Return to Sleepy Hollow

by Trish Bennett

In this sequel to the Tim Burton movie, Ichabod Crane arrives back in New York to find his sanity in question. He must return to Sleepy Hollow to prove himself and put the evil to rest once and for all.

Return to Sleepy Hollow

by Trish Bennett

The snow continued to fall in the city well beyond the holidays, blanketing the streets and everything in them with a layer of pure white powder. It wasn't as if he had never seen snowfall -- for a New York winter, it was quite commonplace. But in light of recent events and perhaps because of recent experiences, Ichabod Crane had allowed himself to notice its peaceful serenity for the first time in his life.

It was but one of many firsts for the young constable in recent weeks -- his first real terror... his first true love... his first realization that there was so much more to life than sense and reason. And he had none other than a lovely young woman to thank for all of them.

The same lovely young woman, in fact, who now stood beside him in the crowded watchhouse lobby, gazing at him with wary concern as they waited to be called before the Burgomaster.

"Ichabod," said Katrina Van Tassel, the apprehension in her voice mirrored in her dark eyes. "Are you certain I shouldn't accompany you?"

"Trust me, my darling," he assured her with a smile. "It is only a formality. You go on about your shopping. I shall present my report to the court and be done in time to join you for supper."

"It is your report that concerns me," she replied. "You must admit, it is an outlandish tale."

"It is truth, Katrina. And truth shall always prevail."

Despite his confidence, the lady remained skeptical. "Truth is a matter of one's willingness to believe. I have spent a lifetime learning that lesson."

"I assure you, there is no need for concern," Ichabod said. He clapped a hand on Masbath's shoulder, unintentionally startling the lad. "I shall have young Masbath with me. Everything will be fine."

"Crane!" boomed the voice of the bailiff over the din in the lobby. "Constable Ichabod Crane!"

Ichabod glanced toward the doorway of the court, then turned back to hug Katrina quickly, stopping just short of kissing her cheek.

"I must take my leave," he said. "Enjoy your day."

He tried to ignore the fretful expression on Katrina's face as he and Masbath edged their way through the crowd to enter the equally-busy courtroom. His young companion quickly found a seat near the front of the gallery as Ichabod approached the high bench.

He handed his papers to the waiting bailiff, who in turn moved to hand them to the High Constable. Ichabod took the opportunity to cast a reassuring glance toward young Masbath in the gallery. The boy offered him a weak grin in return, but still he appeared unappeased. Ichabod could hardly fault the lad -- newly orphaned and more recently uprooted from the only home he had ever known, he had every right to be ill at ease. Ichabod made a mental note to find a way to help the boy adapt to his new surroundings.

He squared his shoulders and turned back to face the bench just as the High Constable finished perusing the documents and finally presented them to the Burgomaster.

"Ah, Constable Crane..." said the Burgomaster at last, shifting his attention between Ichabod and the documents before him. "Back from Sleepy Hollow... with head intact, I see."

"Yes, sir."

"As I recall, you were sent to investigate three murders. Are we to assume from your appearance here today that you have identified the person responsible for these crimes?"

"Indeed, Burgomaster, although..."

The Burgomaster glanced up from the desk to regard Ichabod sternly. "Yes?"

"Well..." Ichabod said. "There were slightly more than three when all was said and done."

"Indeed? How many more?"

Ichabod hesitated only briefly. "Sixteen in all."

"Sixteen beheadings?" said the Burgomaster, astonished.

"Technically, no," Ichabod offered quickly. "One man hanged himself; one was blugeoned to death by another, who was subsequently shot by a third; a woman was with child at the time of her death; and one victim was sliced in two... or three... But the others were all beheaded, yes."

The Burgomaster gazed at him, incredulous. "And all this took place during your investigation?"

"Yes, sir."

The Burgomaster exchanged a puzzled glance with the High Constable before turning back to face Ichabod.

"And the man responsible for these crimes? Have you brought him to face our justice?"

"No, sir, not exactly," Ichabod said. "The person responsible was not a man, but a woman -- the former Lady Van Tassel."

"Do you expect us to believe a woman single-handedly beheaded over a dozen victims, Constable Crane?"

"No, sir, only two. She enlisted the aid of the Horseman for the others."

The Burgomaster's confusion was becoming quite evident. "First things first, Constable. What has become of the Lady Van Tassel?"

"She is in hell."

"Dead, then..."

"One can only hope, sir."

The Burgomaster eyed him strangely. "And this... Horseman... you say she enlisted to carry out these ghastly crimes. Who is he?"

"I fear I do not know his name, Burgomaster," Ichabod said. "I know only that he was a Hessian killed during the war."

The Burgomaster offered him a blank stare. "There is war in Sleepy Hollow?"

"No, sir, not anymore. I speak, of course, of the war with England."

"Constable... the war with England ended more than 20 years ago."

"Yes, sir, I know."

"And how, pray tell, did the Lady Van Tassel enlist the aid of a dead Hessian?"

"Through witchcraft, obviously," Ichabod replied. "She was skilled in the practice of the black arts."

Ichabod steadfastly ignored the smattering of muffled laughter from the gallery. He could not, however, ignore the look of complete bewilderment in the Burgomaster's eyes.

"Obviously..." he said weakly. "And this... Horseman? Where is he now?"

"Also in hell," Ichabod said firmly. "He took the former Lady Van Tassel with him."

"Killed her too, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir. He rode her there on horseback once he had retrieved his skull."

"His skull?" The Burgomaster shook his head quickly. "You mean this Horseman was...?"

"Headless," Ichabod said. "Yes, sir."

"I see..."

Ichabod smiled confidently. "As well I knew you would, sir."

He exchanged another odd glance with the High Constable at his side. "It sounds like quite a harrowing experience, Constable."

"That would be an understatement, sir," Ichabod said. "During the course of my investigation, I was shot, impaled, and attacked by no less than two other-worldly beasts..."

His voice trailed off as he finally noticed the Burgomaster's concerned expression. In his zeal to expose the truth, Ichabod feared he may have forgotten the sheer perplexity of his tale.

"And yet, you seem... remarkably fit."

Ichabod shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I got better."

The Burgomaster considered him briefly. "Do you think me a fool, Constable?"

"No, sir..." Ichabod insisted.

"Then I suspect you have developed a sense of humor in your absence," he said sternly. "But I must warn you, these antics have no place in this courtroom."

"Burgomaster, I assure you I do not jest. The tale I have told you is true... every word of it."

"A Horseman... a headless Horseman... goes on a murdering rampage at the behest of a black witch? Poppycock!"

"I know it sounds fantastic, but you must believe me," Ichabod said. "I have seen the gates of hell with my own eyes!"

"Tell me, Constable," said the Burgomaster. "Where are the gates of hell?"

At that moment, Ichabod desperately wished he could retract his last statement. "In a tree," he said softly.

"I beg your pardon?"

It is truth, he reminded himself silently. And truth shall always prevail. Ichabod cleared his throat and squared his shoulders once again to address the Burgomaster loudly and clearly.

"In the base of a dead tree in the western woods."

The gallery erupted with laughter, but Ichabod did not flinch. He remained straight and tall before the high bench as the Burgomaster and High Constable conversed softly in whispers. Finally the High Constable straightened and they both looked back at Ichabod.

"Constable Crane, I fear I have done you an injustice."

"...Sir?"

