The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

we’d be right back.”
    Soon they were riding swiftly along Glen Road toward the place that, even now, they were calling ‘Harrison’s Trail.’
    While they rode, Trixie told Honey about her experiment with the cellar door. “Mart didn’t seem to think it was at all strange,” she said. “He called it one of life’s little mysteries. But jeepers! I don’t think it’s a little mystery at all.”
    Honey didn’t think so, either. For the rest of the way, they tried to find an explanation for Harrison’s puzzling behavior.
    They were no nearer to a solution when they reached the beginning of the trail. Honey would have preferred to stop and talk a little longer about certain things—such as whether it wouldn’t be much better to turn around at once and go home!
    But Trixie didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the woods. Soon the beam from her bicycle’s headlight was appearing and disappearing among the sturdy trees as she followed the winding trail up the hill. Slowly, timidly, Honey followed, her bicycle weaving nervously from side to side on the narrow path.
    The two friends could smell again the pleasant scent of fragrant pines and pungent spruces. They could hear the movement of small night creatures rustling among the trees and bushes. An owl hooted. A bullfrog croaked. And far in the distance, a dog began to bark and bark and didn’t stop.
    “Trixie?” Honey called in a quavering voice. “See? I was right.”
    “You usually are,” Trixie called cheerfully over her shoulder. “But what were you right about this time?”
    “The woods,” Honey gasped, pedaling as hard as she could. “They really are spooky!”
    Then, just as they both felt they could pedal no farther, the woods stopped. Sleepyside Hollow lay below them.
    It took only a glance to tell them that someone was home. Cheerful lights blazed from every window of the little house. From the chimney, a wisp of gray smoke rose lazily in the cool evening air.
    “Good!” Honey said, vastly relieved. “Now we don’t have to go any farther. I told you that everything would be all right. Come on, Trixie, let’s go home.”
    “But we have to go down there, Honey, don’t you see?” Trixie said slowly. “I’ve got to make sure that Henry’s been found.”
    Honey groaned aloud but good-naturedly began to follow Trixie down the hill.
    She was just thinking that, at last, the scary part of the journey was over, when Trixie’s hand suddenly reached out and gripped the handlebars of her bicycle.
    “Quick!” Trixie whispered urgently. “Turn out your light!”
    Bewildered, Honey obeyed. “But what— why—?” Her voice faded into stunned silence as she followed Trixie’s pointing finger.
    There in the clearing, close to the house, was a sight the girls would never forget as long as they lived.
    A figure on horseback appeared silently through the trees. It sat motionless in the wide beam of light that streamed from an uncurtained window. It had broad shoulders. It wore a long, flowing black cloak.
    But there was one thing the rider did not have.
    “Oh, Honey!” Trixie gasped. “He has no head!”

The Horse Wore Socks • 8

    TRIXIE AND HONEY felt as if they had been turned to stone. They could feel the cold metal of their bicycles under their nerveless hands, but their muscles were numb.
    They thought they made neither sound nor movement, but the ghostly figure seemed to stiffen. Its body turned as if to look in their direction. For a long moment, it hesitated.
    “Jeepers!” Trixie whispered. “It’s going to ride this way.”
    It didn’t. Suddenly, as silently as they had appeared, both horse and rider were gone.
    Trixie strained her eyes to peer across the clearing. What had happened was impossible, but it had happened—the headless horseman had vanished into thin air!
    Trixie let out her breath in one long gasp. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I simply don’t believe it! Come on, Honey! He can’t have just disappeared. Let’s follow him.”
    “F-Follow him? Are you k-kidding?” Honey sounded as if she were about to faint. “You can’t f-follow ghosts, Trix. The only place I’m going is home!”
    “Listen, Honey,” said Trixie, in her most reasonable tone of voice, “you don’t really believe, any more than I do, that that was a ghost.”
    “I believe! I believe!” Honey said devoutly.
    “It’s just someone trying to scare us. I’m sure of it,” Trixie answered.
    “But why would anyone