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.