Chapter 1
Ichabod Crane sighed with relief as the carriage pulled to
a
stop. The young Constable from New York City had finally reached
his
destination; a tiny town known to everyone as Sleepy Hollow.
He
thanked the driver once took out his two large black suitcases.
It
had been a rather dull journey, two very long days and nights
of
traveling, and Ichabod was weary. Retrieving his two, large
black
suitcases, Ichabod thanked the driver, handing him a
coin.
By order of the New York City judge, he had to come to
this place to
investigate three mysterious murders: three
be-headings. Walking
down the long dirt road that cut through the
town, Ichabod found
that himself clutching the handles of his bags
so tightly that his
knuckles ached. He heard the sound of windows
opening and closing
and could feel the disapproving eyes of the
townspeople on him. "It
couldn't be my appearance," he
thought, standing up straighter and
making his strides more
authoritative. He was not an unhandsome
fellow, though he was
rather plain. He had jet black hair that was
always stubbornly
untidy, no matter what he did to it, and his eyes
a deep,
chocolate brown. Ichabod's skin was unusually pale, giving
him an
almost sickly appearance, as if he had never seen the light
of
day. With a slight shudder, the constable quickened his pace,
heading
up the hill toward his destination: the large manor house of
Baltus
Van Tassel.
Van Tassel had offered to lodge the young
investigator while he
helped the town solve its dilemma. Ichabod
prepared to knock on the
door when he noticed a couple a few feet
away from him, acting in a
very inappropriate manner. Ichabod
turned his head and pretended not
to notice, rapping on the large
wooden door and stepping back a pace
to wait. At last, two maids
opened the door and bid him enter.
Inside the Van Tassel home,
a large party was taking place. Gay
music played in the
background, and people of all ages were dancing,
eating, or just
sitting around and chatting. Hardly anyone noticed
Ichabod as he
gazed around with a great curiosity. The smell of
sweet apple
cider filled his nostrils, and he realized that he had
not eaten a
single thing since breakfast. Ever aware of protocol and
manners,
he knew it would not be polite to help himself to the food
until
he met the Van Tassels, so he bore his growling stomach as
well as
he could.
"The pickety witch, the pickety witch," A
light female voice caught
his ear, and he noticed a blindfolded
teenage girl stumbling about
in the middle of a circle of a group
of people. "Who's got a kiss
for the Pickity Witch?" She
had a head of long, thick, golden girls,
and was wearing an ivory
and lavender gown. The girl waved her arms
in circles, as though
she were swimming on air. "The witch, the
witch," she
continued chanting, until her hands came upon Ichabod's
face, and
she stopped in mid stride. "Is it Theodore?" She
asked
curiously, touching his cheeks tenderly. Ichabod felt his
heart
racing at full speed as she did this, but he did not pull
away.
"Forgive me, Miss," Ichabod stuttered, "But
I am just a stranger."
He noticed another man, no older than
thirty, standing a few inches
away from the young woman. He was
broad-shouldered, with thin,
shoulder-length brown hair and hazel
eyes.
"Then have a kiss on account." Ichabod stifled
a gasp as the girl
reached up and planted a tender kiss on his
cheek, before removing
her kerchief. She gazed at him through soft
brown eyes, favoring him
with a shy smile.
Ichabod cleared
his throat and folded his hands in front of
him. "Yes, well,
I am here looking for Baltus Van Tassel."
The girl
blushed, twisting the handkerchief in her hand. "I am
his
daughter," she replied, "Katrina Van
Tassel."
Ichabod smiled at her. "My pleasure." He gave a bit of a bow.
The man who stood beside Katrina
suddenly stepped between the two
of them, his eyes flashing. "We
have not heard your name yet,
friend," he snarled.
"Brom!"
Katrina cried, holding him back with her hand. "Leave
him
alone!"
Ichabod gave a huff and straightened his
jacket. "That is because I
have not yet said it. Now if you
will excuse me…"
Brom grabbed the collar of Ichabod's
shirt and pulled him up a
bit. "You need some
manners."
Ichabod gaped in surprise. Before anything else
could occur,
Baltus Van Tassel himself came into the large room,
carrying a glass
of wine in his hand. He was an old fellow with a
mop of thick gray
hair on his head, and a full face. Baltus was
grinning, his cheeks
were rosy. "Come, come, we want no
raised voices," He began, puzzled
by the ruckus, and then he
noticed Ichabod. "It is only to raise the
spirits during
these dark times that I and my good wife," he paused
to
indicate the matron that entered at his side. Lady Van Tassel,
a
woman in her early forties, smiled gently. She had smooth
blonde
hair pulled into a tight French twist on the back of her
head, and
blue eyes. "Are giving our little party. Young sir,
you are welcome,
even if you are selling something…"
Ichabod
glanced at Katrina standing beside Brom, a rather
disgruntled look
creasing her brow. He approached Van Tassel,
removing a sealed
letter from his inner pocket. "I am Constable
Ichabod Crane,
sir. I have been sent from the city with a letter of
introduction.
