The Haunt of Sleepy Hollow

I went back to the mountains, following the old road out of town.

Hardly anyone uses it anymore. They'll tell you the old excuses – 'tis too eldritch up there, 'tis dangerous in bad weather, the newer lower road is so much safer. It follows the old canal towpath, 'tis only dangerous when it floods, and there are plenty of warnings when the storms come through.

I know the real reason, and it gnaws at me.

I go up to visit. And tell him how sorry I am for getting caught up in this nightmare that I can't wake up from. Yea, verily, I married the girl, but at what price?

And 'tis not like I do not have daily reminders. I know the women gossip in town, but this? Every single firstborn male... named Ichabod.

All of them.

Including mine.

Katrina, Lord bless you, why do you not twist yon knife a bit deeper?

I was well in my cups after supper when I saw her turn in the firelight, and I caught my breath. The shape of her, her belly... And I knew.

“Katrina, art thou with child again?”

“Husband, I am.” She faced me, unsmiling. She never smiled, after that party. After the news, the suspicions.

“A joyous time, then.”

“Indeed.” No smiles.

The knife twisted deeper.

I drew a ragged breath. “Katrina, prithee, if I ask thee questions, wouldst thou answer truly?”

She thought for a moment. It was one of the things I loved about her, that she thought before doing a thing. Then her head tilted and her chin firmed, in the way that she had of delivering harsh news. “I would.”

“Dost thou hate me?”

A small pause. “I do, a little.”

“For what I may have done?”

She hesitated, but her head nodded ever so slightly.

“Canst thou forgive, e'en just a little?”

“I married you, didn't I?”

“But, why?”

“Better than those other fools. Whate'er was done, you were not willing. They were.” She sat gracefully on a chair, the cushion embroidered by her own hand. “He taught the girls, too, didst thou know? We were learning. We were reveling in the knowledge kept from our sex before then. We loved him, and then he was gone, driven away by arrogant fools. I wouldst fain have waited for you lot to find other mates and married a younger man, but no, my father wouldst not have it.” She sniffed. “I chose the least odious of you.”

“I knew not.”

“And now you do. What will you do with this precious knowledge? Will it bring him back to us? Will it teach our children? Make our town and home safer for us? Give them a legacy of peace and hope?”

I thought about that, watching the level of wine in my glass cup. Glass, not pottery or wood or pewter. A touch of vanity in our humble but snug home. And I shook my head. “If I were better off dead to you, that could be assigned,” I said quietly.

She sobbed a little. “So, he is dead then, not run off as claimed.”

I nodded. Large tears rolled down her face. “It was not mine intent, nor theirs either, I think. We... got carried away with the jest. Brom, I think, wanted to eliminate him as a suitor, not rob him of his life. He wanted your dowry more than you, but then-”

“Ichbod also lusted after my father's cozy life. I have eyes. But Brom's machinations were quite unseemly.”

“I should never have gone with them. They were stirred up, like a nest of hornets, and would not stop hounding the poor man. He lost his horse, and then...”

Take a rod to me for not learning my letters, will you? Have designs on MY prize, do you? Take that! And that! For all the times you dared switch me, how dare you, you insufferable little prick! Think you're better than us now, you bloody bugger?

My wife watched me impassively, though I think I saw a touch of pity deep in her dark eyes. I continued. “Do you know, to this day, neither of them will take the high road? They slink along the lower path like whipped curs. And they are well indoors far before dark, or will sleep in the barn if at a revel. Anything to be off the roads, come dark.”

“Is there a reason for such behavior?”

“I do not know, truly. I avoid the high road ere dark as well, but there are strange whispers come the gloaming.”

She thought again, coming to a decision with another slight nod. “I would like to see your proof. I knowest you visit some eerie monument up there, and now I knowest its constitution. We will go tomorrow, and you will show me.” I nodded, drank the bitter dregs of my drink, and glared at the dying fire.

