1. Eleanor

1

ELEANOR

T here were five paramount steps to creating the perfect wife. Or so Mrs. Pencrook, her old finishing school teacher, would suggest.

Step One, everything you do, do with grace. A good wife will aim to talk, walk, and act with grace, as her person is a direct reflection of her husband.

Step Two, always have patience. A good wife never needs to rush, as she has a schedule for her daily affairs. To rush means that one is ill prepared.

Step Three, always submit to your husband’s good teachings, and never attempt to outwit him. A good wife will trust her husband above all else.

Step Four, always strive for absolute perfection. You will never achieve it, but strive for it nonetheless.

Lastly, and perhaps most cardinal, never leave the house on Hallows Eve.

They taught that rule to all young women in Autumntun. Ever since she was a girl, women to leave their residence on Hallows Eve were at risk of being stolen by the Headless Horseman. Though, Eleanor tended to dismiss such things as rumors fabricated by some of the elderly townspeople, as just another way to ensure the obedience of otherwise wayward brides.

‘Stay true to your husband else the Headless Horseman shall snatch you away,’ they would oft say.

And it was the truth that women had gone missing in the past. However, Eleanor believed that the reason for women going missing in the past was not a mythical being stealing them away, rather, they had been running from the men they were wed to. It would be the perfect cover, in her mind, to disappear under the guise of being snatched away by the Headless Horseman.

After all, who would go after them?

Eleanor brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face as she walked down the streets of Autumntun. She let the crisp air fill her lungs, mixing and wrapping with the scent of fresh pies, cinnamon, and other seasonal goods from the different bakers on the street.

The road was adorned with various colored leaves that had fallen from their branches, making it easy to see the beauty from the outside. It was easy to ignore the people—women in particular—rushing about, senselessly gathering supplies for the approaching Hallows Eve.

“Locks!” a merchant yelled from across the street. “Brand new locks for sale! Unbreakable, they are!”

Lifting her eyes from the path in front of her, Eleanor glanced at the man. His suit was a plain brown and the sign he held above his short stature advertised the different makes and models of locks his store offered.

No doubt, marking up the prices to feed off the fear of both women and their families. Ill-gotten coin if she ever heard so.

Eleanor rolled her eyes as she continued down her path to the bakery at the very end of the thoroughfare.

She passed a woman who dressed herself in what seemed to be the finest silks, arm in arm with a much taller, meaner looking man in a black suit.

“Hurry,” the man said, pulling her along by the arm, “we cannot be late for your curfew again. The mayor will have my head if you miss it.”

“Yes, dear, I understand, but we really should get a new lock for the entry. What if the,” she paused, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Headless Horseman, comes back this Hallows Eve?”

The man rolled his eyes, seeming to grow impatient. “Fine. Do make it quick.”

“Run, run, run, as fast as you can,” Eleanor whispered under her breath as the odd couple moved to walk across the street.

She herself would run away on Hallows Eve if she were married to a man like that.

The curfew was on behest of the new mayor. One week before and one week after Hallows Eve, all women were to be indoors upon sunset. One of Mayor Adam’s many promises was to stop the disappearance of the town’s women. Not that there had been any disappearances as of recent.

Really, all that meant was that women were to be kept under even harsher watch.

Opening the older wooden door to the bakery, the smell of her favorite pumpkin cake quickly enveloped Eleanor as she entered the shop. She had been coming here since she was young and nothing had changed. From the yellow walls down to the dark brown shelves that held their marked down, day-old goods, it was all the same.

The baker, Mr. Halton, looked up from the dough he was kneading. When his eyes met hers, he offered a warm smile. “Good evening, Eleanor. What will you be getting today? Did you perhaps smell the cake? It’s just about to finish cooling.”

“I wish,” she admitted, walking up to the counter. “Uncle has sent me for some rye bread. Should you have any left, I would need two loaves.”

The older, plump baker nodded his head. “Of course. And,” he paused, releasing the dough to wipe his hands on his apron, “how is your uncle these days?”

“Well enough. Trapped in his study until the late hours, although that is not unusual.”

Mr. Halton turned to disappear behind a curtain but kept talking, raising his voice higher than needed. “Of course he is. Tell him he shall turn into a phantom if he doesn’t bask in the light of day every once in a while!”

Eleanor laughed heartily. “Yes, well, I will try to tell him that tonight at dinner.”

Opening the curtain with one hand, Mr. Halton returned carrying two loaves of rye on his other arm. His kind, wrinkled eyes looked up at her as he set the bread on the counter between them. “And how are you faring, Ms. Carver?” he asked.

Mr. Halton, along with anyone else who had the pleasure of meeting her uncle, James Carver, knew that he did not have a gentle personality. Quite the opposite, in fact. It wasn’t uncommon for people to cross the street when he approached. Even Mr. Halton didn’t look back kindly on their first meeting. Eleanor was young when she moved to the town to live with her uncle. The desolate cobblestone road weaved through town, passing by wooden houses that, despite their surface level elegance, had a crooked and uneven appearance. Twisted willow trees lined the streets as hanging oil lanterns lit the path. Everything had seemed so magical and almost eerie. Upon her arrival, she had noted that it looked like a long-since forgotten town. When passing Mr. Halton’s bakery, the scent of his pumpkin cake had caught her in its warm embrace, and Eleanor had run inside without a second thought. Her uncle had kicked up enough of a fuss over the ‘sickly sweet’ smell invading the streets that some of the other bakers had stopped selling cakes for weeks. Though she was not surprised that they had acted thus. She expected it. Her family had founded Autumntun generations ago. What her uncle lacked in political power, he more than made up for in generational wealth.