"I had hoped sending you to Sleepy Hollow would help you lose some of your arrogance," said the Burgomaster. "Upon your return, I see what you have lost is your mind."

Ichabod was indignant. "I beg your pardon!"

"Constable, please..." said the Burgomaster, concerned. "Do not excite yourself..."

"I assure you, I am quite sane," he insisted.

"Yes, of course you are..."

"Do not patronize me!"

Ichabod did not notice the two frighteningly large bailiffs until they had seized him, one by each arm. Startled, he struggled in their grasps, but to no avail.

"Unhand me!" he demanded. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Ichabod Crane," said the Burgomaster sternly. "You are hereby relieved of your duties."

Ichabod froze, mustering all his strength to swallow back the dryness in his throat. "...Sir?"

But the Burgomaster would no longer look at him, instead addressing the gallery directly. "It is the determination of this court that Ichabod Crane be committed to the state asylum immediately, where he can pose no danger to himself or others..."

Ichabod gulped, a horror clenching in his chest that rivaled the Horseman himself. "The state asylum? Surely you're joking..."

It was likely the look of pity in the Burgomaster's eyes above all else that convinced Ichabod of his sincerity.

"I promise you, I am not mad," Ichabod said desperately. "You must believe me!"

The Burgomaster's expression was grim as he spoke his final decree. "Remove him."

Ichabod fought wildly to the symphony of chaos in the courtroom, but his feet barely touched the floor as the bailiffs dragged him off.

"Please, Burgomaster, you cannot do this!"

Ichabod continued to struggle against his captors, but he was hopelessly overpowered. He frantically scanned the crowd until finally spotting young Masbath in the sea of faces straining to see the spectacle.

"Find Katrina!" Ichabod shouted as they dragged him through the doorway. "Hurry! "

********************

Katrina followed the clerk with a determined force in her stride and young Masbath on her heels as they made their way to the Burgomaster's chambers inside the city watchhouse.

She should never have left Ichabod to face this burden alone, unaccustomed as he was to harsh realities she had known all her life. To see and understand the spirit world was a remarkable gift known only to a select few, but it could also be a dangerous curse. It sparked a dreaded fear in those without the insight to accept the natural and supernatural as one... and fear was the first and most powerful catalyst of rash judgments and swift injustice.

Even Ichabod's vast intelligence could not surpass his most charming naiveté. Truth for one, he believed, must surely be truth for all. She had thought he would learn the necessity of discretion and secrecy in time, just as she had learned, but the lesson was prematurely thrust upon him. Her error in judgment had placed him in this predicament, and she must now do everything within her power to set it right.

They paused as they reached the door of the Burgomaster's chambers to allow the clerk to announce them. Katrina offered a reassuring glance to the nervous Masbath beside her, though she felt no assurance herself. She could only hope her powers of persuasion were enough to combat the ignorance of the ungifted.

"Mistress Katrina Van Tassel to see you, sir," said the clerk in the open doorway.

The voice that responded was deep, resonant and clearly accustomed to unquestioned authority.

"Van Tassel? Where have I heard that name before?"

The clerk glanced furtively back to Katrina before he replied. "Mistress Van Tassel of Sleepy Hollow, sir."

"Ah, yes, of course," said the voice. "By all means, show her in."

Leaving Masbath to wait in the corridor, Katrina nodded in thanks to the clerk and moved past him to enter the Burgomaster's chambers. He rose as she entered, waving a long-fingered hand toward the chair in front of his desk.

"Mistress Van Tassel," he said pleasantly. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

"No, thank you," she replied, her voice polite but firm. "I won't be long."

"I see. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"I understand you have arrested Constable Crane."

"I have not arrested him," said the Burgomaster. "I have committed him. He is quite mad."

"I have come on his behalf," Katrina said. "I implore you to release him at once."

The Burgomaster gazed at her curiously before finally shaking his head. "That is not possible."

"Why not?"

His pale eyes narrowed. "What is your interest in this matter, if I may be so bold?"

"He is my fiancé," she replied. "We are to be married within the month."

The Burgomaster's narrowed eyes went wide in surprise. "You are to marry Constable Crane?"

"Yes."

"...Ichabod Crane?"

"Yes, sir."

"Remarkable," he muttered, then appeared to remember himself. "Constable Crane was dispatched to Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of crimes. He returned with a tale of witches and demons, a dozen more murders, and no one to be held accountable. Surely you understand my predicament."

"No, sir, I do not," Katrina said firmly. "You asked for his report, and he gave it to you. He cannot be branded a madman simply because you choose not to believe it."

"Are you saying that you believe it?"

Katrina spoke carefully, measuring each word. "My belief or disbelief is of little consequence," she said. "Are you not a man of justice?"

The Burgomaster seemed mildly offended, much to Katrina's satisfaction. "I believe I am."

"Constable Crane has performed every task set before him by this court," she said. "Yet, upon their completion, he is spirited away without even a chance to defend himself. Where is the justice for him?"

The Burgomaster's face was hard now, his voice much colder than before. "What do you suggest?"

"Release him," she said simply. "Allow him the opportunity to prove himself to you. He is entitled to a defense, is he not?"

The Burgomaster considered her briefly before exhaling a reluctant sigh. "Clever girl..."

Katrina smiled but said nothing.

"Very well," he said at last. "Constable Crane shall have his defense. Give me one hour, and I shall join you at the asylum."

Katrina's smile broadened. "Thank you, sir."

She shook his hand politely, then turned for the door.

"Mistress Van Tassel..."

Katrina turned back.

"Marry Constable Crane? Are you certain?"

She smiled sweetly. "Oh, yes... quite certain. Good day to you, sir."

She turned once more and exited through the doorway, re-joining young Masbath in the corridor. As the door closed behind her, she heard the Burgomaster's incredulous voice...

"She's as mad as he is..."

It was of little concern to her at the moment. Masbath gazed at her expectantly.

"Well?" he asked.

"He shall be released within the hour," she said with satisfaction. "Come quickly, we have an errand to attend to."

********************

Ichabod awoke to find himself in hell, or at the very least a close approximation. He stirred, only then realizing he was sprawled face-down on a filthy stone floor. His arms ached from the crush of his own body, a rancid smell accosted his nostrils. But it was, above all, the multi-legged creature scurrying across his line of vision that made him bolt upright...

...only to pitch forward and land flat on his face once more. He struggled to right himself, but his arms refused to cooperate, as did his lungs which would accept no more than quick, shallow breaths. He gasped and wheezed as panic overtook him, kicking furiously and digging his bootheels into the floor's uneven crevices to aid his backward momentum. Only when his back met the stone wall behind him was he able to leverage his weight and right himself into a sitting position. His legs continued to kick but finally slowed to a halt as the realization set in -- there simply was nowhere else to go.

Ichabod forced air into his aching lungs, fighting against the sickening stench while trying to revive his arms. As the air began to flow again, he made the unpleasant discovery that both effects had but a single cause -- the stained, rigid straightjacket that now encased him.

He held no hope he would awaken from this horrific dream as he had so many others in recent weeks. This nightmare was all too real.

His eyes surveyed his dismal surroundings, taking in the appalling conditions and his frightening new companions. Inmates filled nearly every available space in the large, dank room. Some roamed aimlessly in circles; some stood; some sat; still others groaned from dirty cots lining the interior walls.

His head turned slowly as his eyes took note of every horrid detail from one side of the room to the other. His concentration was so intense that he let out a startled yelp when he finally noticed the large, pitted face of a fellow inmate just inches away from his own.

