Merry Christmas, everyone! This chapter has a bit of cussing in the beginning. I'm sorry in advance for Jenny's *ahem* colorful language. I have a Christmas chapter planned, but it definitely won't be out on the actual Christmas Day (today).

I told Santa I wanted Sleepy Hollow for Christmas. I'm still waiting.


Chapter 4

"It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.

Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now.

And I don't know how I can do without.

I just need you now."

- Need You Now, Lady Antebellum

For quite possibly the hundredth time, Jenny Mills is on the phone, waiting for her sister to 'answer the damn phone'. She is lounging in one of the large armchairs in the Sleepy Hollow Public Library, feet hanging over the side. She twirls a pen while balancing the book in her lap and keeping the phone to her ear. A click is heard. "Hello?"

"Do you ever answer your phone for anyone besides your boss or your boyfriend?" Before Abbie can answer, Jenny continues. "Listen, I've been waiting for damn near two weeks for your response. Are you going to help me with the demon situation or not?"

"Demon situation? What are you talking about?"

"You know, Abbie, your phone has this magical thing called voicemail. You should listen to it sometime."

"Cut the sarcasm, Jenny. What's going on?"

"Since you clearly didn't get my message, I'll give you the short version of the story. I've got a couple of friends in town - teenagers, no parents, broke and in serious need of some R&R - who are being chased by demons. These demons are being sent by none other than your favorite demon. The head demon. He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"Moloch?"

"Exactly. Anyway, they need our help. They're scared as hell, and we're their only option. Will you help them or not?"

"Yeah, of course. Crane and I will meet up with them later."

"Why not now?" asks Jenny impatiently, running a hand through her messy curls.

"We have a case."

"Seriously?! Captain Pain-in-the-Ass gave you a case on Christmas Eve? What the hell?"

"Look, I'm not thrilled about it myself, but-"

"Hey, no worries," interrupts Jenny. "You two go save the world, stop the bad guys and avert the apocalypse. Call me later so we can set up a meeting."

"I will, I promise."

"Bye, Abs."

"Bye, Jen."


Abbie ends the call and slips her phone back into her pants pocket. The muddy hillside is slick from rain. With the weather getting cooler, the rain has formed patches of ice in certain locations, causing more than one officer on the scene to take a tumble. Abbie therefore uses caution when crossing the hill back to the abandoned cabin. The wooden home is isolated from the rest of the world, sleeping in a corner of Lokken County two miles outside of Sleepy Hollow. It overlooks a lake, which is currently being inspected by policemen. Where the road meets the dirt, a familiar face is waiting for Abbie. "Miss Mills."

"Crane. What are we looking at?"

"A local fisherman was out here early this morning when he noticed something particularly disturbing," he tells her as they make their way toward the water's edge. He promptly stops, as does his partner, and points. Her eyes follow. "A human hand, extending from the murky depths."

"Why hasn't it been pulled out yet for inspection?"

"That's the trouble, Leftenant. They have tried, but it cannot be removed. Something is holding it there."

"Like an insect caught in a spider's web," muses Abbie aloud.

"Precisely. Leftenant Collins is currently processing the fingerprints so the victim's family can be informed of their loved one's passing."

"You know what that means." Ichabod cocks his head to the side in silent question. "We've got some exploring to do." A gust of cold wind dances by them, jostling Ichabod's messy locks. The grey clouds, which blanket the world as far as the eye can see, part ever so slightly. The sunlight descends and finds her partner. His eyes, as brilliant a blue as the vast ocean, sparkle in the light. The brilliant blue brings to the forefront of Abbie's mind a face seen only in a dream…

-Flashback-

Grace Dixon was quick in action as she ushered a weakened Katrina Crane into the carriage. Lachlan's sanctuary was no more. Grace joined Katrina in the body of the carriage as it took off into the night. In her arms was newborn Jeremy Crane, pale green eyes shining as he gazed up at his caretaker. Katrina's arms were curled around herself as she tried to take even breathes. "Grace," she moaned. "I cannot bear this. It hurts. It hurts so badly."