Lucky enough for the townspeople, her uncle did not oft leave their house. Eleanor, however, was not as fortunate. After seeing her in the bakery, her uncle had scolded her about her weight and eating habits. She could never touch more than the portion of food she was given or any kind of dessert without comments from her uncle about her body, which would only spoil her appetite.

“I am well taken care of, so I harbor no complaints,” she lied as best as she could, even offering a soft smile.

Mr. Halton glanced at her with that knowing gaze of his before shrugging his shoulders in a lighthearted manner. “If only your falsehoods were as pretty as your face,” he jested.

Ignoring his comment, Eleanor placed her coins on the counter. “I will see you soon, Mr. Halton.”

“Yes, yes,” he responded, going back to kneading the dough.

Eleanor spun around and grabbed a basket from the shelf before turning back to the bread. Picking up the two loaves and placing them gently in the basket, she declared, “I will return this upon my next visit.” To which Mr. Halton only nodded his head.

With the basket on her arm, she turned to leave, but as her hands reached the golden knob of the door, the baker spoke up.

“Do be careful, Eleanor. ‘Tis almost sunset. Hurry home.”

Eleanor wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she turned to look over her shoulder and smiled again. “Yes, Mr. Halton. What else would I be doing?”

Pushing the door open, she walked out, letting it close softly behind her.

Glancing up at the sky, she noted the sun beginning its downfall. She would most likely have less than an hour before the town darkened fully.

She hardly made it ten steps away from the bakery before a familiar voice called out to her.

“Ellen! Ellen!” a woman yelled from behind, the sound of excited footsteps making their way up to her.

Eleanor turned her head to the side to see Penelope, one of her childhood friends, running up beside her. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun and her eyes were wide with delight.

“Penny,” she said to her cheerful friend. “Tis not like you to be out so close to sunset,” she jested.

Penelope laughed softly. Of all the women of Autumntun, Penny took their finishing school teachers’ rules to heart. She was graceful, patient, beautiful, and above all else, believed in the Headless Horseman.

“Well,” Penelope started, “I am actually on my way home. Or at least, I was when I saw you. Your house is on the edge of town. Will you make it in time?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Don’t tell me you still believe in that old legend, do you?”

“Of course I do!” her friend shot back, looking from side to side as if searching for any listening ears. “Don’t speak so loud of the Headless Horseman,” she scolded. “You might summon him. In any case, would you like to come home with me? I fear dark will set in soon.”

“That it will,” Eleanor confirmed. “Still, Hallows Eve has yet to be upon us. It is a few more days away. I would not be breaking the Headless Horseman’s rules, only Mayor Adams’. And it just so happens that I am friends with his daughter, so perhaps I will get a pass.”

Penelope bit her bottom lip, brows knitting together. “You know I won’t tell father. Still, I worry for you. Please,” she begged, “stay inside on Hallows Eve.”

Eleanor nodded her head, casting a kind but knowing glance towards her friend. “I always do. Even if I do not believe in such things, Uncle always keeps the house under lock and key.”

Penelope’s shoulders sagged, her worried expression twisting into one of sadness. “I am sorry you must reside with him. Such a crass and cruel man should never have been entrusted with a child.”

“It is quite alright. I still have a roof over my head and food on the table. You needn’t fret so much over me, and speaking of fretting,” Eleanor stopped walking as she nodded her head up to the darkening sky, “you should be on your way, else Mayor Adams,” she teased, “will keep you under lock and key until the next Hallows Eve.”

Penelope looked up and, once again, her brows furrowed as she groaned. “Ugh, okay, but please get home safe. Until next time, Ellen!” She waved as she spun on her heels, heading back to the mayor’s home.

Eleanor waved back at her anxious friend. “Until next time, Penny!”

Turning, she continued her routine journey back to her uncle’s house as the sun descended behind her.

Step after step, she moved through the town. With each minute that passed, fewer women walked the streets.

The wind whistled past her, causing the leaves to dance along the walkway. Ravens called from the withering trees as an orange glow began to light up their small, uncanny town.

As Eleanor strode by a line of houses, one by one their curtains closed, shutting out the darkness that was taking over.

When was the last time someone even went missing?

It must have been during her first Hallows Eve after moving to Autumntun. The missing woman was the wife of a robber baron who—as far as the town gossip went—resettled in town to escape social criticism after getting married. Their marriage had oft been whispered about as being quite turbulent.

Edith Woodcraft, I wonder what happened to you?

Did she run away under the guise of being taken by the Headless Horseman? Or was the truth… even darker?

After her disappearance, every Hallows Eve, all women were to be locked away. At the time she thought it was harsh, though, now she wishes it were only Hallows Eve.

The curfew did no one any good in her mind.

Eleanor slowed as one curtain remained open on the first floor of an older, run-down house. She couldn’t stop herself from peering at the window, or more specifically, the man that stood inside. He glowered at her as she walked by. She nearly stumbled when he shook his head, holding up a pocket watch that swayed side to side. Catching herself, Eleanor quickened her pace, ignoring the eerie feeling of being watched.

“Such odd people,” she mumbled to herself.

She kept a brisk pace until she reached the cast iron gates surrounding her uncle’s black manor. The property came across as being derelict, and one might think desolate, if it were not for the candles burning in the windows.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the inside was any more welcoming.

Eleanor unlatched the cold gate, and as it slowly creaked open, stepping inside onto a pile of dead leaves.

A raven cawed in the distance, and as she looked up at the manor, she could see the silhouette of her uncle pacing in his study.

“Home sweet home,” she mumbled under her breath.