"Here..." said the inmate in a gruff, gnarled voice. "Don't I know you?"

"No, I, um..." Ichabod gulped. "I don't believe we've met."

The man inched closer to study Ichabod's face intently, which made him increasingly uneasy. Ichabod sank back, wanting desperately to turn his head but too afraid to look away.

"I know that because..." he stammered nervously, "...because if we had met, I would certainly remember."

The man continued to glare at him.

"And I don't..."

The bulbous eyes narrowed.

"...remember..."

The inmate moved, and Ichabod scrambled unsuccessfully to escape. His large, hairy hands seized the front of the straightjacket and dragged Ichabod to his feet, pulling him in close until they were nearly nose to nose.

"I know that face..." he mumbled, then turned his head and called out to the other inmates. "Here... anybody know this face?"

Ichabod's heart threatened to break through his chest as a handful of other inmates closed in on them. Constables were charged with placing criminals in places like this. It was never, ever a wise idea to be incarcerated along side them.

"What's your name, anyway?" the inmate said.

He had no intention of revealing that information -- even in the most dire of circumstances, he was certainly no fool. But the voice that called loudly from the ward doorway nearly stopped his heart beating altogether.

"Ichabod Crane!"

The inmate's head snapped up in surprise, then he turned back to Ichabod with a nasty grin of recognition. Ichabod gulped but quickly found his voice.

"Here! I am here!"

********************

Ichabod walked in silent procession between two large asylum guards, one in front of him leading the way and the other behind him prodding him on. Although he tried to keep in step, his pace was apparently much too slow to suit the second guard. The end of the billy club periodically jammed in his spine made that point all too clearly.

It seemed an eternity before they finally reached their destination, a small holding cell deep within the dismal asylum. The first guard unlocked the heavy iron door, then stepped aside for Ichabod to enter, but again it seemed he was not quick enough. The club caught him squarely in the back, and he lurched forward into the cell.

Still restrained by the straightjacket, he stumbled and fell to his knees as the door slammed shut with a clang. He struggled to stand, but without the use of his arms, it was nearly an impossible feat.

How could it have come to this? he thought, fighting against his restraints. The criminal justice system was comprised entirely of fools... fools who, unfortunately, now held his fate in their hands. Justice... it would almost be laughable if his predicament were not so utterly terrifying.

The sound of keys in the door startled him. Ichabod nearly fell backward but somehow managed to keep his balance as the door creaked on its hinges and swung fully open into the corridor.

The face that greeted him breathed life back into his aching body.

"Katrina!" he whispered. "Thank God you've come!"

"Oh, my poor Ichabod!" she said, rushing to his assistance with young Masbath close behind. She knelt beside him, brushing the hair out of his face with a gentle touch. "What have they done to you?"

Ichabod glanced up at the guard in the doorway, who took a single, threatening step forward.

"Nothing from which I would benefit by the re-telling," Ichabod said quickly. "Please get me out of here."

"I will, I promise, but..." Katrina shot an angry glare back toward the guard. "Someone get this beastly thing off him!"

A humorless grin crossed the guard's face as he moved forward to oblige. Within an instant, Ichabod was yanked to his feet and slammed against the wall, his face pressed firmly into the coarse stone. The guard worked the buckles on the back of the jacket roughly, obviously taking great delight in making the process as painful as possible. Finally the last buckle broke free, and Ichabod wasted no time shedding the awful garment and tossing it away.

He was already in Katrina's waiting arms before he noticed the handkerchief dangling near his face. He quickly snatched it from Masbath's hand and brought it up to cover his nose and mouth before looking into the boy's face.

"I thought you'd be needing it," said Masbath with a grin.

"Good lad," Ichabod replied gratefully.

"We also brought your smelling salts..." Katrina said softly.

Ichabod shook his head. "No, no, I am quite all right..."

But the voice from the doorway sounded entirely unconvinced. "That, Constable, remains to be seen."

Ichabod stiffened as he looked up into the face of his accuser. "Burgomaster..."

The Burgomaster silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand. "I have rarely found your judgment even remotely sound, Crane," he said, then leveled his gaze on Katrina. "But it seems at least once you have chosen wisely."

Ichabod glanced at the lady in his arms before looking back to the Burgomaster.

"Your fiancée has reminded me that every man is entitled to a defense," he said, "no matter how mad he may be. Therefore, in the interest of serving justice, you shall have it."

Ichabod exhaled with relief. "Thank you, Burgomaster..."

"I give you one week," he said firmly. "If, within that time, you are able to prove your claims, you shall be fully reinstated to the constabulary. However..." His voice grew grim. "If you should fail to convince me, you will be immediately returned to the asylum, and I shall not hear mention of this matter again. Do I make myself clear?"

Relief, it seemed, was a fleeting thing. "Yes, sir."

"We shall depart at dawn," the Burgomaster said, then quickly turned and disappeared through the doorway.

"Depart?" Ichabod gulped as he looked back into Katrina's face. He feared he knew the answer to his next question before he even posed it. "Where are we going?"

He saw apprehension in her dark eyes. "If we are to prove your innocence, my love... we must return to Sleepy Hollow."

********************

The journey to Sleepy Hollow was one Ichabod had hoped never to make again. Even his bride-to-be and their young ward had left this place without a backward glance, closing one door on the unpleasantness of the past while opening another to their future together.

Just yesterday, it had been a bright, uncomplicated future. How quickly things had changed.

He found himself locked in mortal combat once again, but one in which battling a headless beast paled by comparison. At least with the Horseman he could see what he was fighting, and defeat would have been quick and relatively painless. But a loss in this battle would be endless, a torturous existence behind the walls of the state asylum, never to see the light of day again. It was a possibility he thought best not to dwell upon.

Katrina had also met with unexpected change upon their arrival in Sleepy Hollow. Once a member of the town's most respected family, she returned to find her stately home vandalized nearly beyond recognition. Ichabod and Masbath went immediately to work to repair damage and wash away scrawled epithets, but the discovery had cast an even darker pall over the already dismal mood.

Even the weather, it seemed, could not resist the winds of change. As night fell, the clear skies clouded and rumbled with the sound of distant thunder.

It had been a long, exhausting day, and Ichabod wanted nothing more than to retire to his room and enjoy a brief respite in sleep. But even that luxury was rudely interrupted by an unexpected knock at the main door.

Katrina and Masbath waited nervously in the arch of the inner door as Ichabod moved to answer, a single candle lighting his way. He clutched it so tightly in his grip, he could feel the impression of his fingers in the warm wax as he reached for the latch with his free hand.

The dark figure before him was menacing enough in the gloom of night, but the brilliant flash of lightning just as the door opened nearly stopped his heart. He could only hope his startled scream was louder to his own ears than to the others around him.

The dark visitor was morbidly large, an almost featureless shape in the flickering light.

"Pardon the intrusion at this late hour," said the figure in a voice that strangely matched the shape. "I am Magistrate Beckwith. May I come in?"

Ichabod shot Katrina a questioning glance. Her apprehension had been replaced by a look of recognition, and Ichabod stepped aside to allow the Magistrate's passage.

"Reginald," she said, moving forward to greet him. "You are the new magistrate?"

Beckwith accepted her hand, but his face remained etched in stone.

"Katrina," he said without amenity. "I could always be forthright with your father. I hope it will be the same with you."

Katrina eyed him warily. "Of course..."

