The Lady From Sleepy Hollow

Mary

It's night, and Ichabod hasn't been seen for some time. I saw him leave the manor at the beginning of dusk, and he hasn't returned.

I pace back and forth in anxiety, feeling my nerves slowly rise to panic. The door to my bedroom opens, and I spin on my heel to see who has entered.

Katrina sighs at the sight of my uneasiness. I roll my eyes, knowing she will just tell me to not worry about him.

"Katrina, he has been gone for hours! What if he got hurt? Or—"

"Mary!" she interrupts. "I am sure he has had a breakthrough on the murders; quit fretting, sister."

She steps toward me and I hold my ground, preparing my valid argument.

"But he would be in his room deducting, surrounded by his books, wouldn't you think, sister?" I mutter to her annoyingly, staring her down with minuscule anger.

She shakes her head and crosses her arms. "He could be at Doctor Lancaster's, dissecting another corpse."

"Then I will go and pay him a harmless visit," I say, grabbing my emerald velvet cloak and storming out the bedroom door. I hear Katrina stride after me and I call back to her as I hurry down the stairs, "I won't be long."

With that, I race out the door, tossing the hood of my cloak over my head as I tread down the dirt path to town.

________________

I've searched every door, asked every person. And there has been no sign of him anywhere. He wasn't even at Doctor Lancaster's, like Katrina had suggested.

I begin to panic, my breathing turning into gasps of despair by the minute. I race to the front entrance of town, and look around. I hear a whinny of a horse, and duck down, thinking the Horseman has come.

But with another glance, I see it is simply Gunpowder.

Wait!

"Ichabod?!" I shout out to him. I hear nothing, and I race to the horse, hoping to find him. I search frantically for his dark form in contrast of the wheat fields I stand upon.

As I glance around, a familiar form catches my gaze. My jaw drops in horror, gaping in shock. Magistrate Philipse's body—headless—lies on top of a hill. I stifle my scream, not wanting to make people fear that the Horseman has come again.

Yet, he has.

I quickly scan the area for Ichabod, and about twenty feet away, I find him in the pale moonlight, sprawled out on the grass.

Laughing in relief, I race to his resting side, falling to my knees and tossing the hood of my cloak back. A small gust of wind billows through my hair, breezing some strands free.

"Ichabod? Are you okay?" I ask as I shake him a little. No response. My smile disappears, and I shake him again.

"Ichabod, wake up," I urge, shaking him a little more vigorously. I begin to think the worst, so I lean my head to his chest to hear his heartbeat. It's a faint pitter-patter of a beat, to which I exhale in relief at hearing something.

I turn and whistle to Gunpowder. The horse trots over, and I do my best to heave Ichabod's weight up. I sling his arm over my shoulder, and carry his motionless body to Gunpowder.

"Good boy," I praise the horse.

With huge effort, I finally gain success in getting Ichabod onto the saddle. It's surely midnight as I stride into the main part of town. Thankfully, everyone has gone to sleep, tucked away inside their homes; wouldn't want their hopes to fall at the sight of our unconscious savior.