"You can do this, Mrs Crane. Come on now. Breathe." Katrina let out a cry of agony as another contraction hit. While Katrina writhed in her seat, Grace lay down some blankets she'd grabbed as they fled. "It's time. I need you to push."

"I can't-"

"Katrina," she said sharply. "You can do this. Bring your child into this world. Give Jeremy a sibling." Weakly, the redhead nodded, and the pushing began. It was only minutes later that a beautiful baby girl was welcomed into the world. She was a calm child with the sky blue eyes of her father.

"She is beautiful," weeped Katrina as she cradled her newborn daughter. Jeremy remained in Grace's arms, sound asleep.

"What is her name?" asked the midwife.

"Sarah," she answered, brushing her thumb over the baby's cheek. "Her name is Sarah."

A voice broke through the tender scene. "Nearly there, madame."

"Thank you, Cole," acknowledged Grace.

"Where are we going?" asked the soldier's wife.

"Lachlan has a home out in the country. A cloaking spell has been cast over it. You and your children will be safe there. The darkness shan't be able to find you there."

Katrina clasped her hand. "Thank you, Grace Dixon. I owe you everything."

The woman smiled. "Think nothing of it."

-Present-

A knot in Abbie's stomach twists painfully. The desire to tell her partner about his other child is strong, but she refrains. 'It will only cause him more pain,' she tells herself. 'He's been through enough pain as it is.' A female shout is heard from behind them. "Lieutenant Mills!" Abbie turns to see a young policewoman walking toward her. Officer Lisa Metcalf is the mousy new member of the Sleepy Hollow PD. She is a quiet soul, but a hard worker, and has quickly gained a good reputation amongst the force. "I hear you and Mister Crane are taking the lead on this case?" she asks.

"We are indeed," confirms the Brit.

"I grew up in Lokken County. This case… Something isn't right."

"That's what we're hear to figure out, Officer," says Abbie, subtly dismissing the girl.

"Wait! I have something important to say," exclaims the woman. The Witnesses turn back to her. "It might sound a little...crazy...but maybe whoever did this used it as a cover."

"Used what as a cover?"

"There's this-this legend in the County. About a hundred years or so ago, a group of teenagers went out to this area for a party or something. They never came back. They say that something climbed out of the lake and swallowed them up. It wasn't natural...like something of a nightmare. This area is called Morte Paludem amongst locals."

Ichabod translates. "Death Swamp."

"It could be nothing, but I thought that maybe whoever did this might be trying to mimic the legend."

"We thank you for your assistance, madam," says Ichabod. The deputy nods before striding off. "Well, Miss Mills, it appears as though we may have a swamp monster on our hands."

"Either that, or a copycat killer."

"Well then," he says. "Let's get to work."


Room 108 is a complete and utter mess. Papers are scattered about randomly, and books lie in piles around the room. Remy is flipping through some notes while her brother lies on his bed, searching the web via his tablet.

"Anything?" she asks, combing a hand through her russet hair.

"Nothing new," he says.

"Damn."

"Here's what we've got so far," he says, swinging around so his legs dangle over the side of the bed. Remy does the same on her own bed, facing him. "Mom wants us to find the Elder's Script, but she didn't say what that meant. 'Elder' could either mean that it was written by an elderly person, or possibly someone who is an elder to the community, or even to us. 'Script' could be a number of things: a written document, a letter, a book, et cetera. It's probably a book, since witches have that MO, but we can't be sure."

"We need more information." Remy stands up, grabbing their cell phone off the dresser, and pulling an old sweater over her head. Both Remy and Nic are fitting into their clothes better these days. Having regular meals has virtually eliminated the withered, bony look they possessed when they first came to Jenny.

"Where are you going?"

"Public libraries always have sections for old stuff. If nothing else, maybe I can find us a clue. We're getting nowhere working off the tablet alone."

"I'll come with you," volunteers the young man.

"Nicolas Elijah Ichabod Crane, we've battled monsters and demons since we were kids. I think I'll be okay for a couple hours."

"Sarah Meredith Annabelle Crane," he teases. "It's not that I don't trust in your abilities, but I just don't think-"

"I'll be fine, broer. I promise."

