Halloween is fast approaching and it is my favorite time of year. I always wondered why I was fascinated by violence and gore in films and literature, but after hearing my father retell the story of my childhood decapitation phase I finally found my answer.
When I was a small child I had a disturbing obsession with headlessness. I popped the heads off all my barbies and all my sister’s barbies, I even told my sister I would cut her head off. In fact, that was my general go-to threat toward people who offended me. “I’m gonna cut your head off,” I would threaten these wrong-doers in my 5-year-old girl voice. A personal offense against me would always end in a quick, painless death. Even then, I had mercy and efficiency.
When my parents would bring me with them to the mall they would point to the headless mannequins and say “kasey’s been here.” I would press my little hands and nose against the glass and stare at the decapitated, porcelain bodies in their fashionable outfits.
The story of Icabod Crane and the headless horseman never scared me, despite that being the point of the story. In fact, I always rather enjoyed it. I still own the Johnny Depp DVD version of the classic Halloween tale. Halloween and anything associated with the spooky holiday always appealed to me. Kill Bill is one of my favorite movies of all time. There is just something so satisfying about Beatrix Kiddo dismembering and killing dozens of Japanese gangsters.
To this day, even the scrape of the dead leaves being blown across the ground is one of my favorite sounds. It is as eerily comforting as a headless mannequin or dismembered henchmen.
Without their leaves, the trees are headless.