It was a cold dark night and Gil, Alice, and Oz were sitting in the woods camping for they had to walk to the HQ because no carriage came for them (Thanks to break that crazy hatter).They made a fire and found logs to sit on. Once the camp was set up Alice and Gil fought over oz (for unknown reasons but I can say that it involved sitting next to him). Alice won so she sat next to Oz. Alice suggested that they should tell scary stories. So that's what they did Gil started.
A wash woman, newly moved to Sabrie following the Tragedy of Sabrie, found herself awakened at the stroke of twelve each night by the rumble of heavy wheels passing in the street. But she lived on a dead end street, and had no explanation for the noise. She would not allow herself to look out the window when she heard the sounds, telling herself to leave it alone. Finally, she asked the woman who washed at the tub next to hers. The woman said: "What you are hearing is the Army of the Dead. They are soldiers who died in hospital without knowing that the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce in Sabrie to strengthen the weakened forces."
The next night, the laundress slipped out of bed to watch the Army of the Dead pass. She stood spell-bound by the window as a gray fog rolled past. Within the fog, she could see the shapes of horses, and could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of canons being dragged through the street, followed by the sound of marching feet. Foot soldiers, horsemen, ambulances, wagons and canons passed before her eyes, all shrouded in gray. After what seemed like hours, she heard a far off bugle blast, and then silence.
When the laundress came out of her daze, she found one of her arms was paralyzed. She has never done a full days washing since.
Gil finish and Alice said that it wasn't scary at all and then Oz tried to make them stop fighting so he began his story.
Young Peter Black was a good man, but everyone said he had one big fault. He loved to tell wild stories.
Peter was the sexton at the Church of St. Thomas the Believer, there in the little town of Tabby-on-Thames. He stayed in the cottage behind the church, right next to Father Allen's house. Many were the jobs he'd held before that, but with his wild stories, he'd managed to lose every one.
Father Allen had warned him. "Peter, this is the last job you're likely to get in this town. If you want to keep it, your wild stories must stop!"
One night Peter couldn't sleep. He tossed and he turned and at last got up to make himself some tea. But when he glanced out his window, he saw the windows of the church ablaze with light.
"What in the world . . . ?" muttered Peter. "There shouldn't be anyone there, this time of night. And how'd they get in, anyway?"
Peter pulled on a coat, crossed the yard, and quietly unlocked the back door. As he crept through the vestry, he heard a sound from the church. Meow, meow . . . .
"Sounds like a cat," murmured Peter. "But I never knew a cat to light a candle."
He peered around the curtain hung at the church entrance, and what he saw made him gasp. There was not one cat, but hundreds of cats, of every size and coloring. They filled the pews, and all of them sat upright just like people.
On the steps to the altar, a big black cat—the biggest cat Peter had ever seen—was kneeling with his head bowed. Standing above him with paws upraised was a black cat in bishop's robes, intoning, "Meow, meow . . . ."
An altar kitten approached with a velvet pillow on which lay a small golden crown. The bishop lifted the crown and solemnly placed it on the kneeling cat's head.
The church exploded with cries of Meow, meow! Peter didn't wait to see more. He raced through the vestry and back to his cottage, where he jumped into bed and stayed trembling under the covers till morning.
Bright and early, Peter was over to see Father Allen. The priest was reading in the conservatory, his black cat Tom curled up on his lap.
"Good morning, Peter," said the priest. "What brings you here so early?"
"Father Allen, I came to tell you about something terribly weird in the church last night. I saw these lights and I went over to check, and I heard a meow—"
"Meow," said the priest's cat, Tom.
"Yes, just like that," said Peter. "And when I looked, there were hundreds of cats in the church. And there was this one big black cat, and he was kneeling in front, and their bishop was crowning him—"
Father Allen was looking at him sternly. "Peter, do you remember what I told you about wild stories?"
"Of course I do, Father."
"Then let's have no more of this, all right?"
