Dullahan

"I saw..."
A pause. He blinked.
"...a headless man."

"What?" Sameer stared at him, stunned.

"It's true!" Rajeev's voice was sharp, his eyes wide with conviction.

"That's not what I meant!" Sameer pointed down. "Did you... pee yourself?"

"Huh?" Rajeev looked down. His trousers were damp. His face twisted in confusion. "What the hell? I... did this?"

"You saw a headless man and pissed your pants?" Sameer burst into laughter. "Weren’t you the one who said ghosts don’t exist? Mr. Rational-Science-Guy?"

"I don’t know what happened!" Rajeev snapped. "I was stargazing. Everything was calm. And then—I felt something. Like... I was being watched. I turned around and suddenly—there was this thing. Riding a horse. And next time I saw myself was running, I don’t know why?"

Sameer clutched his stomach, still laughing. “You probably imagined it. Or maybe you fell asleep under the stars and had a nightmare.”

Rajeev shook his head, face pale. “It felt real. The horse. The rider. No head. Just... standing there.”

Sameer finally caught his breath. “Well, whatever it was, you set a new record. Scared yourself so bad, you wet your pants.”

Rajeev sighed. Then frowned. “Wait... What are you doing out here at 2 a.m. anyway?”

“I came to look for you!” Sameer said. “Thought a wild animal might’ve dragged you off. But turns out it was your bladder that betrayed you.”

“Can you stop obsessing over that?” Rajeev snapped. “That’s not the point. I saw something. I’m not making this up.”

Sameer waved a hand. “You were tired. Maybe you dozed off and dreamed it. Just get some sleep, man.”

He yawned, turned around, and walked back inside without another word.

Rajeev stood there for a few more seconds, eyes flicking toward the woods.

The night was silent again. Too silent.

Then he picked up his telescope, still trembling slightly, and followed his friend inside.

2.1

Rajeev woke up to laughter.

His friends were gathered around the breakfast table, and as soon as he entered, the teasing began.

"What? You really did that?" Arti covered her face, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

"Didn’t expect this from you, bro..." Veeru said, sipping his coffee with a dramatic sigh.

In the background, Sameer was practically choking on his laughter.

Rajeev rubbed his forehead and sat down, ignoring them. “Was it real? Even if it was... why did I run? I didn’t even process what I saw. My body just moved. Like it wasn’t me in control.”

He took a slow sip of coffee, lost in thought.

"Ohhh no, here we go again..." Sameer groaned, slamming Rajeev’s head on the table politely.

Rajeev blinked. “Wait... I said that out loud? I thought I was just thinking.”

“I think your mental state is crumbling,” Arti said, looking genuinely concerned as she took a sip of her coffee.

“True,” Veeru echoed. Slurp.

Rajeev looked at all of them, a thought crossed his mind. How can a body react to something before even realizing? Maybe they are correct...I'll go and check there again.
Quite determined, he stood up. “Alright! I’m heading out for a walk.”

Arti glanced away awkwardly. “Be safe.”

“True.” Slurp.

2.2

Rajeev returned to the jungle, retracing his steps from the night before.

The wind rustled leaves gently. Birds chirped, and sunlight filtered through the branches. But there were no hoofprints, no signs of anything unusual. For two full hours, he scoured the area. Nothing.

Disappointed, he returned to the inn.

“Where is everyone?” he asked the innkeeper.

“They went to the riverside to enjoy the morning. Told me to let you rest when you came back,” she said nonchalantly.

“Rest... right.” He raised his hand like he wanted to ask something more—but stopped himself.

Instead, he wandered to the farmlands nearby. Farmers were already hard at work, sweat gleaming on their brows under the late morning sun.

He found an old man resting under the shade of a thatched cottage and quietly sat beside him.

“The fields look good, don’t they?” the man said, wiping his face with a cloth.

“Yeah…” Rajeev nodded, then hesitated. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Uncle... have you ever seen a headless man riding a horse? At night?”

The old man stopped mid-wipe and turned slowly, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“You mean... the Dullahan?”

Rajeev leaned forward. “You know about it? Please, tell me everything.”

The old man chuckled. “Hah... didn’t think kids these days knew that name. It’s an old Irish legend, boy. Passed down in whispers, from one generation to another.”

Rajeev listened intently, heart thudding.

“They say the Dullahan’s a headless rider, dressed in black. Rides a tall, wild horse — sometimes he drives a silent, black carriage with six horses. And in his left hand...” the old man lifted his hand for effect, “he holds his own rotting head. Eyes rollin’ like they’re searching, always smilin’ that ugly grin.”

Did he have his head in his hands there? I didn’t notice, Rajeev didn’t blink. “What does he do?”

The old man’s face darkened slightly. “He’s no ordinary ghost. When the Dullahan stops and speaks your name, you die. Just like that.”

“They say no gates or locks can stop him. Everything opens in his presence. He doesn't like being watched either — throws a bucket of blood on those who spy, or worse... lashes out with a whip made of a human spine. Plucks out your eyes.”

Rajeev’s mouth fell slightly open.

“Only one thing scares him—gold. Even a speck can send him away. That’s why old folks used to carry gold coins at night, just in case.”

“Where... where did this story come from?” Rajeev asked.

“In some myths,” the old man began, his voice low and worn like weathered stone, “a Dullahan serves a dark deity — Crom Dubh, the crooked one. An old Irish god, they say. Fed on death and sacrifice.”
He shifted in his creaky chair.
“When people stopped givin' him what he wanted, Crom Dubh didn’t take it lightly. Sent out his servant instead. A Dullahan. To collect the souls himself.”

The wind stirred gently, sighing through the cracks in the cottage walls. A loose shutter thumped once.

Rajeev sat frozen. Every word landed sharp in his mind.
That figure from the night before — the headless rider, the way the horse had moved without sound...

It wasn’t a nightmare.

It was a Dullahan…