The Lady From Sleepy Hollow

Ichabod

I awaken with a start, my heart hammering faster than a rabbit's due to a nightmare. Sunlight peers through my large circular window, my red cardinal chirping lively. I sigh and sit up, running a hand through my dark, messy hair. I have to get ready for a court case in the metropolis watchhouse.

I get up and quickly dress into my police uniform, glancing at the window and the cardinal as I button it up. I hurry out of my room, grabbing my satchel with important research files of mine, and speed down the stairs, racing to the street and hailing a coach.

The metropolis is thriving with horse-drawn vehicles plodding, men, women and children, merchants and tradesmen everywhere.

The coach slows to a halt outside of the city watchhouse. I note the sight of men held in chains and gibbets in front of the watchhouse.

I get out of the coach, and stride in with confidence, satchel in hand. In no time, I take my place amongst gathering members of the court, ready to bring forth my standpoint.

The court is holding an audition today. A row of the officials are auditioning applicants, mostly consisting of obvious cranks and eccentrics, with devices for crime fighting and crime solving. The applicants are crowded together to one side, waiting their turn, I among them, holding only papers and books, compared to the fellow applicants.

The burgomaster watches intently, debating if this invention will be worth his time. Flanked by the high constable and various magistrates and aldermen. The inventor is demonstrating a combination wallet and mousetrap.

"...and in a few weeks, the plague of pickpockets will be a thing of the past!" The inventor shows the burgomaster how to set the trap-spring.

"Give me a dozen constables in gentleman's dress..." the inventor states, pocketing the wallet-trap, "...mixing with the crowds where pickpockets are rife!"

He produces a fake hand-on-a-stick and does the business, explaining, "A stealthy hand dips into the gentleman's pocket...and—!"

There is the sound of the trap snapping shut and the inventor withdraws the fake hand with its fingers chopped off. The officials wince at the thought of losing their fingers, but are nonetheless, impressed.

The burgomaster smiles down at the inventor politely and says, "Thank you. We will take your device under consideration, Mr. Vanderbilt... Next!"

A spotty man starts dragging a man-sized cage contraption to center stage. I try to get the attention of the officials. Any man with a heart and reason would argue against such medieval torture.

​"The Millennium is almost upon us. In a few months we will be living in the nineteenth century!" I say loudly up to him, stepping into their view. "Yet our courts continue to rely on our medieval devices of torture."

​​The high constable hollers at me in scolding, "Stand down!"

​​I straighten in pride, glancing between them and confidently proclaiming, "I stand up, for sense and justice!"

I slowly face the people, raising my papers in the air and degrading, "Our jails overflow with men and women convicted on confessions worth no more than this one."

​​The high constable hammers his gavel furiously as I finish my statement, the burgomaster's booming voice bellowing, "Constable Crane!"

I turn back to him and immediately lose my confidence, nervousness edging into my demeanor. The burgomaster continues quietly, "This is a song that we have heard from you more than once."

I glance down, then back up at him, trying to hold an even gaze. When I don't respond, he says, "Now, there are two courses open to me. First, I can let you cool your heels in the cells until you learn respect for the dignity of my office—"

"I beg pardon," I interrupt, murmuring politely in denial of this course, placing my hands behind my back respectively. "But why am I the only one who sees that to solve crimes, to detect the guilty, we must use our brains to recognize vital clues, using up-to-date scientific techniques?"

The burgomaster points out with slight irritation of my interruption, "Which brings me to the second course."

He leans an inch closer to me, a smile tugging at his lips. "There is a town upstate, two days' journey to the north in the Hudson Highlands. It is a place called Sleepy Hollow. ​Have you heard of it?"

Sleepy Hollow...? I look down then up at him again, blinking a few times, unsure and uneasy. "I have not."

​"An isolated farming community, mostly Dutch. Three persons have been murdered there, all within a fortnight. Each one found with the head," he explains darkly, swiping a finger across his neck, "lopped off."

My eyes widen at the unrealistic horror. I utter out just above a whisper, smiling uneasily, "L-Lopped off?"

​​The burgomaster flashes me a quick smile, then says, "Clean as dandelion heads, apparently. You will take these experimentations of yours to Sleepy Hollow, and there you will detect the murderer. ​Bring him here to face our good justice."

He glances down at the high constable, then tilts his head as he returns his solemn eyes to me. "Will you do this?"

I swallow down my doubt, knowing that such a case, will not end prettily.

"I shall," I say a little louder, picking the case over jail.

​​The burgomaster leans forward and slowly points a finger at me. "Remember, it is you, Ichabod Crane, who is now put to the test."

________________

I look over my room, scanning over the piles of books and papers, jars of chemicals, magnifying glasses, chalkboards covered with scrawl and anatomy charts above my small bed. I sigh and pack up my science tools and other belongings into a large briefcase.

With one more short look-over, I clasp my briefcase shut with another sigh. The cardinal's chirps resonate shrilly through my small room.

I step toward the cage and slowly open it, reaching in and grasping the bird carefully, feeling its soft feathers for the last time. I then walk to my open window and release it into the free air, watching it fly away with sadness.

I look down at the streets below and see a coach halt. The forlorn driver looks up at me, giving me a conclusion.

My coach has arrived.