We must swear a bond! An eternal bond! Never to speak of this, never to shew any person-

There is no path to the ravine, but I know the way very well. This close to All Hallow's Eve, no one will be about. We left the children with her father, of course, because his party was already in full swing. They love their grand-papa as much as we do.

Brom, enough! Lay off! He's not moving! He's bleeding! Look! He's-

They were just going to run away, and roll him into some leaves like a discarded toy. I was the one who knew of the little ravine farther along, hard to reach, but easy enough if you knew it was there. I wrapped him in his travel-coat and said a small prayer. I left him to the elements.

Over the years, I have said more prayers. And brought more than one bottle to share, a small quaff, like as unto friends.

In the ravine, there are rocks that form a natural cist. It is subtle, and blends into the surrounding in such a way that it can only be seen from one angle only. I led Katrina there, bade her stand on a certain rock, look a particular way.

And she cried.

I held her, and she sank deep into her grieveing with the circle of my arms. She who never bore my touch well, did when confronted with the mortal remains of the one who would fain have been her lover, given the chance. But he was not – because of me.

We shared a meal there, with a portion going to the dead, like they did in olden times. I began to understand, a little, how a simple act can form a kinship with the dead. Katrina poured the beer and served the foods for him, just as she would at our own home for honored guests.

We toasted, we drank, we ate, and we remembered the life of a scholar that I helped take out of this world too soon.

And we lost track of time, and it grew dark. Too fast.

And there he was.

When Brom mocked it, it was with a long cloak and a pumpkin he snatched from the decorations at the party, stores piled up for the winter. A bit of quick carving, and a candle with some oil, and he was ready to terrify.

But this, the reality, was really quite terrifying.

It stood there quietly, on its black horse. The horse's eyes were red, and yellow-orange flames glowed merrily behind the eyes and mouth of the jack-o-lantern. That was tucked firmly within the crook of an arm, and that arm was dressed as a soldier returning from war.

Katrina is a brave one. She saw it, and again firmed her resolve. She stood, smoothed her apron, and approached the rider, giving a curtsey when she stopped. “Greetings, Rider. What wouldst thou have of us?”

I don't deserve her, in so many ways.

The arm shifted, and the jack-o-lantern stared at me. You. You are one of my creators.

I bowed.

I have been made out of pain, despair, unlawful death, fear, and secrecy. Those are the ingredients of a haunting. The other arm lifted, pointed back towards the road where our misdeeds spun out. You and my other creators were there. They have never returned. You come back, to regret your decision.

Your regret has become my heart, and I loathe it. What is a haunt that has a core of regret? It spat a gout of fire that turned to ash in mid-air. I wish to meet my other creators, and I wish to wreak on them the revenge I have been craving!

Where did my wife get a curry comb? However she conjured it, it came out of one of her apron pockets, and she stepped up to the tall black horse. Neither the rider nor I knew what to do, but a few brush strokes later, the demon spawn was nickering and rubbing against her like an old friend. I and the lantern stared at each other, then her, then each other. I shrugged, and sat back on the rock, and took a few more swigs of ale. I handed the bottle to the haunting, and the headless hand reached out. It returned with the level of beer much lower than it had been.

“I do to think more clearly when mine hands are busy,” she murmured as she whisked a flank with sure strokes. I just shook my head, watching a red-eyed wight nuzzle my wife's shoulder lovingly.

I have never seen a haunting before, unless you count what I see whenever I close my eyes. But I have never seen a haunting look so nonplussed before, either.

“Hmm.” The brush noises stopped, and she gave the horse a gentle pat. “You wish Brom and his cronies to visit. They do to avoid this path like the very plague. 'Tis time, then, that they face thine music. We will ensure they come. Be ready, frightening haunt, for their return.”

Brom, we hast a fearful issue. The skeleton hast been moved! Thinkest thou I know not the difference between animal gnaw marks and a human-gendered moving of bones? Someone knows our secret! Hast thou told a soul? No? What about the others? You need to come and help me do something! Gather them, we must do to solve this!

