The Rider: Portents of Death, #0.5

By Rebekah Lewis

Dylan O'Connor is plagued with recurring dreams involving a Headless Horsemen in the days leading up to Halloween. Living in the town of Sleepy Hollow, he's sure it's just coincidence. But when the same dream involves the decapitation of someone that looks remarkably like the woman he's about to ask out on a date, it becomes more troubling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebekah Lewis
• Release date: Oct 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223126126

Rebekah Lewis

Rebekah Lewis has always been captivated by fictional worlds. An avid reader and lover of cinema, it was only a matter of time before she started writing her own stories and immersing herself in her imagination. Rebekah’s most popular series, The Cursed Satyroi, is paranormal romance based on Greek mythology. She also writes Fantasy and Time Travel. When satyrs, white rabbits, and stubborn heroes aren’t keeping her busy, she may be found putting her creativity to use as an award-winning cover artist. Rebekah holds a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and lives in Savannah, GA with her cat, Bagheera.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Thunderous hooves echoed in the distance, announcing a rider hidden by the dense fog rolling through the dark cover of trees. A figure huddled near, just out of sight. Light from the moon caught on a glint of gold around their neck. Dylan couldn’t quite make out what he was seeing. He took a step toward the figure and the shadowy head turned in his direction. At the same time, a horse and rider broke through the trees, rearing back and screeching, closer to where Dylan stood.

The first mysterious figure forgotten, Dylan threw his arms up in defense against the second, falling on his backside in his haste to move out of the creature’s way. When the horse brought his front hooves down to stamp the earth with unbridled agitation, the cloaked rider leaned down to peer at him.

Except, he didn’t have a head.

Before Dylan could shout from the shock of it, his gaze darted to the grinning skull cradled in the rider’s left arm. Then to the whip being raised in his right hand. Was that…a spinal column for a handle?

As the whip made to strike him, his surroundings changed. No longer did he cower in a forest, but now sprawled in a field, in the middle of an archaic stone circle. Also in the middle stood a larger stone with carvings in the shape of a man. Some Celtic deity probably. Gold shimmered within parts of the middle carving. Whoever this portrayed held some importance.

A woman screamed, sending the night into silence in its wake. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms and the back of his neck. Even with his biker jacket on. Was the chill from the night air, or from nerves? He honestly couldn’t tell.

More hooded figures emerged from the fog, none sporting the gold around their necks the original one he’d seen had on, dragging a woman with them dressed in a white gown. Their clothing appeared out of time, like someone would wear at a Renaissance fair. That wasn’t the oddest part, however. No, the oddest part was that the closer she was dragged toward Dylan, the more she looked like Penelope Sullivan, yet different. Her skin was fairer, her hair red. Penelope had dark hair with bleached highlights. This woman’s facial features were dead on though.

But it couldn’t be Penelope. He was seeing things, surely. Hey! he called out as they got closer. Let her go!

The group of five either didn’t hear him or chose not to respond. The robed figure trailing behind him shifted something from one shoulder to another.

An axe.

Dylan looked from it to the bound woman, to the gold embellished idol in the center of a stone circle. What in the druid hell was going on here? Surely, this wasn’t… They weren’t… No!

He tried to run at the cloaked figures, but moved straight through them as if he were only an apparition. Helpless, he watched as the woman was hauled against the carving in the center, pressed back against it and held there while she was tied in place with rope. Tears fell down her cheeks and she looked heavenward, pleading for her life. The words were indecipherable to Dylan in Gaelic, but the meaning clear.

The woman looked so much like Penelope and not like her at all. Her dark eyes flashed his way, sparkling with tears as she both looked to him and through him at the same time. The crunch of the axe cutting through her neck made him want to vomit, yet he could only watch. Witness her life ending. Blood ran down the idol, painting the yellow of the gold with red. A dark laugh behind him sent