"I want to know why you are here."

The lady's expression hardened ever so slightly. "This is my home."

"Not anymore," he said sternly. "The reign of the Van Tassels and the Van Garretts is over, and with it went the evil that has plagued Sleepy Hollow. But now you have come back. I want to know why."

Ichabod moved to Katrina's side but remained silent.

"It is a personal matter," she replied coldly. "My business in my own home is none of your concern."

"Indeed?" Beckwith eyed Ichabod suspiciously, then looked back at Katrina. "Why has he returned as well? His business here should be complete... if he is who he claims to be."

"What are you implying?"

"I imply nothing," Beckwith said. "I merely state facts. Constable Crane conveniently appeared shortly after this ghastly business with the Horseman began. When he left, the murders stopped. Is that a coincidence?"

"Surely you don't accuse me of..." Ichabod stammered. "I am a constable for the state of New York."

"You are a butcher, sir!" Beckwith's eyes flared in the heat of his anger. "I saw what you did to the body of the widow Winship."

"I performed an autopsy," said Ichabod, offended. "It is a valid method of forensic science."

"Is that what they call it in New York? Here it is known as defiling a corpse."

"This is madness!" Katrina said angrily. "Ichabod is not the source of your evil. He is an investigator. He was sent for."

"Yes... by Baltus Van Tassel, the man at the very heart of the conspiracy."

Katrina's pale face flushed. "You would have nothing if not for my father," she said. "How dare you speak of him so."

"It is true, I owe a debt of honor to Baltus," Beckwith said. "That is why I will allow you to remain... for a time. But I warn you, Katrina... I expect your visit to be uneventful and brief. Do we understand each other?"

Katrina stepped forward and spoke with a force Ichabod hadn't known she possessed. Every inch of her small, delicate frame seethed with an angry energy.

"We shall do as we please and leave only when our business is completed," she said. "Now I believe we understand each other."

They exchanged interminable glares before she finally turned away.

"You are no longer welcome here. Please leave my home at once."

The magistrate glared at each of them in turn, then turned to show himself out. Ichabod followed close behind, making sure to bolt the door securely behind him, then returned to Katrina's side. She practically collapsed into his arms.

"Ichabod, I'm frightened," she whispered.

"You are?" He quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, of course you are. Come, darling... a good night's sleep, and things will look better in the morning." Surprisingly, it sounded much more convincing than it actually felt.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed young Masbath's concerned expression and his attempt at discreet gestures toward the inner doorway. Ichabod and Katrina turned to find the Burgomaster, arms crossed over his chest, standing in the open archway.

"It seems you have made no more friends here than you have in New York, Constable," he said. "This should prove an interesting week."

********************

The four rode silently through the misty fog of the western woods, the only sound the crackle of leaves beneath the horses' hooves. Katrina shivered against a chill, one not entirely due to the crisp morning air. With the Horseman gone and the evil put to rest, she had hoped the haunted feel of this place would be dispelled as well. But as she gathered her cloak more tightly around her, she tried to ignore the dread that now clenched in her chest.

Ichabod led the way atop the faithful Gunpowder, looking much more at ease astride the beast than he had in the beginning. He had spent the morning on a quest to find the horse and paid its new owner handsomely for its use. Though he claimed his interest in the steed was strictly sentimental, she suspected it was much more than that. Gunpowder was perhaps the only horse he had ridden in his life, and he had more pressing concerns at the moment than acquainting himself with a new one.

They came upon a clearing, and Ichabod drew up his reigns to bring the horse to a halt. He slid from the saddle and was headed for the cavern entrance before she, Masbath and the Burgomaster had even dismounted.

"Here you will find proof of my claims," said Ichabod, confidence shining in his dark eyes as they finally joined him. "It was the home of the witch of the western woods."

"The Lady Van Tassel?" said the Burgomaster.

"No, no... her sister."

He eyed Ichabod ruefully. "Are you now trying to convince me there were two witches, Constable?"

"You shall need no convincing once you have seen it with your own eyes, Burgomaster," he replied.

Ichabod reached out to open the makeshift wooden door which blocked the cavern entrance, only to have it break away in his hands. He cleared his throat and quickly set the plank aside, then waved the Burgomaster forward with a flourish.

"After you, sir."

The Burgomaster exhaled a skeptical breath, then moved past him into the chamber. Ichabod practically beamed in anticipation of being vindicated at last.

"There," he said, smiling broadly. "You see?"

"I see an empty cave, Constable," came the Burgomaster's voice from inside the cavern.

Ichabod's face immediately fell and his shoulders sagged as he scrambled to join him inside the cave. Katrina and Masbath followed behind to find him prowling the bare cavern, searching desperately for some remnant of its former occupant.

"But it was here!" he insisted, the tension in his voice echoed in his movements. "I promise you, it was! There was a hearth, a table, and..." His eyes lit with renewed confidence the moment the memory struck him. "And shackles! There were shackles, here on the w--"

But there were no shackles, and no shred of evidence to suggest there ever had been. Ichabod studied the stone wall carefully, running his ringed hand along its jagged surface.

"I don't understand it..."

"Constable, please," said the Burgomaster, a look of genuine concern in his eyes. "Perhaps this was a mistake."

"Do not pity me!" Ichabod said angrily. "It was here. Young Masbath saw it, too."

"Perhaps we simply found the wrong cave," Masbath said hopefully. "We could have easily gotten turned 'round..."

"No, this is the one," Ichabod insisted. "I know it."

"Ichabod..." said Katrina, urging him on. It was best not to dwell on this failure. "There are other things to show him."

"Yes!" Masbath chimed in quickly. "Follow the Indian trail..."

"The tree of the dead! Yes, of course!" Ichabod spun on the Burgomaster. "Come... there is much more to see in these woods."

He quickly assisted Katrina mounting her horse, then sprang to his own and was off in search of the accursed tree. He brought Gunpowder to a full gallop in his haste and quickly vanished from sight in the mist.

Katrina's fear for him mounted with each passing second as they quickly made their way after him. The witch's cave may have provided no proof to the Burgomaster, but it had to her -- proof there were still forces at work in Sleepy Hollow with which they must contend.

As they neared the clearing, a form became visible and slowly solidified in the swirling mist. It was Ichabod, his horse as rigid as he in the saddle, staring into an empty void where the twisted tree once stood.

"It's gone!" Masbath said with dismay.

Ichabod finally moved, turning his head to gaze upon them in stunned silence before dismounting. Katrina and Masbath quickly followed suit, but the Burgomaster remained firmly in his saddle.

"The gates of hell, I presume?" said the Burgomaster.

"You can see it was here," said Ichabod, circling the charred ground where the tree had been. "It was quite obviously destroyed by fire." A cock of his head suddenly betrayed his curiosity. "Interesting..."

"Have you found something?" Katrina asked.

"The tree has been burnt to cinders," said Ichabod, the scientist quickly replacing the accused. "The flames even scorched the earth around it. And yet, note the neighboring trees -- the leaves untouched, the bark pristine. The blaze would have been enormous, yet it was confined to this very spot."

"Hell's fire..." Masbath whispered.

"Rubbish!" said the Burgomaster.

Ichabod spun to face him. "Burgomaster, come... let me show you..."

"Constable, you have shown me nothing but an empty cave and a blackened pit," he replied. "If you expect me to believe this fantasy, you shall have to try much harder." He turned his horse and headed back the way they had come. "You only have five days left."