I took savage joy in herding their sorry asses up the mountain. Four of us, trying to leave town inconspicuously – that was a treat. Trying to hide mattocks and spades as if we were children trying to hide candy in our pockets. Ridiculous. Typical.

They did not remember the way. There was no moon when we had last traveled this road, four idiots about to seal another's fate. Last time, I had tried my hardest to talk them out of this madness, but ale and lust were stronger than my pleas. Now, fear goaded them on.

We stood to lose everything if our murder was discovered.

So now we had to conceal it permanently.

I led them to the secret ravine, but I did not show them the cist. Instead, I told them to pick a spot and start digging, and I would retrieve the bones.

And it suddenly got dark in mid-afternoon.

I would have missed the mattock Brom was aiming at my temple, if not for a ghostly sword that snapped it in twain with a hollow clang.

Brom recoiled in horror. I swear, the ghastly smile on the jack-o-lantern grew wider.

The horse was blocking the only way out.

I sat on the rock again. If I were fated to die tonight, I wanted to watch the play before I perished.

The sword rested lightly on Brom's neck, but I could see a single drop of blood well up and trickle down his collarbone. You. Mortal. Progenitor. Greed, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, pride. Such sinfulness abides in you. You caused murder. You fled from your blood debt. You have avoided any and all responsibility. You and your cohorts. You are criminals. You are liars. You have traded all the good things that make you human for the manure of sweet, gilt evil. How do you explain your crimes?

Brom and his cronies looked like their blood had fled their bodies.

With a cry of shrieking rage, the haunting raised the lantern above its headless neck, and let fly straight at them.

There was a soundless explosion, and I was thrown to the earth.

When I struggled to raise myself, I saw three bodies slumped to the ground. Each one was quite headless. The remains of the jack-o-lantern littered the ground around them, flames curling from each shard, licking and twisting like hungry mouths.

The bodies shuddered, and turned to dust. The pumpkin pieces crumbled, the flames died out.

I looked at the Horseman. It was rubbing its arm like a weight had been lifted from the crook. Brom's head was above its neck, soundlessly screaming, eyes rolled in its head.

I must have made a noise, because the eyes focused on me. “Help me, please! Take pity! Do someth-”

Enough.

A snap, and the first cohort's head appeared. “Please, tell my wife-”

Enough!

Another snap, and the second cohort's head. He just sighed, resigned to his fate. “Tell Ichabod I'm sorry as well. I should have had the courage to confess. Now I am damned with this spirit for eternity.”

Yes, you are. The gloved hands reached for the reins, and the horse neighed hollowly, wheeled, and galloped into the night.

I sighed.

A rustle, and Katrina pulled herself out of a space behind the cist.

I helped her settle gently, for she was still with child, and I did not wish her to have a mischief in the dark. Her face was a mix of emotions, sad and angry and fearful and satisfied. She looked at me, the cist, the place where three bodies should lay, the tools left behind. She looked thoughtful. “Shoud we finally bury Ichabod? I think it would be a kindness, after all this.”

I nodded to agree, but the light stopped me.

A blue-white brightness appeared above the cist, like a star alighted on earth. A scratching came from the niche, and I realized it was the sound of the bones crumbling to dust.

Ichabod's ghost rose from the rocks, towards the light.

He gave an awkward blessing with his hand as he rose. “I would have made a sorry husband, not much better than Brom,” he whispered, “but I have been glad of your husband's company over the years. It was lonely, but he cared. Teach your children well, not to make my mistakes – or yours. Maybe better mistakes, or newer mistakes. God bless, be well-”

And the light was gone.

I did not realize my cheeks were wet with tears, though I saw Katrina's. We hugged each other, lost in thoughts over the night's events.

She smiled, and my heart lightened. I felt hope for the first time in long, long years.

We made our way past abandoned tools, back into town.