On All-Hallow’s Eve, Rachel and her friends joined the rest of Roanoke Academy for all manners of festivities: making corn dolls, parading in costume following the sheet covered, lavender ribbon-bestrewn horse skull that was Dare Hall’s Mari Lwyd in the Mummers Parade, dancing around a bonfire, roasting prophetic chestnuts, giving out Fairy Gifts, and launching boat-shaped candle lanterns on the Hudson.
Or that is what they were supposed to be doing.
Rachel Griffin, however, decided to slip off campus and crash the Dead Men’s Ball.
What is the Dead Men’s Ball, you ask?
Once upon a time, Roanoke was a floating island. (This is why the British could not find the Roanoke colony when they returned to the New World. It had floated away.)
It’s floating days came to an end in the early twentieth century when Captain Vanderdecken of The Flying Dutchman married his loyal bride, Marigold Merriweather Moth, or Merry-Merry Moth for short.
The curse on The Flying Dutchman was broken, but the blessing that allowed the island to float broke as well, and Roanoke Island became permanently moored up against Pollepel Island (a.k.a. Bannerman Island) in the middle of the Hudson River, between Cold Springs, on the east bank, and Cornwall-on-Hudson and Storm King Mountain on the west bank. West Point is barely visible to the south and the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge is clearly visible to the north.
Captain Vanderdecken had met his bride at a dance held on All Hallow’s Night for himself and his crew, because while they could not land on solid ground, the floating island proved an exception. So they had made a habit of coming each year to feast and sing with the students of this roving island.
After the island stopped moving and Vanderdecken and his remaining crew departed, the dead and the spirits and sprites of the Hudson Highlands decided to continue holding the ball each year. It became a festival for the local spooks and phantoms as well as those who had died at sea, particularly those killed at the deadly World’s End, the deepest part of the Hudson, over 200 feet deep, that lies just north of West Point.
And, of course, the Hudson Highland’s most famous supernatural entity, the Headless Horseman, who arrives at the ball every year exactly at midnight.
In the library at Roanoke Academy is the book Legends and Lore of Sleepy Hollow and the Hudson Valley. This volume, written by the storyteller who recites The Legend of Sleepy Hollow every Halloween in Sleepy Hollow, NY, delves into all the spooks, sprites, phantoms, white ladies, Revolutionary ghosts, and others known to haunt the Hudson Valley. Rachel had picked up this book and was curious to meet Hudson’s supernatural denizens.
As Sigfried Smith, ordinarily the utterly brave boy, was not afraid of anything—except ghosts, Rachel prevailed upon her boyfriend, Gaius Valiant, to go with her.
So as Halloween of 2023 comes to a close, they slip of campus, fly up the coast, and attend the Dead Men’s Ball, which is held at Bannerman’s Mansion on the north part of the island.
There many strange and wonderful things occurred. The two of them heard music that could not be heard with the ear. They met the ghosts of Major Andre, who had been hanged by the Americans for spying—though he still proclaimed his innocence even now—and the white lady, Gertji, in her homespun wedding dress.
They talked to the ghost of the prince who had hurt Rachel’s friend the Princess of Magical Australia and met the fetch that inhabits the china doll of Magdalene Chase. They danced to music played by the musicians who continued to play as the Titanic sank, one of whom had been a friend of Rachel’s grandfather.
Finally, they realized they had stayed too long and set out on a midnight rush, hoping to avoid the arrival of the one partygoer who might do them great harm. Below are two excerpts from the Dead Men’s Ball.
Near the door where Rachel stood was a group of specters who wore manacles or even long chains that they dragged with them. These chains made no noise, and yet Rachel heard them rattling in her head. Beside her, Gaius was singing under his breath: “We’re Marley and Marley. Whoooooo. We’re Marley and Marley. Whoooooo.”
When he noticed Rachel watching him, he said, “From the Muppet Yule Carol.”
“The what?” asked Rachel.
He tapped her on the nose affectionately. “Don’t you watch classic Muppets?”
“Not on a regular basis. No,” replied Rachel, with almost exactly the same mirth-suppressing tone of voice Gaius had used about Giselle.
The young woman in the homespun wedding gown glided toward Rachel. Her face was half-gone, her eyes lonely and sad. Rachel, ignoring the tremblings of trepidation in her limbs, approached the ghostly bride.
“Excuse me,” Rachel asked softly, recalling the books she had read that afternoon about the entities that haunted the Hudson Valley, “are you Gertji?”