Ichabod stood aloof as the Burgomaster disappeared into the mist, but then his breath quickened and he staggered back. Katrina was instantly beside him, passing the smelling salts under his nostrils until his breath finally caught and his dark eyes focused once more. He nodded quickly, embarrassed but grateful as he reached into his breast pocket for his handkerchief.

"What's happening?" he said at last.

"I don't know," she replied. "But whatever it is, we shall not discover it here. Come, let us leave this place at once."

********************

When he awoke just before dawn, Ichabod had fully expected to have his business completed by day's end and be on his way back to New York by morning. If only his expectations could ever draw near reality.

Had the Burgomaster seen what Ichabod had seen, perhaps it would have been so. But the proof upon which he had depended to redeem himself was as elusive, it seemed, as clear evening sky in Sleepy Hollow. Did storm clouds never leave this place? It was as though someone -- or, though he was loathe to consider it, something -- was intent on making this visit last as long as possible.

If nothing else, his journey through town had helped to narrow that list of suspects. With each scurrying footstep, every shutter slammed closed at his passing, Ichabod realized how intensely unwelcome his presence had become.

Even the farmer, Mr. Whitney, rushed his children to join their mother at the house as Ichabod and Gunpowder approached. He had been agreeable enough this morning, if somewhat steep in his fee for the use of the horse. But now his very demeanor was suspicious, his eyes dark and oddly accusing.

"What do you want?" he said curtly as Ichabod dismounted and moved toward him.

"I should like to extend my use of your horse, just for another few days."

Whitney's eyes narrowed. "You said you only needed him for the day."

"I did," Ichabod said. "I thought I did. My plans have been somewhat altered."

The farmer cringed against the lightning high in the night sky, then nodded toward the horse. "Why that one? What's so special about him?"

"He is sturdy stock, sure-footed..." He shrugged. "I like him."

Whitney's expression was intimidating, but he held his ground and kept clear distance between himself and Ichabod. "I hear he is the horse you rode in your dealings with the horseman. Is that true?"

"Dealings?" Ichabod offered him an uncertain smile. "He was the horse at my disposal during the investigation, yes."

"Then take him," Whitney said, turning back for the house himself. "Keep him. But do not set foot on my property again, do you understand?"

It took just a moment for Ichabod to realize his mouth was open. "Sir?"

"You and that horse are not welcome here. Away with you, then..."

"But, sir, I will gladly...."

But the farmer was gone, quickly disappearing through the door and slamming it firmly shut behind him.

"I own a horse," Ichabod muttered, then attempted to shake off his increasing confusion as he moved to mount the steed. "Come, Gunpowder... perhaps we can make it home ahead of the storm."

They started off in a steady trot, the horse responding easily to Ichabod's slightest urging. Perhaps it was merely the impending storm, the thick, almost suffocating weight of the air, that unnerved them both. Whatever it was, the pair were in full gallop as they reached Katrina's home at the center of town.

Ichabod silently admonished himself for his foolishness as he returned the horse to the stable and headed quickly for the house. It did not, however, keep him from casting furtive glances at every rustle of the wind or shadow in the darkness along the way.

He tried to steady his breathing and his nerves as he removed his coat and went in search of Katrina. He found her in the parlor, reading quietly by the fire, her golden hair nearly glowing in the amber light. It was a welcoming sight that calmed him completely... until the Burgomaster's voice behind him in the hallway made him jump.

"Constable, did you happen to see my clerk on your way in?"

"I saw no one," said Ichabod the instant he regained his composure. "Shall I go look for him?"

"No," he replied, his tone cool yet polite. "I'll tend to it."

Ichabod watched the Burgomaster disappear through the main door before turning his attention back to the lovely Katrina. She was aware of his presence now and gazed at him with concern as he entered the parlor.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice as gentle as the fire light as she reached out a hand to him. Even his most valiant effort, it seemed, could not mask the truth from her eyes.

He accepted her hand and moved to join her on the sofa. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, my darling. I am fine."

"I don't believe you," she said softly. "Tell me what's wrong."

Ichabod exhaled slowly, then looked back into her eyes.

"I am an outcast," he said at last. "Considered a madman in my own world, a conspirator in yours... welcome nowhere."

She gazed at him sympathetically a moment, then drew his hand up to rest on her bosom. "There is one place you are welcome," she said.

As he felt the steady rise and fall of her chest, Ichabod himself could scarcely breathe. He could think of nothing but the delicate lace between his fingers, the silken softness of her skin, the gentle curve of her breast beneath his hand...

"...in my heart," she added.

"Oh!" Ichabod said, his own heart missing a beat. He gulped, then gave her an unsteady smile. "Yes, of course! As you are mine..."

They gazed at each other interminably, it seemed, and Ichabod felt himself leaning forward to kiss her. Their lips nearly met when the sound of the main door crashing open startled him. He practically leapt to his feet, shrinking guiltily back as the Burgomaster appeared in the parlor doorway and collapsed against the arch. His face was deathly pale.

"Burgomaster?" Ichabod said, quickly overcoming the start and moving toward him. "What is it? What's happened?"

"My clerk," he said, nearly choking on the words. "He's dead.... decapitated!"

"What?" Ichabod felt the blood drain from his own face. "Where?"

"In the stables," said the Burgomaster shakily. "He's in the stables..."

Ichabod lurched forward, stumbling past him into the hallway. This cannot be! The witch was dead, the evil put to rest, or so he thought. Why was it starting all over again?

He rushed through the main door without his coat, staggering through the snowy darkness more from memory than sight. He heard Katrina and the Burgomaster behind him, urging him to slow his pace and wait for them to join him, but he could not. The doorway of the stables beckoned him on, mocking him in its gaping darkness.

He stopped himself in the open doorway, grasping at the framework for support as he beheld the grisly scene that lay beyond.

"But I was just here!" he said, then turned his questioning eyes to Katrina. "Just minutes ago... there was no one..."

"Ichabod..."

He closed his eyes to steady himself, then drew his handkerchief from his vest pocket before moving to inspect the victim. He approached slowly, glancing around in all directions to assure himself they were alone.

"The head is still here," he said, trying to avoid looking into the lifeless eyes. "Could you bring me a torch?"

Katrina moved swiftly to light a nearby lantern and delivered it to his waiting hand. She gasped softly and turned away from the gruesome sight as Ichabod knelt down beside the body.

"Oh, my God..." he whispered.

"Constable?" said the Burgomaster, still planted firmly in the stable doorway. "What is it?"

"The wound is cauterized," Ichabod said, then stood and turned to face them. He could scarcely believe it himself as the words escaped his lips. "It was the horseman's blade."

********************

Throughout the night and well into the dawn, Katrina and Masbath kept silent vigil outside what had once been Doctor Lancaster's operating room. Ichabod had insisted on performing an autopsy in the hope of finding some hidden clue to the mystery that now enveloped them.

The Burgomaster, still quite shaken by his gruesome discovery, had declined to join them. Perhaps it was just as well, Katrina thought. He seemed disturbed by the science Ichabod regarded so highly; and considering his already dim appraisal of Ichabod and his methods, it was best not to subject him to them any more than necessary.

Ichabod emerged from the operating room just before daybreak, blood-soaked and weary but no less perplexed than when he started. It was the horseman, of that much he was certain. But how... and why... were questions still unanswered.