"But, Father—"
"Listen, Peter, I have an errand for you. Will you walk over to Brambleton today and deliver a message to Father Rowan?"
Peter would and Peter did. But he didn't get to it till late afternoon, and by the time he started home, it was already dusk. He decided to take a shortcut cross-country.
He was halfway through a meadow and up to a stand of trees when he heard a commotion. From beyond the meadow came the barking of a dog and a chorus of Meow, meow.
"Is it those cats again?" said Peter in alarm, ducking behind a tree.
An Irish setter raced into the meadow, barking for all it was worth. Right behind were a dozen cats with bows and arrows, riding—yes, riding—on the backs of bridled foxes. The big black cat at their head was wearing a golden crown.
At first Peter thought the setter was leading the cats on the trail of their quarry. Then he realized, No, they're hunting the dog!
As the cat with the crown rode by a large rock, his fox tripped and stumbled and the cat went flying. He struck his head on the rock and lay still.
The other cats gave up the chase and crowded anxiously around him. Then with loud, mournful cries of Meow, meow, they laid him over the back of his fox and returned the way they had come.
Peter stood shaking till they were out of sight, then nipped off home as fast as his wobbly legs would bear him. He found Father Allen at supper, with his cat, Tom, nibbling from a dish by the table.
"Father, it's about those cats. I was crossing a meadow, and I heard a dog barking and all these cats crying meow—"
"Meow," said Tom.
"Yes, just like that," said Peter. "And then the cats came riding into the meadow on foxes, all of them chasing this dog, but then the cat with the crown fell off and hit his head and . . . and . . . and . . . . Father, why's Tom staring at me like that?"
Father Allen put down his fork. "Peter, I've warned you often enough about your wild stories. Now, if you come to me talking like this again, I'm going to have to let you go. Do you understand?"
"But, Father, it's no story. I swear it!"
"That's enough, Peter! Now, I'm sorry to ask you so late, but I have another chore for you. Mrs. Pennyweather has passed on suddenly, and tomorrow's the funeral. I need you to dig her grave—tonight."
So it was that Peter was digging in the graveyard by the light of the full moon. It was hard work, and he had to keep resting, and it wasn't till right around midnight that he finished.
Just as he was about to climb out, he heard a distant Meow, then again, Meow, and again, Meow.
"It's the cats!" declared Peter. He scrunched down in the grave, then carefully peered over the edge.
Coming across the graveyard was the black bishop cat, and behind him were six more black cats, carrying on their shoulders a small coffin. The box was covered with a pall of black velvet, and sitting on top was the golden crown that Peter had seen twice before.
The cats walked slowly and solemnly, and at every third step cried, Meow. Their path went right by the grave where Peter hid, and when they were but a few feet away, the bishop held up a paw for a halt. Then he turned and stared straight at Peter and spoke.
"Tell Tom Tildrum . . . that Tim Toldrum's . . . dead."
Then he lowered his paw, and the cats walked on, and at every third step cried, Meow.
Well, Peter scrambled out of that grave and bolted for Father Allen's. He pounded on the door, shouting, "Father! Father! Let me in!"
At last the door opened and Father Allen stood there sleepily in his nightshirt. "Peter, what's going on?
"Let me in, Father, please, and I'll tell you."
Father Allen led him into the library, where Tom yawned and stretched on his cat bed. The priest lit a lamp.
"Now, what's this all about, Peter?"
"Father, you've got to believe me. I was out digging Mrs. Pennyweather's grave when I heard a meow—"
"Meow," said Tom.
"Yes, just like that," said Peter. "And I looked and saw seven black cats, and one was the bishop, and the others were carrying a coffin with a crown, and they came right up next to me, and the bishop stopped them and stared at me just like Tom there and . . . and . . . and . . . . Father, why's Tom staring at me like that?"
"Peter—" began the priest.
