Demon's Hide

The Dullahan

Female Reader x Male Monster

You've taken over the small shop your aunt used to own. She gave it to you when she retired, hoping to keep it in the family rather than sell it off. You've moved into the apartment above it and you're getting used to the sleepy town you now call home.

Your shop is busy in the mornings. All you usual clientele get up at the crack of dawn. All the old people come in and buy their wares then leave. The rest of the day you're rather bored. You go through the inventory of the shop. Read books on the shelves. You often find yourself staring listlessly out the window. The shop faces a decaying cemetery and the ruins of an abandoned church.

Some of the old people who come into the shop have their stories to tell. They talk about when they were younger and no one was allowed to go out at nights. They talked about a fire at the original church. No, not the one outside your window. There was one before that one. That's the new church. When you ask why they still call it the new church they shrug and laugh.

One old lady who comes in and trades you eggs for spices often stares out the window. Her smile softens ever so slightly when she looks at the graveyard.

"My whole family is buried out there," she sighs. "Well, the ones before me. The ones after will be buried elsewhere I suspect."

"How come the graveyard is so unattended to if everyone's families are there?" You ask her.

"The dead are dead." She replies with a chipper laugh. "They aren't in that old graveyard. When things get lean here we all agree to put money towards better things. The schoolhouse. The children. Well, those that are still here." She laughs. "Extra money goes to those who need it. Not to a bunch of bodies that aren't working anymore." She chortles at that.

"What's the story with the uhm...new church." It's so hard for you to wrap your mind around it.

"Oh," she laughs again. "Why not start us a cup of coffee?" She says. "It's a long ass story." She moves herself to the small sitting area where you have a coffee pot and small muffins. She takes the basket of muffins while you pour a pot of coffee.

"The New Church, as it's still so called, was built when I was little. All of us who are here were basically kids. I suppose that's why we all call it that. More sugar dear. Much more. I don't have teeth to worry about. Don't be shy." She relaxes as she stirs her cup. "Well anyways, the original had burned down. They said the old pastor lost a few too many screws and thought he was fighting a devil in the church. Set the church and himself on fire."

"That's grisly," you shudder. "For such a small town I mean."

"Isn't it?" She pats your shoulder. "Well, while the new church was being built we held service in people's houses. If the weather permitted outside near the graveyard under a tent. It was during these services that us kids began noticing strange things."

"Like what?" You lean towards her.

"One girl saw a man planting pumpkin seeds around the gravestones. Claimed his head caught on fire when he turned to wave at her." She leaned in closer to you. "No one believed her until pumpkins started growing around the gravestones."

Your eyes grew wide and she giggled girlishly. "What else?" You asked, growing excited.

"A young boy, oh, Horace Grayson actually, you know him. He saw a man walking through the church as it was being built. Said he went to the pulpit and disappeared. Then a young girl claimed she was returning from visiting a friend late. Said she was being chased by feral dogs and a man on horseback scared them off. Said when she went to say thank you he handed her a pumpkin from his shoulders and he had no head."