Horseman in the Forest

I was once a man of flesh and bones. Now I’ve ascended beyond mortal life. I was naïve, ambitious and most importantly, alive. I remember having people around me I could call friends, but they’re now long gone. Nowadays, I roam around the lost forest at night, where the dense fog conceals whatever lies ahead. The night provides the perfect shade of black to cloak my run-down leathers and my stallion. The unfortunate poor souls that get lost in the forest see my face pierce through the fog, emitting a light shade of orange. 

 I recall my last breaths as a soldier during a siege. One fatal strike, then my head went flying. My senses failed me – taste, smell, sound and vision – before collapsing into the welcoming soil. Later I rose from the dirt and rode my hollow stead, clutching an axe in hand. All I could do was feel, and I felt that the forest was long deserted. Detached from the neck down, the realization came to me that I was like no other man. Dead I was, but a soldier nonetheless, doomed to eternally wander the fields of war. 

Then there was the matter of my missing noggin. I pondered over the options available to me as I searched for a replacement. Something circular, reminiscent of a human head. 

I wandered into a pumpkin farmstead abandoned in the wake of war. A pumpkin, something so sturdy yet so mendable, something that would allow me to carve fear into those that would oppose me. Using the edges of my rustic axe, I went to work. 

At last, I fit the pseudo head on my empty frame. When I opened my eyes, I had regained my senses. How I could taste the musky essence of death that lingered through the air. How I could smell the horrid stench of rotten corpses. How I stood in silence as the loud winds cried through the forest. It was familiar, and knew I belonged in such a place.