"But, Father, I tell you, he spoke to me! And he gave me a message. I'm to tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum's dead. But how can I tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum's dead when I don't know who Tom Tildrum is?"
"Peter, this is the last straw. I've warned you again and again—"
"Father! Look at Tom! Look at Tom!"
Tom was swaying, and Tom was swelling, and Tom was standing on his two hind legs, and then Tom spoke.
"What? Tim Toldrum dead? Then I'm the King o' the Cats!"
Tom leaped toward the fireplace, and with a single Meow, he bounded up the chimney and was gone.
Never to be seen again.
Of course, after that, there was no more talk of Peter losing his job. But as for Father Allen . . . .
Well, Father Allen was a good man, but everyone said he had one big fault. He loved to tell wild stories—about Tom, the King o' the Cats.
Meow.
"You call that scary," Alice said while trying to hold back a giggle "Please I know a story way scarier"
"Oh really now ,do you?" Gil slurred clearly drunk from wine that he pulled out of his bag.
Alice began.
There once was a valley that was said to be the quietest place in the world. It was just off the eastern shore of the Hudson River. For as long as anyone could remember, it had been called Sleepy Hollow.
The folks who lived in Sleepy Hollow were a strange lot. They heard voices and saw strange things. It was known that Sleepy Hollow was haunted.
The spirit that most often haunted the enchanted valley was a man riding on his horse. But the man did not have a head. People loved to talk about the ghost.
"He was a soldier," someone would start.
"They buried him in the churchyard," someone else would quickly say.
The people of Sleepy Hollow called this spirit the Headless Horseman.
One of those people was Ichabod Crane, a tall, sweet-tempered teacher. He taught in a plain schoolhouse that stood in a lonely spot at the foot of a green hill. Ichabod's students could not help but think that their teacher's arms and legs were just a bit too long for his body.
"He looks like a scarecrow!" they would whisper as they watched Ichabod walk to school on windy days, his clothes fluttering around him.
Ichabod loved all scary things, so Sleepy Hollow was the perfect place for him. One of his favorite things to do was stretch out next to the river and read spooky stories.
The only thing that Ichabod loved more than a scary story was a young lady named Katrina Van Tassel. Katrina was one of Ichabod's music students. She was known throughout Sleepy Hollow for her beauty.
"I am only a schoolteacher," Ichabod would say, "but I know I could make her happy."
The only man who Ichabod worried might hurt his chances with Katrina was Brom Bones. With a burly frame and broad shoulders, Brom was a threat to the gangly Ichabod. He was known throughout Sleepy Hollow for his strength and his great skill in horsemanship.
"Oh, Brom Bones!" the women would say. "He is so strong and brave!"
"Wherever there is a fight or a party," the men would chuckle, "Brom isn't far behind!"
Although Katrina showed interest in Brom, Ichabod would not give up.
"I shall not lose!" Ichabod thought. He went about courting the lovely Katrina, visiting her home and taking her for long walks in the moonlight.
Brom became jealous when he found out that Ichabod was also seeing Katrina. Brom found ways to make things difficult for the young teacher. He began playing practical jokes. One night, he went into the old schoolhouse and turned everything topsy-turvy. Brom always tried to make Ichabod look silly in front of Katrina.
One autumn afternoon, a messenger arrived at Ichabod's schoolhouse to give him an invitation.
"What is the invitation for?" asked his students curiously.
"Why, it is for a party tonight at the Van Tassels'," replied Ichabod. He knew that this was his chance to sweep the fair Katrina off her feet. "She will forget she ever met Brom Bones!" he exclaimed.
The classroom was abuzz with excitement. Ichabod even agreed to dismiss his students a full hour early. He needed time to primp.
After the students burst out of the schoolhouse doors, Ichabod began to groom himself for the big event. He combed his hair, studying his reflection in
a mirror that hung in the schoolhouse. Finally, Ichabod stepped back and looked at himself.
"Perfect!" he declared.
