|D is for Dullahan|
But where did it come from? From the worthy pen of Washington Irving. Here’s a link to his prose:
It’s far older than that eponymous tiny town in New York. It’s old indeed; Irish folklore old, in fact. The Dullahan is fey, and a particularly nasty one at that. Neither specifically male or female, this sinister spirit carries its grinning skull under its arm, cracking a whip fashioned from a human spine, riding unto its hapless victim, that can no more bar its approach than you can hold back the tide, All gates snap open, all locks yield to its approach, and in the end, like the grim reaper, it takes what is its due, the soul of he whose time has been writ.
|When The Dullahan Passes By|
|The Dullahan Rides|
|The end arrived upon a steed of twilight...|