Chapter II
The Telling
Charlotte stifled a small cry and jumped to her feet. Her breathing was irregular as she pointed down the street,
jabbing the darkness with her finger.
"What...what was that?" The man cocked his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"That...scream. Who screamed?" She craned her neck to see around the porch. "I think it came from the Miller's--"
"I told you, Lady O'Farland--" Charlotte turned quickly, seeing that he was now standing on the porch.
"Get away from me!" She scrambled back against the front door. "What's going on?" The man's face was solemn as he
watched her for a moment.
"I told you before, Lady O'Farland," he said very quietly. "the Horseman rides." She swallowed, then swallowed again.
"What, exactly, does that mean?" He continued to stare at her gravely.
"Make of it what you will." the man said, fingering the designs on the forgotten quilt. Charlotte kept her body pressed back
against the screen of the door. She opened her mouth to speak when the thought hit her suddenly. Sleepy Hollow, of course...
"The Headless Horseman?"
A small, dry smirk lit up the man's face.
"Well, Lady O'Farland. It seems you've finally caught on."
"But...that was just a book..."
"I beg to differ, my dear." The man's face had suddenly gone hard. Charlotte shook her head. Her grandfather rarely indulged in
story books, so it had been ages since she'd actually heard the legend. Ages--since her parents had left.
"No. I want to know what's going on at the Miller's, not some stupid fairy tale--"
"It would be best, Lady O'Farland, if you did not speak with such arrogance." The man, a frown hovering on his brows, stepped
back slightly. "Especially when dealing with matters you do not understand." Calming herself rapidly, she pressed her palm to
her forehead and closed her eyes.
"All right. Let's examine this logically."
"Logic." He scoffed. "I find logic useless in this sort of predicament--"
"Could you please not interrupt me?!" Charlotte shrieked, out of patience and deep in panic. The man's eyes narrowed, but he
said softly,
"As you wish."
"Good." She leaned away from the door and walked the length of the porch to see down the street. "That scream came from the
Miller's, I'm pretty sure. I think we better call the police." He sighed impatiently, dropping the blanket and letting his hands fall to
his pockets. Charlotte turned to face him. "What now?"
"Do you really think a constable can help you?" His voice had the air of one who spoke to a tiny child.
"Of course!" She threw her hands up in the air. "A policeman has guns! A policeman can stop the criminal and help the Millers
and--"
"Sleepy Hollow had constables, Lady O'Farland." The man walked towards her to rest near the front steps. "Back when the
town was young, Sleepy Hollow had constables as well. And they could not stop him." She clenched her fists, eyes flicking from
her neighbors' house to him.
"If you're talking about the Headless Horseman, I swear I'll break your arm. This is no time to break into a legend of--"
"This is the exact time to tell the legend, Charlotte!" His voice's volume rose greatly. Charlotte jumped. "This is the precise time
to educate you of what forces you are dealing with!" Her breathing had become heavy again. Slowly, she sank into the wicker
chair and stared at him.
"Go ahead, Mr. Dark and Mysterious," she whispered, shivering once again. The man stooped, picking up the blanket. He
stared at the woven fabric hard, then looked up and held out towards her.
"I will tell you what I know," he said, voice equally hushed. "and I pray to God I can help." Charlotte reached and took the quilt,
her hand brushing his as she pulled the blanket over her. His hand was cold, cold and hard. Like silver. She hadn't noticed how
his eyes were like that too; they had that gleam of ice, that glitter of something that was not quite right. Silver eyes and hands,
she thought suddenly. How weird.
The man remained standing, tucking his hands inside his pockets for warmth.
"Back when the town was young, Sleepy Hollow stood alone in the countryside, a mere stitch of thread in the quilt of land. The
season Ichabod Crane arrived in the little village was cold and clear; trees reached to the skies with fingers of branches, some
bare and some stained with color. He settled in the town rapidly, taking over the role of schoolmaster. He also joined the local
posse to act as a constable, as most men felt obligated to do, keeping the womenfolk and children safe.
Crane was an intelligent man, and though he indulged in fanciful stories and whimsical legends, he was a rather
frightened man. The stories he read unnerved him, so science and logic became his shield. If they held strong, the evils of the
underworld could not harm him.
While attending a party one Halloween, a local man decided Crane was getting too close to the lovely, enigmatic
Katrina Van Tassel. Immediately, he brought up the subject of a missing man. Not many people knew this man, but everyone
concluded (with their own silly reasons) that this was the work of the Horseman. Crane knew of the legend well, and this
discussion excited him. Instead of proving that he was a coward in front of Lady Van Tassel, it brought out the storyteller in him.
The local man--Bones, I think his name was--left in a storm of fury, muttering about revenge. His grumblings were unheard,
however, and Katrina and Ichabod talked late into the night.
Finally, Crane realized how late it was and that he must hurry home immediately. Before leaving, he promised the
charming Lady Van Tassel that he would solve the murder and prove a logical explanation.
'Have no fear, my dear Katrina,' he chuckled, 'the murderer will not have thee. I vow to smite him down for his crime and bring
justice to our fair Sleepy Hollow.' And with that, he bid her adieu and rode into the darkened forest."