I believe it is you who offered to give me room and
board?"
Much to his embarrassment, Ichabod's stomach growled at the
thought
of food.
Baltus Van Tassel nodded in understanding. Lady Van
Tassel gave a
respectful nod. "Then we are very grateful to
you, Constable."
Ichabod nodded respectfully to her, and then Baltus spoke again.
"Have you had supper?"
Ichabod blinked. "Pardon?"
"Please, feel free to help
yourself to any of the food on the
tables. I am sure the long
journey has made you hungry?"
Ichabod chuckled. "I
thank you for your kindness, though I would ask
your permission to
speak with you alone afterwards? We have some
important matters to
discuss…" He was careful not to speak of his
exact reasons
for being here, so as not to cause alarm to the guests
in the
house. Lady Van Tassel cocked her head to one side as her
husband
agreed to this, and then sent Ichabod on his way to
eat
something.
Katrina watched as Ichabod went to find a
seat by himself, with a
plate and a glass. "Brom, I would ask
you to mind your own manners
while he is here," She
whispered, "He is only a guest in our house,
and he means no
harm." She turned away from her suitor.
Brom gritted his
teeth, but agreed to respect her wishes
nonetheless. He vowed,
however, to strike if Ichabod made any sudden
moves on his target.
Keeping a close eye on the two, Brom did his
best to mingle with
the crowd.
Katrina walked over to where Ichabod sat nibbling
on a bit of stew,
bread and cheese. She sat beside him on the
bench. He glanced at
her, and nearly choked on the mouthful of
wine he had just taken
down. "Oh you startled me," He
gasped. Katrina grinned.
"I am sorry. You seemed so
lonely all by yourself. Do you not like
to make merry?"
Ichabod
shrugged. "I apologize for my rudeness, Miss, but I am
very
tired this evening. I have traveled two days from the city
after
all. If you will forgive me." He gave her a hopeful
expression, and
she touched his arm.
She touched his arm
lightly. "I understand. I should like to know
more about you
once you are settled in."
Ichabod flushed at how forward
this young woman was. He
nodded. "Yes, thank you."
Katrina
chewed on her lower lip before standing and walking back
over to
Brom. The brawny farmer gave Ichabod a suspicious glance
before
taking the young woman into his arms. Ichabod finished his
supper
and wine quickly then followed a servant girl to his guest
room,
high beneath the rafters of the imposing house. She set down
his
bags and curtsied, leaving him to himself.
Ichabod began
unpacking, pulling several strange devices from his
suitcases. He
had designed the instruments himself, specifically for
investigating
murder cases. He would much rather have gone right to
bed than
have to meet with Baltus Van Tassel downstairs, but he had
to make
sure the details were discussed immediately so he could
begin. He
picked up a large, leatherbound book under one arm, and
hurried
down the long, wooden staircase.
Ichabod found his host in the
library, surrounded by several other
men who were either sitting
or standing. Lady Van Tassel stood
beside her husband, sipping
from a glass of wine. She lifted her
gaze to the constable when
she heard the door to the room open.
Baltus beamed when he saw
Ichabod walk in, and turned to her. "That
will be all,"
he shooed her away. Once she had left, he turned to
the newcomer.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "We are joined by
Doctor
Thomas Lancaster, Constable. And to his left are the
Reverend
Steenwyck, and our able magistrate, Samuel Philipse, both
keeping
order in their own ways."
Ichabod raised an
eyebrow. "And you are?" he asked curiously,
wondering
about his host's position in the town.
"A simple farmer," Baltus replied calmly, "who has prospered."
"And
landlord and banker," Philipse added with a chuckle, taking
a
swig from a small flask he held. Baltus chuckled before
continuing
his introductions. "May we proceed?"
"Lastly, we are joined by James Hardenbrook, our Notary."
Ichabod
glanced at a weathered old man who sat in a chair in the
corner.
He was blind in one eye, the opaque orb giving him a rather
creepy
appearance.
At last, Ichabod bowed to the Sleepy Hollow town
fathers. "An honor,
gentlemen. In time, I will need every
detail of the three murders
you've had, but for now, I ask only if
you have any theory at all as
to who the killer might be?" He
set his book a table and accepted
the cup of tea Baltus offered
him.
The men stared at each other and then at Ichabod, as
though they
thought he had lost his mind.
"I beg your pardon?" Doctor Lancaster asked, very confused.
Ichabod
blinked. "I say, is there any one person suspect in
these
acts?"
Baltus looked a bit nervous as he rocked
back and forth on his
heels. "Just how much about this case
did your superiors bother to
tell you?" He asked.
Ichabod
looked him straight in the eye. "Only that the victims
were
slain in open ground, their heads found severed from their
bodies."
