(If you follow me for Bones fanfic, this is not related to that show so feel free to click away now.)
Hello, Sleepy Hollow fans! I'm MJ and as you can see by the story list on my profile, I write mostly Bones-related fanfiction. This is my first attempt at writing for Sleepy Hollow and it is a very special project for one of my dearest friends. Sherri won a contest sponsored by "Persephone Magazine," an online women's blog I write for occasionally, and for which I offered a fanfic written to the winner's specifications. As it happens, we're both big fans of SH (Seriously, "My name is Ichabod Crane" may be the sexiest opening line of any show on TV right now, and the way he says 'leftenent?' Guh. Don't get me started.) and when she asked for something for that show, I was both excited and a bit nervous at stepping outside my comfort zone. It has taken longer than I anticipated to find the right voice for that world and Sherri has been more than patient with my feet-dragging, but finally, here it is. At least the first chapter, anyway.
With much love, Sherri, here's your story! I hope you enjoy it!
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Wrenched suddenly from sleep, Ichabod sat up in bed abruptly. Heart pounding, a thin film of sweat cooling on his body, he looked warily around the dark room, searching for the source behind his rude awakening.
Nothing.
Uneasy, he lay down again, his head motionless as his eyes darted back and forth, searching the shadows that filled the small lakeside cabin. As the minutes passed his pulse slowly returned to normal and still he remained awake. Finally, he gave up altogether on the prospect of additional sleep.
His bare toes curled into the well-worn hardwood floor as he padded quietly to the kitchen, dressed only in the long linen shirt that did double-duty as a nightshift. He instinctively looked around for a brace of candles or an oil lamp before memory returned . . . The year was 2013. Electricity.
Electricity. The word played silently in his head as he crossed the room to the switch on the opposite wall. How astounding that the old reprobate Franklin was actually -
One arm flew up to shield his eyes as the overhead fixture filled the room with a blinding white light. He turned it off immediately, lowering his arm slowly and blinking as his vision adjusted instead to the moonlight shining through the windows. His expression changed rapidly to a frown when he noticed the freshly washed and still damp breeches stretched over the back of a chair. Having no change of clothing is becoming extraordinarily inconvenient, he huffed inwardly.
He shook his head; a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a snort escaped. As is this habit of holding silent conversations within your own head, Crane. If you're not careful, you'll join those poor souls who fill Bedlam, lost to the grip of madness and insanity.
He pivoted toward the window at the faint sound of a horse's whinny. Dread weighed his legs with stone as he approached the glass and pulled back the lacy white curtain. His fingers tightened on the thin fabric.
On the hilltop just beyond the cabin, standing in a moonbeam as bright as a spotlight was a large horse. Its crimson coat glowed like fire, the vibrant hue shifting as if alive with dancing flames. A darkly threatening figure sat on the animal's back, clad in a sinister combination of leather battle gear and dull grey armor that glinted faintly with a scarlet reflection of the horse's hide. A heavy cowl covered the warrior's head and disguised his features but Ichabod knew, as he stood transfixed at the window, that the empty eyes stared back at him.
As he watched in horror, the creature stretched one arm up, the long silver sword in his hand pointing high into the air. Tangled, messy black braids escaped the hood when he threw back his head and howled into the night with all of the fury of demons.
Ichabod reacted instinctively. "No!"
Heedless of his bare feet and legs and his almost unclothed state, he raced for the door and hurried outside and down the steps of the narrow back porch that ran the length of the cabin. Pine needles and rocks dug into the soles of his feet as he stumbled up the hill, his progress marked by the mocking soundtrack of laughter from the ominous visitor at the top of the rise. Before he'd gained even a few yards, the horseman dug his heels into the ruby flanks of the steed and wheeled away, out of sight.
Finally, Ichabod reached the summit and, chest heaving breathlessly, looked around frantically, searching the surrounding woodland in vain for the creature and his rider before hurrying back down the hill to the cabin.
"Telephone," he muttered to himself as he switched on the light and ignored the initial unwelcome brightness. "Where is that infernal . . . aha!" He located the small black rectangle on the counter, on top of a white sheet of paper efficiently labeled in Abbie's neat, slanted handwriting: INSTRUCTIONS.
His slender, aristocratic fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled with the correct buttons before, finally, he was rewarded as the welcome tones of a ringing phone met his ear.
"Hello?" Abbie's sleepy voice drifted toward him.
"Leftenent." Squaring his shoulders, Ichabod drew a deep breath as his posture straightened formally. "Let me first offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing your slumber at such an -"
"Crane?" Her tone became irritable. "It's two in the morning!"
"Yes, thank you for enlightening me." Unseen by the woman he spoke to, he bowed stiffly. "It is, alas, my unfortunate duty to inform you -"
"Is something wrong?" Alarm replaced irritation. "Just skip the BBC stuff and spit it out."
Leaving that remark to be deciphered at a later time, Ichabod gripped the phone in his hand tightly. "The Red Horse appeared before me at this hour on the hilltop above the lake."
There was a beat of silence. "Someone's riding a horse by the lake?" Head still fuzzy from interrupted sleep, Abbie tried to understand his remark.
"No, I -" Jaw clenched, Ichabod closed his eyes briefly and took another steadying deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and mesmerizing. "And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword."* The words faded into silence. "Are you familiar with that passage, Leftenent?"
"The second horseman." Her voice was clear, her head emptied of the last vestiges of sleep. "You saw the second horseman."
"I did."
"I'm on my way."
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(*Revelation 6:4 (KJV))
If my outline holds true, I expect five chapters to this story. I hope you'll stick around! :-)
Thanks for reading!