The Lady From Sleepy Hollow

Jonathon Masbath

I keep careful watch of the forest in front of me, waiting for a sign of the murderer, the Hessian, my only source of light being a little lantern in the fort with me.

The street behind me is empty, the sound of crickets chirping in the chilly night air.

A low, sinister sound rumbles in the distance, and a flock of sheep flee across the small grassy plain in front of me. I watch them, and then look where they flee from.

Then I hear a low sinister sound of rumbling again. The sound is coming from the ground. I grow fearful, shifting my weight uneasily.

The torches burn bright along the forest line as I watch the forest closely. A horrible, silent stillness has fallen.

A thick fog creeps from the woods. As fog overtakes each torch, a mist snakes up, snuffing out each flame, one by one, by one, all along the forest edge.

I stick my rifle out from the bunker, and sight the gun along the treeline, muttering, "Come out, devil."

The sound of approaching horse hooves echoes through the air. Several deer stampede out, springing across the field.

My eyes widen at the horror before me, charging at me with indescribable speed. I fire my gun, and the shot echoes through the night air.

________________

I flee through the forest, glancing back, terrified. The thunderous hoofbeats are heard from behind, coming from the living nightmare. The huge dark form charges behind me.

I scramble as fast as I can, pushing low branches and protruding bushes out of my way. Jagged branches scratch my hands and cheeks.

The hoofbeats begin to deafen me, the only pounding in my head being my heart and the hooves.

I glance back again, and see my pursuer's gloved hand draw a sword, the unsheathing of the blade ringing out hauntingly, signaling my end.

I run onward, and I hear the shrill whistle of the sword swinging as the pursuer blurs past me.

This is the last thing I experience.

_______ Third Person P.O.V. _______

Jonathan is still running when his head lolls back at an impossible angle, and his head tumbles off his shoulders. Jonathan's headless body hits the dirt, and the Hessian takes his head victoriously, racing off into the fog.

________________

People are going about their business calmly the following morning. A woman shakes out a blanket from an upper window. Clearly, the murder has not been discovered by anyone yet. No one notices that the wooden bunker is deserted, and now has a gap of shattered timber.

________ Ichabod ________

With my scientific satchel in hand, I stand at the stables early in the crisp morning. The stables belong to the Killian family, with Mr. Killian, a dashingly, rustic man, being the father of the rather young family. I take a liking to him, although I don't think much of the horse Killian offers to me. The damned horse is an old nag!

​​Killian walks up to me with the old steed, and says, "His name's Gunpowder."

​​I don't want to offend Killian, so I say politely, slapping the horse's hind quarters, "He should do just fine, Mr. Kill—"

The horse whinnies softly at my slap, it's reflexes startling me, which makes me jump with a start, my smile disappearing. I continue a little quieter, "Mr. Killian. Thank you."

I pat the horse's hind quarters gently after. Killian smirks at me, amused. "Good luck, sir. If you need help, call my name."

He lets me take the reins, backing away from Gunpowder. I smile in return, and say, "Much appreciated."

My smile once again disappears when the horse's head nuzzles towards my face. I immediately lean away in slight disturbance, eyeing the horse.

I hear Mrs. Beth Killian and another woman come out of their home, and I turn to watch them in curiosity.

She stands at the doorway, seeing out of her door a pregnant woman, handing her a bunch of herbs.

Mrs. Killian tells the woman as they walk out the doorway, "Now don't you worry about a thing. Everything's going to be just fine."

As the pregnant woman leaves, Mrs. Killian turns to go into the house, and falters, turning toward the small pasture in front of the barn.

"Thomas! Inside!" she calls to her son, then turning and walking back into the modest home.

Little Thomas, who was feeding the horses in their little pen, comes running toward her. Mr. Killian hefts him up and kisses his cheek, setting Thomas back down and saying, "Go run along for your breakfast. Kiss your mother once for you and twice for me."

He pats him on the back, and the little boy goes toward their home.

Before I can say a word, a distant gunshot is heard—a signal, followed by the distant sight of a man on horseback, hurrying and shouting, waving his rifle. Mr. Killian and I watch the rider as he shouts, "Murder! The Horseman's killed again!"

Mr. Killian rushes into the stables to mount his horse, and I try to mount onto Gunpowder. "All right, Gunpowder, we're off."

Although, the obstinate horse and I are starting off on rather bad foot. The horse begins taking off the wrong way as I keep trying to get mounted on, hanging onto the saddle for dear life.

"Come on. Nope. No. No, no," I say nervously once I am securely on. I hook my satchel onto the saddle, and Gunpowder keeps trotting off the wrong way.

"No. Come on, the other way. Turn around." I tug hesitantly in the reins.

"Hyah!" I hear Mr. Killian shout, and he takes off galloping at full speed, leaving me behind.

I somehow manage to get Gunpowder to turn and go the right way, trailing after Mr. Killian at a good, steady trot. I praise the horse nervously, "Good horsy."

I see a few other riders are galloping across the fields, toward the murder site.