They rode in silence back to the house, Ichabod deeply immersed in thought and the notations in his ever-present notebook all the while. It may not have brought him any closer to discovering the truth, but thankfully it did keep him occupied and unaware of the frightened stares of townspeople as the carriage passed by them.

Katrina had hoped they could withdraw to the sanctuary of home and collect themselves before having to face prying eyes and unanswerable questions, but that was not to be. Her heart sank when they returned to find Reginald Beckwith's carriage at her door and the magistrate himself conversing grimly with the Burgomaster in her living room.

"Magistrate Beckwith," she said coldly as the two rose to face them, intentionally avoiding the familiar use of his first name. "To what do we owe the honor?"

Beckwith's demeanor was equally cold. "You have murder to thank, Katrina," he said. "I have a few questions for Constable Crane."

She started to protest, but Ichabod stepped forward without hesitation. "It's all right, Katrina," he said. "Ask your questions, Magistrate. I am as eager to solve this puzzle as you are."

The magistrate appeared unconvinced. "I notice you have Mr. Whitney's horse in your stables," he said.

It was not what he had expected, and Ichabod appeared somewhat confused. "As I understand it, he is my horse now. He was given to me."

"By Mr. Whitney?"

"Yes, of course."

"And when was this?"

Ichabod cast a quick glance at Katrina before responding. "What has this to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question," the magistrate snapped.

"Last night," Ichabod said, his tone increasingly indignant. "I went to his home to inquire about using the horse for another few days. He told me to keep him."

Beckwith's eyes narrowed. "And why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Ichabod said. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Because it is difficult to get a straight answer from a man with no head," Beckwith said flatly.

Ichabod's face went pale. "What?"

The Burgomaster stepped forward, his expression grim. "My unfortunate aide was apparently not the only victim," he said. "Mr. Whitney and his entire family were found this morning... all beheaded."

Katrina was incensed. "And you believe Ichabod had something to do with it?"

"Constable Crane was the last person to see them alive," he replied. "And as I understand it, he was the last person in the stables just before the other victim was discovered."

Ichabod gulped. "Are you accusing me of murder, sir?"

"You can't possibly believe that!" Katrina said.

"I shall tell you what I believe," he said, stepping forward to stand firmly before Ichabod. "The Burgomaster has informed me of your business here. I believe his initial assessment was correct - you are a madman."

Ichabod shrank back slightly, clearly intimidated by either the accusation or the magistrate's sheer bulk.

"Returning here to prove your claims about the Horseman and finding no proof to show him... I believe you have set about orchestrating these crimes yourself so that you can solve them."

"That's absurd!" Katrina said. "You have no proof."

Beckwith shot her an angry glance, then backed away. "No, not yet. And until I do, I cannot formally charge him." He looked back at Ichabod. "But I warn you, Constable... you are to remain in this house and not leave it under any circumstances until I have a chance to investigate these crimes myself. Do you understand me, sir?"

"But, Magistrate..."

"Constable..." said the Burgomaster, his tone firm and unyielding. "I believe it is in your best interest to honor his request. If the mood of the townspeople is as he says, you could very well find yourself hanged before this is over."

Ichabod gulped as he looked from the Burgomaster to Katrina to Masbath in turn. Finally, he looked back at the magistrate.

"I will honor your request," he said softly.

"See that you do," Beckwith said, turning to head for the door. "I bid you good day."

Ichabod stood his ground until Beckwith disappeared through the doorway, then staggered back to sink heavily into a nearby chair. Katrina was instantly at his side.

"Burgomaster," he said the moment he regained his composure. "Surely you don't believe this nonsense."

The Burgomaster's face betrayed his reservations. "You have always been the most squeamish man I have ever known," he said. "But your uncharacteristic behavior of late..." He hesitated only a moment. "I honestly don't know what to believe."

"I am not mad," Ichabod insisted. "And certainly not a murderer."

"Perhaps not," said the Burgomaster. "But you are in very deep trouble."

********************

"Ichabod..."

The melodious voice was in perfect harmony with the splendor of the enchanted garden. He felt the warm summer breeze brush his face and watched in awe as it worked its own brand of magic. Colorful petals, bright and luminous, danced within its grasp, raining down to blanket the grass in a fragrant, silken rainbow.

"Ichabod..."

He heard his mother's lyrical voice but strangely could not see her. He tried calling out, but no sound escaped his lips.

"Ichabod..."

A sudden flash of lightning streaked through the clear blue sky, a tremendous thunderclap following closely in its wake. The breeze transformed to a frightning wind, and black clouds billowed ominously overhead.

Yet the voice remained as melodious as ever.

"Ichabod..."

Ichabod's eyes snapped open, forcing back the darkness that threatened to engulf his mystical dreamscape. Eons passed, it seemed, before air returned to his lungs and realization to his consciousness - it was only a dream.

The nightmares had stopped with the horseman's terror, but now both had begun anew. This room, this house, this village... all seemed to conspire against him. He was not mad, that much he knew with certainty. But with each passing hour, each inexplicable event, the spectre of doubt chipped away at even his own convictions.

Ichabod remained on his side, gazing into the cold, gray stone of the wall beside his bed as if witnessing a vision of his future. It was a dismal view, bereft of color or form, featureless but for the dark, mottled pits that occasionally marred the surface. If the week continued as it had begun, Ichabod would lose everything he held dear - his career, his freedom, and heaven help him, Katrina... the only true joy he had known since his youth.

Perhaps it was merely fatigue that fostered this dark mood, Ichabod thought. A few hours' sleep and a clear head might well be all he needed to unravel this mystery and put the accusations to rest once and for all. He closed his eyes...

"Ichabod..."

His breath stopped completely as his eyes snapped back open in horror. This was no dream! Slowly, cautiously, he rolled to his back and turned his head until his gaze fell upon a figure he thought never to see again. He cried out, terrified, leaping from the bed to stand trembling before the delicate figure of his mother.

She was just as he remembered her - a dark-haired beauty with gentle eyes and grace in every movement. He gasped for breath as he looked upon her with a mixture of fright and wary curiosity.

"Do I see fear in your eyes, Ichabod?" she said, her voice soft and lyrical. "Surely you've not forgotten me?"

"Forgotten you?" Ichabod nearly choked on the words. "If you only knew the countless hours you have walked within my dreams."

"Then why do you regard me so?"

He felt his senses slowly returning with every breath. "You are not real."

"That is your reason talking," she said sweetly, moving slowly toward him. "What does your heart tell you?"

"I..." Ichabod stammered, inching nervously back as she approached. "I cannot allow my heart to make such judgments."

The lady smiled. "Then let your reason do it."

She reached out to place a gentle hand on Ichabod's face. He gasped at her touch, then raised his own hand to cover hers. This is not possible!

"Your hand is warm!" he whispered.

"Of course, my darling," she said. "A mother's touch is always warm and comforting."

A mischeivous smile crossed her lips as she slid her hand from beneath his and traced the line of his jaw lightly with her fingertips. Her silken fingers barely brushed his skin as she moved her hand downward past his throat and along his breastbone, parting the open front of his shirt.

Ichabod was frozen with fear, breathless and unable to move.

"That is not a mother's touch..." he whispered.

She smiled with an uncharacteristic coyness, then slowly began to circle him. Her fingers remained, tracing the line of his shoulders as she disappeared behind him. Ichabod still found himself unable to move, save for the trembling beneath her lingering touch - across one shoulder, then the other... He turned his head just as she came back into view at his side.