The young woman looked at her. “Yes! It is I! My beloved? Is that you? Have you come for me?”
“Um…no” Rachel said softly, “but I was…”
Gertji drifted toward Gaius. “My beloved? Is that you? Have you come for me?”
He shook his head, a bit unnerved. The young woman with her wedding gown and her ghoulish face drifted onward, approaching her fellow shades, endlessly repeating her question.
Gaius watched her go. Then he looked back and forth from pirate shades to Dutch ghosts to ghoulish brides. “Wish I had thought to invite William along. This might have been a great place for his people to test out their new project. Of course, having an O.I. rapid response team come rushing in here, testing their latest invention, might have rather spoiled the mood.”
A dandy dressed in British garments from the period of the American War of Independence, lace and vest, tight pants and high boots, stood near the door to the ballroom. He had a sorrowful demeanor and a noose around his neck. A terrible cold accompanied him. Rachel and Gaius both began to shiver.
The ghost reached out and attempted to grab Gaius. “Why did they hang me and not Arnold? He was the traitor! I was innocent! Why did they hang me instead of Benedict Arnold?”
“I…c-can’t h-help you.” Gaius stepped back, his teeth chattering.
The ghost continued to drift closer, imploring. The chattering of Gaius’s teeth grew louder, but he stood in front of Rachel, keeping the spirit from moving toward her.
“Wait. That’s Major Andre. I know what to do,” Rachel cried. “It was in the book.”
She stepped around Gaius and looked the handsome yet haggard ghost in the eyes, asking loudly, “What party are you?”
The ghost’s pleading fell silent. The cold dissipated. The figure of the forlorn British major vanished, leaving only the scent of peaches.
“Wow! That was…rather good,” Gaius had stopped shivering, though he stomped in place, hugging his arms, in his attempt to regain his warmth.
“It was in the book,” Rachel repeated. “Legends and Lore of Sleepy Hollow and the Hudson Valley. That was the phrase used to catch the major when he was traveling in disguise: ‘What party are you?’. I guess he remembers where things went wrong for him when he hears it. Still, it’s very sad. He had been cajoled into going in disguise and had objected because he did not want to stoop to spying. But the British had killed an American spy, so the Americans executed him.”
“And this happened almost two hundred and fifty years ago, and he hasn’t moved on?” Gaius whistled. “Poor guy.”
And…
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wild Hunted
Rachel and Gaius raced southward, flying along the shore of Roanoke Island toward the docks. It would have been faster to fly directly to Roanoke Hall, but Rachel dared not fly over the school’s wards, lest her steeplechaser fail.
Storm winds blew violently up from the south. Trees swayed back and forth like frenzied temple dancers. The remaining autumn leaves were ripped from their branches and sent swirling up in great spirals. There was no rain yet, but powerful gusts buffeted the broom, knocking the riders this way and that.
Twice, they were tossed into a loop, flipping end over end. Each time, Rachel rapidly maneuvered the levers to bring them upright again. She had flown through blustery winds, but nothing like this. The air was swirling, gusts coming from unexpected directions. If she hit the airflow incorrectly, it struck the blades of the tail fan sideways, collapsing them or altering their arrangement. This set the entire device spinning, something Rachel had never experienced before. These conditions would have been much easier to negotiate had she been on her stomach, with her feet directly controlling the tail fan. With Gaius behind her, that was impossible.
These was the most difficult flying conditions Rachel had ever encountered. She loved it. She ploughed into the gusting winds, shrieking with sheer exhilaration.
It was not until she began to have trouble breathing that she realized that her boyfriend was clinging to her with all his strength. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that his face was as pale as the shifts of the white ladies they had left behind at the mansion. His expression was stoic, but his body, pressed against hers, was trembling.
Oh.
Oops.
Rachel reached over and jiggled the levers. The air around the steeplechaser became calm and quiet. She righted the device and flew slowly and evenly.
“What just happened?” Gaius croaked hoarsely.
“I turned on the becalming enchantments.”
“What? Magical air stabilizers?”
“Enchantments to make the air still around us. All high-quality bristlelesses have them.”
“Why did they take so long to come on?”
Rachel bit her lip. “I…only just turned them on.”
“You forgot you had them?”
“Not at all.”
“Then why…”
“You seemed a bit discomforted by the flying conditions.”
“You turned them on…for me?”
“Yes,” she finally admitted.
“But you were screaming in fear.”