He exhales sharply, knowing that he is fighting a losing fight. "Fine, fine. Call me if you find anything… No, I take that back. Call be when you get there."

"Okay, worry-wart! I will call you!" she concedes. "I'll see you in a few hours."


The cabin looks just about ready to fall down. The wooden walls are damp from the rain, but burn marks also blacken the walls. The doors has been violently kicked in, and lies on the floor. There is a single window overlooking the lake. The cabin is barren, save for a stove, cracked sink, and two twin cots.

"Not much to explore in here," comments Abbie after checking under the mattresses.

"Not much indeed," agrees Ichabod, stepping slowly around the room, observing. One scarred hand brushes over the walls. He stops next to the stove. "Hm."

"Crane?"

"This wall." He raps against the wood with his knuckles. "I don't believe that it is real." Giving the lumber a onceover, the Revolutionary proceeds to kick it with all he has. It gives way, revealing a stone stairwell. There is little light, save for that coming from outside the house.

"I've got a feeling I'm not gonna like whatever's down there," says Abbie, peering over Ichabod's shoulder.

"I share in the sentiment, Leftenant... Ladies first?" he smirks.

She smacks his shoulder. "Leave the sarcasm to my sister."

The smirk widens. "Very well." Descending the aforementioned creepy stairwell, the two Witnesses are met with a dark scene. The room is windowless and underground, thereby eliminating the possibility of light. The pair is forced to rely solely on their flashlights. The walls are grey stone with flecks of black. Painted on the walls in what looks to be blood are twisted symbols of varying sizes. Candles lay strewn throughout the room. At the center of the room is a small puddle of blood.

Abbie takes in the scene. "What the hell?"

"These are of a very dark magic," says Ichabod, pointing to the symbols. "A very dark magic indeed."

"Do you know what they're for?"

"I do. I remember reading about some trials in Salem, which occurred before I was ever born. Women were accused of witchcraft - though how many were actual witches, I cannot say - and killed. A friend of mine at Oxford brought me a copy of some documents found in one of the accused's home. In it were symbols such as these, along with what lawmen could gather that they meant. These symbols here are used for summoning dark forces." He kneels down by one of the overturned candles, touching it lightly. "These candles were used very recently. I would venture a guess as to say that whatever killed our friend out in the lake was summoned from here."

"Oh goody. A swamp monster," groans Abbie. "And just in time for Christmas."


"Yeah, the library was a bust for Elder Script stuff. I'm on my way back now."

"Alright, Rem. See you soon." Looming clouds filter light, casting Sleepy Hollow into greyness. The wind has begun to pick up, causing Remy to hug her sweater closer to her body. The streets are relatively deserted, as the rainy weather has kept people indoors all day. A tumbleweed blows through the streets, making Remy chuckle at the irony.

Deciding to take a shortcut that she and Nic had discovered a week prior, Remy cuts through an alleyway. She stops short when a figure appears in her path. The air leaves her lungs as she sees the person's face. "Mama?"

"You haven't much time. You're being followed. Run, lieverd! Run!" Remy blinks, and her mother is gone. On alert, she can hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. She breaks into a sprint, never looking back. A calling spell, created long ago by the man who gave her mother shelter in her time of need, leaves her lips as she runs. 'Help me, brother. I need you.' Six blocks pass underfoot before she needs to stop for a rest. This is her mistake. Just as she begins to slow down, blinding pain rips through her left shoulder. She falters, and once again is hit with pain, this time in her lower right leg. Falling forward, Remy bites her lip to prevent her screams from being heard. She looks around frantically for somewhere to hide. Seeing another alleyway, the bleeding young woman limps over before collapsing in the muddy darkness. One of her shaking hands grazes over the bullet wound in her leg, as if it had yet to register that she'd been shot. As her vision begins to fade, a flash of red enters her line of sight, a familiar spell meeting her ears, along with a message. "Blijven verborgen, mijn dochter. Ik hou van je."

And then she knew no more.


A/N: Lieverd = darling [in Dutch] I'll leave the translating up to you all on that final phrase ;) mwahaha

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