Her dark hair was now completely blonde, and the coy smirk now fit the face it adorned. A sudden sound at the door startled him; he lurched forward and out of the clutches of the Lady Van Tassel.

"Katrina!" he cried.

He saw concern in the line of her brow but nothing that resembled fear. She paused briefly at the doorway, then continued toward him warily.

"Ichabod?" she said softly. "What's wrong?"

He was too frightened to look back. "Do you not see her?"

Katrina's dark eyes surveyed the room before looking back at him. "I see only you, my love."

Ichabod spun around, nearly toppling over in the process. She was gone, vanished without a trace. He staggered forward, not wanting to confront his darkest fears but now unable to avoid them.

"Perhaps I have gone mad..." he whispered.

Katrina moved to him, taking him into her arms. Ichabod did not resist her.

"Why would you say such a thing?" she said. "Of course, you haven't!"

"But I saw her, Katrina," he insisted. "I saw her... as plainly as I see you now."

"Saw whom?"

He pulled back from the comfort of her embrace to look at her. "Your step-mother... the Lady Van Tassel."

He had expected to see disbelief in her eyes, perhaps accompanied by an assurance it was all a bad dream. But what he found was deep concern, as if her own worst fears had been realized.

"She was here?"

"I thought so," he replied. "But it cannot be!"

Katrina reached out to brush the hair back from his face. "Perhaps," she said. "But Masbath and I have been discussing a theory. Come... join us. We haven't much time."

********************

They found Masbath in the parlor, stoking the fire as he awaited Katrina's return. The boy turned expectantly to face them, and as his gaze fell upon Ichabod, his fretful expression conveyed not only concern but a genuine affection for his mentor.

Katrina moved to him, gripping his shoulders tightly as she spoke. "Ichabod has seen her."

Masbath glanced into Ichabod's face before looking back at her. "It's true, then."

"No..." Ichabod said, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, it's not possible. We saw her descend into hell with our own eyes!"

"But it was an unnatural descent," Katrina said. "She was not dead when she crossed over."

Ichabod gulped. "You believe she is still alive?"

"Yes," she replied. "And while she lives, she has power over both realms... the living and the dead."

He gazed at her in stunned silence a moment, then turned away to absorb the shocking news. His brow furrowed, his shoulders sagged, his chest heaved with labored breath as he paced, lost in thought. But finally he stopped, and determination visibly overcame him. He turned back to face them with his head held high.

"Then we must find a way to kill her," he said at last.

He obviously knew his course, but Katrina was not so assured. "But if she dies at your hand, the Burgomaster will have all the proof he needs to seal your fate."

Ichabod's face fell. "Then what choice do I have? Let her live, and she will see me dead. Kill her, and I am carted off to the asylum."

Masbath shuddered. "Even if she loses, she wins."

Ichabod eyed him angrily for a flash of an instant, but the truth of his words quickly hit home. He gazed at the boy with apologetic eyes before finally looking away. When he spoke, his voice quivered with emotion.

"Yes," he said. "So... we must make absolutely certain she does not lose."

Alarmed, Katrina moved toward him. "What are you saying?"

Ichabod inhaled a decisive breath and raised his head once more. "That, given the choice, I would gladly choose death over life in the asylum."

"Ichabod, no..."

"You don't understand, Katrina," he whispered. "I can't go back there."

"I know it's a dreadful place," she said, grasping his hands in hers. "But where there is life, there is always hope."

Ichabod smiled briefly, but there was no humor in it. "You have had only a glimpse of what I have seen. Believe me, Katrina... it is the one place on Earth where life exists without hope. I can't go back. I won't go back. Promise me..."

"No..." She feared she knew where this was headed, and she refused to allow it. Katrina turned away from him, but he grasped her firmly by the shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes.

"Please, Katrina, there's so little time left. You must promise me... if I should become overpowered or incapacitated..."

"No..."

He shook her lightly once, and she looked back into his face. His dark eyes seemed to plead and command simultaneously.

"Don't let them take me back there," he said firmly. "Do whatever you must... put a bullet through my heart if you have to. Promise me..."

She shook her head weakly, but she knew she could not deny him this. Tears stung her eyes as she finally relented.

"I promise... to do whatever I must."

Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily as he pulled her into his arms. But as they clung to each other, Katrina made her own silent vow -- she would not allow his death to be their final option.

********************

Ichabod entrenched himself in the Van Tassel library late into the evening, the purpose of which was twofold. He hoped the blend of his own scientific knowledge with information of the spirit world contained in its countless volumes would help piece together this sinister puzzle and resolve his dire dilemma. He also trusted it would keep his mind occupied and his thoughts away from the consequences should he fail to accomplish that goal.

Unfortunately, he had accomplished nothing in more than two hours. He had perused page after page, volume after volume, seeing the words but absorbing none of them.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he rose from his chair and headed to replace the book on the shelf. Katrina must have abandoned her hope of sharing his company this evening and was likely fast asleep by now. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought. In light of his mood, he would be rather poor company at the moment.

Ichabod heard a noise at the door, and his breath caught in his throat. The known occupants of the house had no need to creep about, particularly at this late hour - but it was the unknown occupants that concerned him. Ever wary, he laid down the book and edged silently toward the door. Summoning his last ounce of courage, he reached out, grasped the knob firmly in his hand, and pulled.

He was met by his young ward in the corridor, nearly as startled as he, poised as if ready to knock but contemplating otherwise.

"Young Masbath," Ichabod said with a loud exhaled breath. "What are you doing?"

"I..." the boy stammered, lowering his hand along with his gaze. "Nothing, sir. I don't wish to disturb you..."

He turned to leave, but Ichabod stopped him with a hand on his arm. When he turned back, his eyes were almost mournful.

"Masbath, what is it?"

"I..." he started, then his tone changed abruptly. "I can't! I promised I wouldn't tell you."

Ichabod's concern mounted with each passing word. "Tell me what? What are you talking about?"

It was obvious the lad was struggling with his conscience, desperate to be faithful but uncertain of his course. He sighed heavily and reached into his coat to produce a book.

Ichabod took it from his hands. His heart skipped a beat as he read the title: Spells and Incantations in the Art of Black Magic.

"Katrina!" he whispered.

"Please don't be angry, sir," Masbath said. "She said it was the only way."

"No!" Katrina was prepared to cross a dangerous boundary from which Ichabod knew she might never return. The book fell from his hands, and he grasped Masbath's shoulders tightly. "We must stop her! Tell me where she is."

"She has gone to the western woods," the boy confessed. "But you cannot go! The magistrate..."

"You know as well as I that we cannot let her do this!" Ichabod was nearly frantic. "Masbath, please... if you have an ounce of love for either of us, you must help me! Tell me where."

"I'll take you there," he said, the uncertainty in his voice replaced with steady conviction. "Wait here, I'll bring the horses 'round."

The boy dashed off, and Ichabod ran for his coat. He could only hope they were not already too late.

********************

Ichabod and Masbath rode at full gallop through the night fog toward the western woods. Though terrified by what he might find, Ichabod knew they could not slow their pace. Katrina was the only true blessing in his miserable life, and he was determined not to lose her now.

Nearing the woods' edge, Ichabod noticed a large heap partially obstructing the path. Initially, he surmised that a tree branch had fallen or an animal had collapsed where it stood. But upon closer inspection, he realized the heap was a human body, the head resting gruesomely nearby. He and Masbath circled the body on horseback but did not dismount.

