I remember growing up to the stories of the headless horseman that supposedly haunted the hill behind my grandmothers house.
My nan lived on the outskirts of a quiet little country town, pretty much surrounded by nothingness, with no real 'close neighbours'.
I remember that wonderful tingly feeling of fear and trepidation and a tiny bit of excitement mixed in too when we would visit and leave to go home late at night, walking out to the car in the pitch black dark, with the night noises all around us. I'd strain to hear the hooves of the horse but duck into my mums skirt at the same time. It was especially memorable when my brother or cousins would throw in sound effects or whisper things like "what was that" to get us littler ones nicely afraid.
In tribute to simple times and wonderful memories, I have provided my rendition of a headless spectre this week, please meet Icabod Bunny. He doesn't ride a horse, he wanders looking for his lost carrot, and rattling a few chains here and there.
If it is a dark night and you find yourself on a lonely country road, be very aware and indeed, very afraid.... Icabod could be there.....