Ichabod proudly mounted his horse like a knight in search of adventure. But he was far from being a brave knight. The horse he rode to the Van Tassels' was not even his own. It was an old plow horse with a tangled mane.
It was a strange sight to see Ichabod riding an old horse. His elbows stuck out like grasshoppers' legs. His arms flapped about like wings. As he rode, his black coat fluttered around him in the wind.
Ichabod was confident when he walked into the party. But his shoulders dropped a bit when he saw his rival, Brom Bones. He was in a corner with some people. Brom had arrived on his favorite horse, Daredevil. Daredevil was just as mischievous as his owner - no one had ever been able to tame him. Ichabod could hear Brom's booming voice.
"And then I lifted all five men with one hand!" Brom bragged.
Ichabod sighed. Would Katrina really choose him over Brom?
Suddenly music floated throughout the manor house and the guests began to trickle into the ballroom.
"May I have the honor of this dance?" Ichabod asked Katrina quickly.
Soon they were whirling across the floor. Katrina smiled happily, but Brom was anything but happy. He stood in the corner, jealously watching Ichabod.
Before Ichabod left the party, he joined a few people who were telling tales of the haunted land. Soon they were talking about the Headless Horseman. It seemed that he had been spotted several times lately.
"He has been seen at one of his favorite places - the bridge that leads to the church," someone said.
It was almost midnight when Ichabod left. There was hardly a sound except for the chirp of the crickets. Even though Ichabod loved all things spooky, he began to feel nervous. His heart was beating loudly. He remembered all of the ghost stories he had heard at the party.
"I must be brave!" said Ichabod, his voice trembling.
Ichabod had never felt so lonely. He began to whistle to keep his spirits up. He thought he heard someone else whistling, but it was just the wind sweeping through the dry autumn branches.
Suddenly, Ichabod jumped in his saddle. Straight up ahead was something white hanging in the middle of a tree.
"A ghost!" yelped Ichabod.
But the nervous schoolteacher saw that it was not a ghost. The tree was only white where it had been struck by lightning.
Ichabod was almost at the very spot where the Headless Horseman had been seen. Soon he began to hear a thumping noise. Ichabod turned his head towards the noise. He saw a huge figure standing in the shadows.
"Wh-who are you?" shouted Ichabod.
Ichabod turned his head to get a better look at his unwelcome guest. The
figure was a large man riding a great black horse. Ichabod's teeth began to chatter. Then he saw that the man was...headless!
"The Headless Horseman!" Ichabod gasped.
"Faster, faster!" Ichabod told his horse.
When Ichabod looked behind him, he screamed in horror. The Headless Horseman was about to throw his head! Ichabod dodged, but it was too late. He fell off his horse.
The Headless Horseman rode off into the night.
The next morning, a search party found Ichabod's horse. And a little ways from his horse, they found his hat and a shattered pumpkin.
Ichabod never came back to Sleepy Hollow. When the townspeople told the story, Brom Bones always had a smile on his face. Was it just Brom throwing a pumpkin or did Ichabod really see the Headless Horseman? No one knows for sure. It has become one of the many mysteries of Sleepy Hollow.
Oz and Gil sat there with a look of horror as alice finished. Oz heard a nosie and jumped into alices arms. A small rabbit came out of the bushes and oz got out of alices arms blushing and alice with a different look on her face almost as if she liked it. " Hehe… Uhhh… sorry about that hehe." Oz said "uhh it's ok urrm I think" Alice slurred out. " I am going to sleep now if anything happens wake me" Alice said While she got up and layed down on the ground next to the fire, And soon fell asleep "shes pretty when she sleeps inst she Gil." Oz said while looking at alice " you like the Baka rabbit!" Gil yelled "shh you will wake her" Oz said putting his finger over his mouth " Oh sorry I diddnt relize you cared so much about her." "Are you jealous of me liking alice"Oz said "No I am not." Gil said almost yelling