The man had suddenly grown quiet. Charlotte didn't like the pause. It accentuated the night sounds--the crickets
chirping, dogs barking, frogs croaking, a horse running somewhere...sword clanking at the rider's side...
"Go on," she urged. He looked up abruptly, startled by her sharp voice.
"The horse seemed to grow more nervous the deeper they rode, and so did Crane. Every sound seemed infinitely louder. Each
insect whistling made him jump. Instead of going back, instead of revealing his apprehension, Crane merely urged the gelding
on. But there was another horse in the forest. A stallion of pure black, a horse to match its rider's heart...
That horse approached Ichabod slowly. Atop the steed sat a man, armor covering his body. Except for his head. He
had no head...
Crane turned tail and ran, but the feeble pony he rode was no match for the snorting charger behind. The Horseman,
the Headless Horseman rode him down that night. He slid the burning metal from its sheath, handling it as if it were no more
than a feather, and in one graceful slice--"
"Stop, stop!" Charlotte had drew the blanket so tight around her that her knuckles had turned white. The man stopped
midsentence. There was an uncomfortable period of silence.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"It's just...I haven't heard that story since I was little, and..." She swallowed, her eyes flicking down the street. "...you're a very
convincing narrator." He smiled ruefully.
"I think I gave you everything you need to know."
"But...what about the Millers? How will I know--"
"You'll know, Lady O'Farland." The man drew his hands from his pockets to clasp them behind his back. "And if what I suspect
has happened, then they are beyond help now."
"So I can't do anything?"
"No." Charlotte's insides chilled. The Millers had a little boy, two years old at the most. What if he was... "Forgive me, Lady
O'Farland, for forcing such a morbid tale upon you. I fear, however, that you needed to know." He turned slowly and began
walking away. Charlotte sat up.
"What? So you give me that big song and dance and that's it?"
"You know enough for now. I will return."
"But--you didn't tell me your name--" He whirled around, and that look was in his eyes again. That silver, untouchable look...
"I gave you enough information! Leave me at peace!"
"All right!" She sat back again. "Go away, then!" The man turned and loped away carefully, like he'd never spoken to Charlotte
in his life.
"I bid you farewell, Lady O'Farland. Sweet dreams." Charlotte watched him walk away. His steps were graceful and planned,
almost as if he were stepping around land mines. She looked down the street, towards the Millers' again, taking her focus from
the man. Had she watched long enough, she would've seen he had one hand rubbing tensely around his neck.
The Telling
Charlotte stifled a small cry and jumped to her feet. Her breathing was irregular as she pointed down the street,
jabbing the darkness with her finger.
"What...what was that?" The man cocked his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"That...scream. Who screamed?" She craned her neck to see around the porch. "I think it came from the Miller's--"
"I told you, Lady O'Farland--" Charlotte turned quickly, seeing that he was now standing on the porch.
"Get away from me!" She scrambled back against the front door. "What's going on?" The man's face was solemn as he
watched her for a moment.
"I told you before, Lady O'Farland," he said very quietly. "the Horseman rides." She swallowed, then swallowed again.
"What, exactly, does that mean?" He continued to stare at her gravely.
"Make of it what you will." the man said, fingering the designs on the forgotten quilt. Charlotte kept her body pressed back
against the screen of the door. She opened her mouth to speak when the thought hit her suddenly. Sleepy Hollow, of course...
"The Headless Horseman?"
A small, dry smirk lit up the man's face.
"Well, Lady O'Farland. It seems you've finally caught on."
"But...that was just a book..."
"I beg to differ, my dear." The man's face had suddenly gone hard. Charlotte shook her head. Her grandfather rarely indulged in
story books, so it had been ages since she'd actually heard the legend. Ages--since her parents had left.
"No. I want to know what's going on at the Miller's, not some stupid fairy tale--"
"It would be best, Lady O'Farland, if you did not speak with such arrogance." The man, a frown hovering on his brows, stepped
back slightly. "Especially when dealing with matters you do not understand." Calming herself rapidly, she pressed her palm to
her forehead and closed her eyes.
"All right. Let's examine this logically."
"Logic." He scoffed. "I find logic useless in this sort of predicament--"
"Could you please not interrupt me?!" Charlotte shrieked, out of patience and deep in panic. The man's eyes narrowed, but he
said softly,
"As you wish."
"Good." She leaned away from the door and walked the length of the porch to see down the street. "That scream came from the
Miller's, I'm pretty sure. I think we better call the police." He sighed impatiently, dropping the blanket and letting his hands fall to
his pockets. Charlotte turned to face him. "What now?"
"Do you really think a constable can help you?" His voice had the air of one who spoke to a tiny child.
"Of course!" She threw her hands up in the air. "A policeman has guns! A policeman can stop the criminal and help the Millers
and--"
"Sleepy Hollow had constables, Lady O'Farland." The man walked towards her to rest near the front steps. "Back when the
town was young, Sleepy Hollow had constables as well. And they could not stop him." She clenched her fists, eyes flicking from
her neighbors' house to him.
