It was All Hallow’s Eve, and night had fallen early over Sherwood Forest. The greenwood lay in darkness, deep and velvety black, and a howling wind played through the high treetops, lashing branches and sending eerie noises echoing around the outlaws’ camp.
Inside the camp the fire was lit, and Much kept it burning brightly and merrily in an attempt to ward away the encroaching darkness. The outlaws huddled around it, conscious of the black pockets that lurked in the corners of the camp, and kept up a steady flow of conversation to hold their fears at bay.
It was the night before All Saint’s Day, which fell on the first day of November. It was a time to pray for the dead, but also, according to Celtic traditions, the time when the veil between this world and the next was at its thinnest, and when ghostly souls could return from the dead.
Robin Hood imparted this knowledge to his gang in succinct and solemn tones, his face lit from below by the blaze of the fire. He loved stories of the supernatural, believing there was an explanation for most things but ready to accept that some things were incomprehensible. Little John and Much Miller stared at him, aghast.
“What is wrong with you? Why are you telling us this now?” Much said in an outraged tone, and almost jumped out of his skin as the wind blew suddenly and sharply and something banged in one of the darker corners, dislodged by the gale.
Robin, Will Scarlett, and Djaq, the Saracen woman, laughed out loud. Roana, Robin’s sister, moved closer to Allan A Dale, and he opened an arm to invite her into the cocoon of the blanket he had draped around himself. She snuggled close, resting her head on his shoulder, knowing what would come next. As a child, Robin had always loved a spooky tale, and had often spoken of the spirits that haunted the forest.
“So, does anybody have any decent ghost stories?” Djaq asked, looking around the camp.
“Nope. No,” Much insisted, visibly ruffled. “No ghost stories.”
“I’ve got one,” Will offered, and Much glared at him, while the rest of the gang looked on in anticipation.
“It is a story that my dad told Luke and I when we were kids,” Will began in a low and ominous tone, “about the headless horseman that roams this forest.
“Years ago, there was a nobleman, Godwin of Clun, who was travelling from Nottingham town back to his home at Clun Hall after attending the Council of Nobles, on All Hallow’s Eve. He was riding along the Great North Road, ready to cut through the greenwood, when suddenly, his horse was spooked by something in the forest. Wolves, it is rumoured, starving in the harsh autumn and drawing closer to the villages and main roads through the forest, in hope of an easy meal.
“Godwin’s horse bolted with the wolf pack snapping at its heels. Try as he might, Godwin could not stop it, and they careered through the forest, out of control.
“It is said that they passed under a low-hanging branch, and Godwin’s head was knocked clean off his shoulders by the impact. Since then, people often claim to have seen the headless horseman, galloping through the forest at the dead of night on All Hallow’s Eve, looking for his head.”
The fire crackled, and Little John, Much, and Allan all started. Allan glared at the fire as if it were to blame, and Much glared at Will.
“Hang on,” he scoffed. “How does anyone know that his horse was spooked by wolves, or that his head was knocked off by a branch, if he was alone?”
“Well,” Will said, in the same spooky tone, “his horse galloped all the way back home, and, by some feat of magic, Godwin’s headless corpse remained in the saddle all the way to Clun Hall. When his men investigated in the forest the following morning, all they found of his head was the jawbone. The rest had been chewed up, and there were huge paw prints all around.”
“That’s disgusting,” Djaq breathed in awe, and Robin laughed.
“That’s nothing,” he said. “What about the ghost children from Treeton mine?”
Much stared at him in horror, and Allan shuddered.
“Ghost children?” he said, his tone dubious. “I’m not being funny, but I really don’t like the sound of that.”
Roana muffled a snigger beside him and looked at her brother. “Go on. I love this story.”
Robin settled down to tell his tale, his expression one of eagerness in the flickering light from the fire.
“There were four Milton children; Matty was the oldest, then Sarah and Steven, the twins, and lastly, Jessie, the youngest at just seven. Their parents were not well off, and after a particularly hard winter, they were forced to send their children to work at the mine for the extra coin.
“One day, the children were toiling away in the depths of the mine. Unbeknownst to them, there was a storm brewing, and the rain cascaded down, flooding the river Trent. It overflowed, causing part of the mine to collapse, and the children and a number of adults were trapped within. Nobody knew about it until later that week. It was usual for miners to be away for days on end while they finished their jobs. They usually had food and provisions, but not on this occasion.
“By the time the villagers had dug their way through in an attempt to save the group, the trapped adults were all dead, and there were signs that they had been partly eaten.”
“WHAT?!” Much gasped. “By who?”
Robin shrugged, mysteriously. “They never did find the children. It was thought that they wandered further underground and became lost,” Robin continued. “But every so often, people will hear the laughter of children playing in the forest or around the mine, and food will go missing, presumably taken by the hungry spirits. Sometimes,” he lowered his voice even further, and the others drew closer, “Jessie’s doll is seen, abandoned in strange places, before it disappears without a trace. This very often heralds a period of intense haunting.”
The gang members were staring at him in varying degrees of horror and intrigue. The wind outside the camp suddenly picked up, and a tree bough made a squeaking noise as it swayed, sounding very much like an excited child.
Allan looked up in terror.
“This I do not like!” Little John exclaimed, his own face a mask of fear.
“Right, that’s it,” Much exclaimed, standing up suddenly and scaring the group. “I’m going to bed. No more stupid ghost stories for me. I’ve had enough.”
Robin laughed and winked at Roana. “Goodnight, Much. Don’t be having bad dreams.”
Muttering to himself, Much stalked away to his bed and pulled back his blankets. He let out a scream and came running back to them, terror written all over his face.
“It’s th-there,” he stammered, pointing towards his bed. “In my b-bed.”
“What are you on about?” Allan snapped, nervously peering behind him. Djaq had jumped to her feet and was brandishing her sword.
“It’s the doll. Jessie’s doll. It’s in my bed!”
Robin and Will burst into fits of laughter, and the rest of the gang swung round to stare at them. Realisation suddenly dawned on Much’s face.
“It was you, wasn’t it? The doll?” He placed his hands on his hips and glared at Will. “You put it there?”
Lowering her sword, Djaq crossed to his bed. She came back holding a crudely made cloth doll, with a tattered, pale blue dress. It had pigtails of straw, a mouth fashioned from thick black thread, and two beady, black button eyes.
Allan and Little John looked visibly sickened, while Much scrunched up his face in disgust and said, “That is revolting.”
“Boo!” Djaq shouted and threw it at him. Much let out a yelp as the doll hit him and fell to the ground at his feet. Everybody laughed at his expression, although John and Allan were slow to join in.
“You lot need to grow up,” Much announced. Picking up the doll, he threw it in the direction of the fire and flounced off to bed.
Still laughing, Robin looked at the rest of the gang. “I think I’ll turn in, too.” He stood and couldn’t help an impish grin spreading over his face. “Watch out the ghosts don’t get you.”
“Robin, stop it,” Little John grouched, and stomped off to his own bunk.
“Come on, you,” Roana said to Allan, who was still eyeing the doll, which had missed the fire and was lying on the ground nearby, with trepidation. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Gradually, everyone followed suit, and soon, the camp was silent apart from the wind, all outlaws fast asleep.
In the morning, when they arose, the doll was gone, along with half a rabbit and two bread rolls.