When I was young, I feared the headless horseman. At night, I pictured a gloved hand reaching up from just beyond the foot of my bed, slowly raising one finger at me, and then the rest of the body rising up, revealing the lack of a head. There was something so unfathomably, perversely unnatural to me about a living thing moving around without a head.
Then I grew up and got over the fear. In fact, it was easy for me to get over something that’s medically impossible. I mean, duh: nothing can survive without a head, right?
Present day: I find this article, and for a few minutes, I feel seven years old again. It is disturbing to me on an almost primal level.