"If you're talking about the Headless Horseman, I swear I'll break your arm. This is no time to break into a legend of--"
"This is the exact time to tell the legend, Charlotte!" His voice's volume rose greatly. Charlotte jumped. "This is the precise time
to educate you of what forces you are dealing with!" Her breathing had become heavy again. Slowly, she sank into the wicker
chair and stared at him.
"Go ahead, Mr. Dark and Mysterious," she whispered, shivering once again. The man stooped, picking up the blanket. He
stared at the woven fabric hard, then looked up and held out towards her.
"I will tell you what I know," he said, voice equally hushed. "and I pray to God I can help." Charlotte reached and took the quilt,
her hand brushing his as she pulled the blanket over her. His hand was cold, cold and hard. Like silver. She hadn't noticed how
his eyes were like that too; they had that gleam of ice, that glitter of something that was not quite right. Silver eyes and hands,
she thought suddenly. How weird.
The man remained standing, tucking his hands inside his pockets for warmth.
"Back when the town was young, Sleepy Hollow stood alone in the countryside, a mere stitch of thread in the quilt of land. The
season Ichabod Crane arrived in the little village was cold and clear; trees reached to the skies with fingers of branches, some
bare and some stained with color. He settled in the town rapidly, taking over the role of schoolmaster. He also joined the local
posse to act as a constable, as most men felt obligated to do, keeping the womenfolk and children safe.
Crane was an intelligent man, and though he indulged in fanciful stories and whimsical legends, he was a rather
frightened man. The stories he read unnerved him, so science and logic became his shield. If they held strong, the evils of the
underworld could not harm him.
While attending a party one Halloween, a local man decided Crane was getting too close to the lovely, enigmatic
Katrina Van Tassel. Immediately, he brought up the subject of a missing man. Not many people knew this man, but everyone
concluded (with their own silly reasons) that this was the work of the Horseman. Crane knew of the legend well, and this
discussion excited him. Instead of proving that he was a coward in front of Lady Van Tassel, it brought out the storyteller in him.
The local man--Bones, I think his name was--left in a storm of fury, muttering about revenge. His grumblings were unheard,
however, and Katrina and Ichabod talked late into the night.
Finally, Crane realized how late it was and that he must hurry home immediately. Before leaving, he promised the
charming Lady Van Tassel that he would solve the murder and prove a logical explanation.
'Have no fear, my dear Katrina,' he chuckled, 'the murderer will not have thee. I vow to smite him down for his crime and bring
justice to our fair Sleepy Hollow.' And with that, he bid her adieu and rode into the darkened forest."
The man had suddenly grown quiet. Charlotte didn't like the pause. It accentuated the night sounds--the crickets
chirping, dogs barking, frogs croaking, a horse running somewhere...sword clanking at the rider's side...
"Go on," she urged. He looked up abruptly, startled by her sharp voice.
"The horse seemed to grow more nervous the deeper they rode, and so did Crane. Every sound seemed infinitely louder. Each
insect whistling made him jump. Instead of going back, instead of revealing his apprehension, Crane merely urged the gelding
on. But there was another horse in the forest. A stallion of pure black, a horse to match its rider's heart...
That horse approached Ichabod slowly. Atop the steed sat a man, armor covering his body. Except for his head. He
had no head...
Crane turned tail and ran, but the feeble pony he rode was no match for the snorting charger behind. The Horseman,
the Headless Horseman rode him down that night. He slid the burning metal from its sheath, handling it as if it were no more
than a feather, and in one graceful slice--"
"Stop, stop!" Charlotte had drew the blanket so tight around her that her knuckles had turned white. The man stopped
midsentence. There was an uncomfortable period of silence.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"It's just...I haven't heard that story since I was little, and..." She swallowed, her eyes flicking down the street. "...you're a very
convincing narrator." He smiled ruefully.
"I think I gave you everything you need to know."
"But...what about the Millers? How will I know--"
"You'll know, Lady O'Farland." The man drew his hands from his pockets to clasp them behind his back. "And if what I suspect
has happened, then they are beyond help now."
"So I can't do anything?"
"No." Charlotte's insides chilled. The Millers had a little boy, two years old at the most. What if he was... "Forgive me, Lady
O'Farland, for forcing such a morbid tale upon you. I fear, however, that you needed to know." He turned slowly and began
walking away. Charlotte sat up.
"What? So you give me that big song and dance and that's it?"
"You know enough for now. I will return."
"But--you didn't tell me your name--" He whirled around, and that look was in his eyes again. That silver, untouchable look...
"I gave you enough information! Leave me at peace!"
"All right!" She sat back again. "Go away, then!" The man turned and loped away carefully, like he'd never spoken to Charlotte
in his life.
"I bid you farewell, Lady O'Farland. Sweet dreams." Charlotte watched him walk away. His steps were graceful and planned,
almost as if he were stepping around land mines. She looked down the street, towards the Millers' again, taking her focus from
the man. Had she watched long enough, she would've seen he had one hand rubbing tensely around his neck.