Reverend Steenwyck shook his head after taking a
sip of
brandy. "Their heads were not found separate," he
corrected. "Their
heads were not found at all."
"Well,"
Ichabod thought. "This is certainly unusual. He felt his
heart
racing as he heard the news and wondered why the judge had
not
bothered to tell him this part of the story. Either that, or
they
had gotten it mixed up themselves. Or maybe this was part of
the
punishment? To let him find out on his own? "Most likely
punishment
for my presumption," he chided himself.
After
a few moments of awkward silence, he managed to compose
himself.
"The heads were g-gone?" He found the teacup he held
was
trembling against the saucer, due to his shaking hands.
Ichabod
could hear the clanging of the spoon against the china. He
felt
slightly lightheaded.
"Taken," said
Hardenbrook. "Taken by the headless horseman." He
tapped
his fingertips together. "Taken back to hell…"
Ichabod nearly spit out a mouthful of tea. "I…I…what?"
"You
had best sit down, Constable, while we explain our…theory to
you.
Go on, sit."
Ichabod sat down in the closest chair,
setting his tea on the table
beside it. His leather book remained
where he had put it upon
entering; he had forgotten about it for
the time being. He leaned
forward, prepared to listen to the
landowner's tale, watching as
Baltus lit his pipe quickly, and
took a puff.
"The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary, sent
to our shores by German
princes to keep Americans under the yoke
of England. But unlike his
compatriots who came for money, the
Horseman came...for love of
carnage...and he was not like the
others..."
Ichabod glanced at the rest of the company in
the room, who were
watching Baltus with raised eyes. Clearly they
had all heard this
story before.
Baltus continued, telling
how the horseman would ride hard into
battle upon his giant black
steed, chopping off the heads of his
enemies. Ichabod felt his
stomach churning at the picture the story
painted in his mind. Van
Tassel wove a tale of the bloodthirsty
Hessian riding hard into
battle after battle astride his huge black
stallion, chopping the
heads off all opponents with ferocious glee.
He then told of how
the fiend met his end in the Western Woods of
Sleepy Hollow, the
soldiers who killed him chopping off the
Hessian's head with his
own sword. To this day, the Western Woods is
a haunted place where
brave men will not venture. For what was
planted in the ground
that day was a seed of evil." He paused
uncomfortably.
"And
so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian
wakes -- he
is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds
them." He
stopped at last, sighing with relief as though a great
weight had
been lifted from his shoulders. Had he not been leaning
against
the fireplace, Ichabod was certain the man would sink to the
ground.
"And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian
wakes
-- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds
them."
He stopped at last, sighing with relief as though a great
weight
had been lifted from his shoulders. Had he not been leaning
against
the fireplace, Ichabod was certain the man would sink to
the
ground.
Once again, the room was filled with an awkward
silence, as Ichabod
contemplated the story in his head. It was
ridiculous…the story was
pure nonsense. There were no such
things as ghosts, especially not
headless ones, this he was
certain of. Ichabod was determined to
prove this story false, and
he stood up, nearly knocking his chair
over backwards, causing
everyone to jump.
"Are you saying…that this is what you
believe?" He asked coolly. "I,
myself, can hardly
believe such foolish nonsense. It's a ghost
story, one told on All
Hallow's Eve to frighten children." His eyes
held pity for
the simple minds here in the country.
Philipse snorted, as
Hardenbrook replied, "Seeing is believing, my
boy, and plenty
of the folk around these parts have laid eyes on
this
horseman."
"I refuse to believe it, I refuse!"
Ichabod slammed his fist down on
the table, upsetting his teacup.
"The murderer of these victims is a
being of flesh and blood,
and I will discover…" He took a deep
breath and held up his
hand. "We have murders in New York without
the benefit of
ghosts and goblins…"
"You are a long way from New
York, Constable," Baltus told him
seriously.
Ichabod
turned his back on the others, folding his arms tightly
across his
chest, trying to remain in control of himself. The
Reverend walked
over to the table where the constable's leather book
lay and
opened it. "They tell me you have brought books and
trappings
of scientific investigation," he wrinkled his nose in
distain
at what the pages contained. "This is the only book I
recommend
you study." He sat a very thick Bible down on to of the
leather
journal.
Ichabod whirled around, barely in command of his
emotions. Fear and
a certainty that these superstitious
provincials were merely trying
to scare him warred with his desire
to see the murder brought to
justice using his precious scientific
methods. As steadily as
possible, he gathered up his book, pausing
a moment to glance inside
the large Bible containing the Van
Tassel family tree. "I am going
to prove to you that this
Horseman does not exist. Does NOT exist, I
say. I will find the
murderer and then we'll see!" He strode out of
the room with
long strides, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Baltus and
the rest of the men blinked in surprise at the shy man's
sudden
outburst. "What a fool," Philipse murmured, taking a
large
sip from his flask. "He'll change his mind soon
enough."
The others agreed.