head is said to have the color and consistency of moldy cheese. The Dullahan's whip is actually the spine of a human corpse, and the wagons they sometimes use are made of similarly funereal objects (e.g. candles in skulls to light the way, the spokes of the wheels made from thigh bones, the wagon's covering made from a worm-chewn pall). When the dullahan stops riding, it is where a person is due to die. The dullahan calls out their name, at which point they immediately perish.

There is no way to bar the road against a dullahan — all locks and gates open on their own when it approaches. Also, they do not appreciate being watched while on their errands, throwing a basin of blood on those who dare to do so (often a mark that they are among the next to die), or even lashing out the watchers' eyes with their whips. Nonetheless, they are frightened of gold, and even a single gold pin can drive a dullahan away."









Dughall scurries out of the shower, straight into the kitchen and spins the lid off the bottle with his thumb. He keeps the whiskey pumping down his neck until his lips start blueing. Then he slams the bottle on the table as he gasps hungrily for air. The quick air is harsh on his lungs, and he sputters like an old engine. The portly, balding Dughall, naked and drenched, sits down at the kitchen table in an effort to structure his thoughts, and continue drinking slowly. He notices the blood under his nails. Starts violently hacking at it, but it's pointless.

Dughall had never believed in any myths or stories. Even as a child. Not only did he see and hear the Dullahan, but he couldn't take his gaping eyes from it. The Dullahan charged directly at Dughall, holding his grinning head in one hand and a bucket in the other. The bucket was full of blood and thrown into Dughall's rotund face as the Dullahan galloped past, into the dark.

He throws some clothes on, grabs his keys and wallet then dashes for the door hitting the bedroom doorframe with his shoulder and committing to a full spin on his way to the door, but it's too late. He hears the hooves stop right in front of the house. Dughall's keys hit the floor, and the door opens before him.

The Dullahan is sat perfectly still on his glistening, black horse. Nothing moves but his erratic eyes above his big, dead smile. Dughall doesn't even look, instead he thumbles his wallet open and starts gathering the notes together. He staggers forward holding the notes out in his right hand. As his face drips with tears and sweat he forces a huge, pitiful smile at the Dullahan --

the harbinger starts shaking, his smile goes crooked and begins twitching. He's flustered and scared. He starts stammering,
"Dug.... Dull...hall,"
Dughall is still stood, hand extended, his largest, most dubious, gold-toothed smile.
"Hallll.... Dug.. Dugll.... Dullahan!"
The horseman's body then slips down the round of the horse, and disintegrates. Leaving nothing but his heavy coat in a pile of dust, next to a patch of hair where a hideous head was once attached. The shocked, chubby man, still with a grin, walks over to the coat while stuffing his wallet in his pocket.

He picks up the coat, shakes off the soot. Looks like a good size. He tries it on while walking back to his house. Can't stop smiling. Hooves follow him up the garden path, he stops, the hooves stop. His neck feels stiff and a name keeps repeating in his conscience. He's forgotten where he was. He turns, jumps on his horse, and gallops for a name. He can see for miles, even from under his own shoulder.