“What?” Rachel’s voice rose, sounding very English. “Certainly not! That was joy.”
“Oh.” Gaius cleared his throat. “That’s embarrassing. I’d hate for my girlfriend to come to the conclusion that I’m a big coward.”
“Not to worry,” Rachel replied primly. “I understand that someone who does not fly might have a hard time distinguishing between what’s dangerous and what’s…oh, my!”
Ahead, a storm front rushed upriver on a collision course with the two students. Lightning arced beneath the enormous thunderheads, illuminating torrents of driving rain. In the glow of the electric brightness, Rachel thought she could make out grimacing, howling faces in the dark gray clouds.
“Um,” Gaius swallowed, “I gather that’s dangerous.”
Rachel was too busy gauging speeds and calculating distances to answer right away. Finally, she said abstractedly, “I think I can make it to the docks.”
Leaning forward, she coaxed the broom to greater speed. To her dismay, its response was sluggish, not at all what she was expecting. Terror gripped her chest, choking her. Was something wrong with her beloved Vroomie? It had never…
Ooohhh.
“Gaius,” she called, “the becalming enchantments are producing drag. I have to turn them off.”
“Do what you must,” he replied gamely. “I promise not to embarrass you.”
With a brisk nod, Rachel released the becalming enchantments. The violent gale winds struck them, flipping them end over end. Driving rain hit them in bursts. Rachel could feel it washing make-up from her face. She gripped the handlebars with extreme determination, fighting to steady the device.
“Hold on!” she shouted.
Gaius’s arms held her firmly around her waist, but not so tightly as to interfere with her breathing. He had his wand in his hand, the back sticking up his sleeve, so as to be certain that he did not lose it. In the brief glimpse she had of him as they flipped head over heels, he was keeping watch intently, his face determined, if a bit green.
Rachel righted Vroomie and zoomed forward, driving against the winds. She urged the steeplechaser to greater and greater speeds, but it was like pushing through rushing water. Half of the time she went backward more than forward. She felt like one of those logs Old Thom had mentioned, the ones that tried to make it from Albany to New York by floating down the River That Runs Both Ways.
“I don’t think we can make it before the storm reaches us!” she yelled over the winds.
“We’ll have to land!” Gaius shouted back. “What about the walled orchard? Where we saw Romanov and his friends?”
Rachel gauged the distance, adjusting for the winds. “I think we can make it!”
She pressed forward. The wind resistance grew stronger. She pushed the broom, bringing it to even higher speeds. Never before had she reached the steeplechaser’s top speed, but perhaps she was nearing it now because the bristleless began to tremble. Rachel pressed hard.
The steeplechaser stalled.
Down plummeted Rachel, Gaius, and all. Rachel screamed.
“Should I panic now?” her boyfriend called calmly in her ear, his wand in his hand.
“Yes. Definitely panic,” she shouted back, but his calmness stiffened her resolve. She had deliberately stalled her broom out many times and then engaged it again. Unless she had actually damaged it somehow, this time should be no different. She urged the broom forward.
Nothing happened.
Refusing to squander her time on fear, Rachel stayed focused. From the library of her mind, she withdrew all at once every reference to “broom” and “stall” she had previously encountered, searching for something that might help. Immediately, a possible cause leapt out: jammed tail fan. She glanced back but could not see around her boyfriend.
“Gaius,” she shouted, “kick the tail blades for me.”
“What?” he yelled back over the roaring winds.
“The tail blades.”
“What?”
“Tail fan! Move the blades toward each other.” She tried to pantomime what she meant with one hand.
“Like this.” He pointed his wand behind him.
The steeplechaser caught and shot upward. They cheered. Then their voices died in their throats.
The Horseman bore down on them. He galloped in the midst of the thunderhead, gale-force winds whipping the night around him. He rode on a black charger, a headless man in a Hessian uniform and a billowing mantle. Under his arm, he carried a Jack-O’-Lantern. Light flickered from the sharply triangular eyes and leering, angry mouth. It was not a cheery candle flame, however, but the blue-violet glow that had illuminated the ballroom of the dead. In its light, the storm clouds seemed to be filled with phantoms and specters, all circling the Horseman like hurricane winds around the eye of the storm.
The spooks were not the only things accompanying the headless rider. A pack of blind, eyeless hounds, as pale as corpses except for their blood red ears, loped through the night air. Their baying cries echoed up and down the Hudson Valley.
The Wild Hunt approached.
Happy Halloween!
YAY for Romance and Wild Hunts!