Heavy fog rolled across the street. Bright green light shone through at the other end of the street and I heard howling off in the distance. Somewhere.

My boots clunked with each step and the cold air snapped at my throat on every intake.

“Johnny come home,” I said, not caring if anyone heard or not.

I flipped the pistol back in its holster and looked straight forward. I was not scared.

“Missing something sweetie pie?” a witch at the first house on my right asked.

I did not answer.

I walked on.

“Missing something sweetie pie?” a witch at the second house on my right asked. Her voice was a little more cheerful, a little more accusatory than the first.

I said nothing.

The houses on the left continued to remain dark, pitch-black.

“Missing something sweetie pie?” a witch at the third house on my right asked. Her voice was a little more cheerful, a little more gleeful and a little more accusatory than the first two.

I continued on, not saying anything at all, not glancing over at the dark hole houses to my left.

The howling came up behind me. The green light shown brighter than a fish on a Saturday morning. I walked on, boots clunking on too.

I was not missing something.

Before I reached the next house, I ran into an invisible wall. When I struck it, bright and loud streaks of lightning burst out from my point of contact but went away when I backed up.

This.

This was what I came for.

I pulled the pistol from my holster and shot. The invisible wall flashed blindingly before me and exploded into millions of pieces of candy corn.

I stood still as my vision played around with me. When I regained it, ghosts appeared around me.

“Going to find a pumpkin?” one asked, cackling as it swirled around and around me.

“Looking for the Orange Head?” another asked.

“You shouldn’t have broken the Separator,” a third said. “He’ll be mad.”

They all meant good ole Jack O. Lantern, King of Halloween, Ruler of Darkness, your grand old Headless Horseman. Ironic how flames danced where his eyes belonged.

I didn’t answer those ghosts. I holstered my pistol once more and moved on, candy corn smashing under my feet with each step.

The green light up ahead drew near. Or maybe I drew near it, I’m not sure. It was the light from a lantern hanging on the Grim Reaper’s scythe. Why he of all beings needed a light, of any color whatsoever, I have no idea.

“Greetings, Slayer,” he said. “The Grim Reaper greets you.”

“I know,” I said. “Don’t pretend I don’t. Death or not, you’ve been following me for ages.”

“And tonight I will not have you.”

“No,” I said, “but you’ll have the Headless Horseman.”

A slight pause, not enough to notice if you were not me in my shoes, but enough.

“He waits for you.”

“I know. He should. He’ll die tonight, but not at my hands.”

“Go.”

Go on, he meant, not knowing what I meant. I passed him by, his breath reached me like the smell of rotting tree. And then I was past him.

The tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman” reached my ears. I stumbled. A Christmas tune?

I chuckled, brushing it off.

“Fitting,” I said when I saw him.

“It has quite the Halloween feel, doesn’t it?” his voice came from somewhere.

I didn’t see his head, and he didn’t have it in his hands, but his voice echoed all around.

“Come closer,” he said.

I stepped closer, leaves crunching under my feet as if they had been there since the beginning. I looked around and noticed all the barren trees swaying and creaking, in the dark night. This Jack O. Lantern really knew how to make himself an outdoor throne room, mobile as his horse throne was.

“You hear that?” I asked.

We both listened. Nothing.

“You hear that?” I asked.

We both listened. The wind, the creaking of the trees.

“You hear that?” I asked.

Shouting and voices in the far distance.

Pitchforks and torches approached, but not that we could yet see. It would be a short while until they got here.

“You hear that?” King Jack O. Lantern mocked, his echoing laughter shook even the trees.

Of course I heard it. That was the sound of his death, only he did not grasp it.

“I die every year,” he said, reading my thoughts. “I am reborn every year. Do you not think I know this?”

His face lit up in the dark. I’m not sure where it had been, but now he tossed his pumpkin head in the air, almost as if juggling singlehanded.

“I die every year, death-bringer,” he said. “Your loss was nothing to me.”

He laughed.

He didn’t know what I knew. He died every year, but I already knew that.

“Every year I die,” he said again. “They worship me for it.”

He pointed behind me. We could see the torches in the distance now.

“They fear you,” I said. “They do not worship you.”

“Oh they do,” he said. “Fear is worship.”

“Then you worship me,” I said. “You fear me and you worship me.”

Jack O. Lantern laughed.

“Look around you,” he said.

At the sound of cackling, I looked up. Witches by the dozens flew around the night sky. Bats by the hundreds flew from the trees. Cold wind swept down upon me and frogs croaked in harmony. The dark of night did not drown out the howling, and I could see a ghost here or there amongst the trees.

What he did not know could not hurt him, but it could end him. In the darkness I grinned.

The lanterns and pitchforks and torches approached. Their voices began to surround us. Their call for blood curdled in my ears.

They wanted Pumpkin Man but did not know it. They wanted the one who had done it all, that’s what they knew. They wanted him.

“I die again tonight,” the Ruler of Darkness whispered in my ear, placing his pumpkin head upon his neck, “and I’ll be born again tomorrow.”

That Headless Horseman laughed as he jumped off his horse and walked to his death. He laughed, and with him I laughed.

What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. But it could end his life forever.

I watched as the Headless Horseman took on the appearance of a man, pumpkin head replaced by the visage he’d been using. He looked angry at his captors, but I knew that was only a ploy.

They bound him to a stake, and when the fire drew near, he put up a struggle. I’m not sure if the fear and the struggle was real or pretend, but if it was real, it was worship, no?

The flames devoured him, smoke rising up into the night sky. The stench of burning human flesh mixed with pumpkin and mixed with screaming. Or was it mocking laughter?

I smirked.

I knew.

What he didn’t know he never knew. I’d found his secret vine and killed it. I’d destroyed that source. I’d not destroyed him one more time – I’d killed him forevermore.