"It's the magistrate!" Masbath said breathlessly.

"Yes," Ichabod agreed. "But why?"

The words had no sooner crossed his lips when a shot rang out from the distance. It was an alarm shot, confirmed by the agitated shout of the voice that followed. "He's struck again! The murderer has struck again!"

Startled, Ichabod glanced back quickly, then looked at his companion. "We haven't time for this!"

Masbath snapped the reigns and dug his heels into his horse's side, galloping off to find Katrina with Ichabod close behind. The hooves thundered through the darkness, not missing a beat in their stride.

As they reached the clearing near the remains of the hellish tree, the two brought their horses to an abrupt halt. Ichabod saw Katrina, her back to them, overlooking a small fire and surrounded by the trappings of the witching trade - herbs ground to a fine powder on a nearby rock, ominous smoke rising from a boiling pot... Though she must have heard their approach, Katrina stood motionless but for the rise and fall of her shoulders with each unsteady breath.

Ichabod slid quickly from his saddle and took a hesitant step forward.

"Katrina..."

She turned slowly to face them, the fire casting an eerie light in her face. Ichabod finally noticed the knife she clutched firmly in one hand, the screeching bat in the other. Tears streamed down her fair cheeks.

It took every bit of strength in Ichabod's possession to calm his pounding heart and find his voice. "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what I must," she replied, her voice choked with emotion yet determined. "Just as I promised."

Oh, Katrina... "This was not my intent."

"I know," she replied. "But the only way to defeat black magic is with black magic."

Ichabod shook his head, fighting back a wave of guilt that bordered on nausea. "No," he insisted. "No, there must be another way..."

The sounds of angry voices drew near, and the smoke and light from carried torches became visible through the darkness. A mob was approaching, but Ichabod ignored it and held his ground. He felt Masbath close beside him, urging him on.

"Please, Katrina, listen to me," Ichabod insisted. "You cannot do this."

A wicked laugh suddenly echoed through the woods, rising above the rustling leaves and the shouts of the approaching mob. The three turned simultaneously to see the Lady Van Tassel step out of the swirling mist, a grin of smug satisfaction lighting her evil face.

"Welcome back," she said, her voice playful yet menacing.

The very sight of the black witch terrified him to the core, but Ichabod had more pressing business at the moment. He turned back to find Katrina clutching the bat more tightly with the knife raised threateningly over it.

"Katrina, no! Listen to me..."

"Don't be a fool, step-daughter," said the Lady Van Tassel. "You are correct - black magic alone can defeat me. But I doubt you have the courage to use it."

"Don't listen to her, Katrina!" Ichabod pleaded. "Don't you see? She's trying to destroy you, as well. Don't let her do it, Katrina. Put the knife down!"

The sounds of the mob drew nearer still. Confused, Katrina looked toward them, then to her step-mother before finally looking back into Ichabod's eyes. She raised the knife to rest it against the bat's throat.

"But I can stop this!" she insisted. "You don't have to die!"

"But how could I live... knowing what you sacrificed for me?" Ichabod inched toward her as he spoke, careful to maintain eye contact. "I fell in love with the soul of a beautiful white witch. Don't destroy the only thing that has ever made me whole."

He continued to hold her gaze as he moved slowly toward her. Katrina seemed captivated by his eyes and remained absolutely motionless until they were nearly face to face. Ichabod reached out, and Katrina did not resist as he took the knife from her hand and swiftly swatted the bat away from the other. He tossed down the knife and took her face in his hands.

"Oh, you stupid girl!" the Lady Van Tassel cried, then promptly disappeared into the mist.

The mob had finally reached the clearing, and the world around Ichabod suddenly became a blur. Rough hands seized him and pulled him away from Katrina, but he continued to hold her gaze as his hands were bound tightly behind his back. Katrina and Masbath struggled against the hands that kept them from him.

Ichabod remained oblivious to the angry shouts of murder and revenge and was only vaguely aware of the Burgomaster's presence. The judge tried valiantly to restore peace among the mob, but he was jostled and shoved at every turn, and his pleas fell upon deaf ears.

But to Ichabod, it no longer mattered. He might very well die here, but if his death would save his beloved Katrina, he was more than willing to do it. A wave of complete serenity washed over him, and he smiled reassuringly at Katrina as the rough hands forced him up onto Gunpowder's back.

The angry villagers led the horse to position him under a nearby tree, and someone tossed a rope over a sturdy branch. Ichabod's eyes remained fixed on Katrina as the noose slipped over his head.

"Ichabod!" Katrina screamed.

He felt himself trembling but still managed to offer her another reassuring smile. "I am doing what I must," he said softly. "Never doubt my love for you, Katrina."

Her lovely face was nearly drenched in tears. "No!"

At that moment, a gust of wind whipped up around them, and a stampede of forest animals fled past them into the darkness. The thickening mist swirled madly, the wind howling in harmony with the distant sound of a horse's hooves.

"It's the Horseman!" shouted a villager. "The Horseman is coming!"

The startled mob instantly abandoned their deadly task and fled for safety, nearly trampling the Burgomaster in the process. He managed to stand his ground, however, and remained with the trio in the clearing.

The wicked laugh echoed again, the piercing cackle blending with the wind and hoofbeats. The Lady Van Tassel reappeared from the mist, laughing and taunting them all.

"You didn't think I'd let you die that easily, did you?" she said. "Come, my gallant Horseman! Avenge me!"

"Avenge you?" Ichabod insisted as he struggled with his restraints, still bound atop Gunpowder with the noose firmly around his neck. "Against me? To what purpose?"

The Lady Van Tassel studied him curiously a moment, then raised her hand in the air. The clomping hoofbeats slowed dramatically but continued their steady approach.

"I want you dead, Constable," she said almost lyrically. "Surely that is obvious, even to you."

"But what have I done?"

"Have you ever imagined what hell was like, Constable?" the lady replied, walking slowly toward him. "I no longer have to imagine. I have been there... thanks to you."

Ichabod resisted the overwhelming urge to cower at her approach and remained upright in the saddle. "You have yourself to thank for that," he said.

"It is a torturous existence enough for the dead," she said, her slow pace finally bringing her to his side. Her voice fairly seethed with anger. "But do you have any idea of the torment on living flesh? Here... let me show you..."

The Lady Van Tassel reached up to rest her hand on Ichabod's cheek. It was a brief caress, but he gasped at her touch which flooded his senses with the pain and fear... indeed, for a fleeting moment, he felt the very essence of evil.

Her eyes narrowed. "That is what you have given me," she said bitterly. "But for me, it is endless."

Ichabod struggled to catch his breath, which was no easy task as he caught a glimpse of the Horseman clearing the mist. His head was intact now, but Ichabod believed the piercing blue eyes and chisled teeth made him appear even more terrifying than without it. He gazed steadily at Ichabod, his horse walking a slow, steady pace, his sword glistening in the moonlight.

Katrina and Masbath scrambled to Ichabod's side as the Lady Van Tassel moved to join her evil avenger. They clawed frantically at his restraints, trying to untie him. The Burgomaster remained frozen where he stood.

"I want his head," the Lady Van Tassel commanded, and the Horseman moved to oblige. He closed in on Ichabod step by excruciating step, drawing menacingly near.

Ichabod was trapped. With his hands bound tightly and the noose firmly around his neck, he could do nothing but sit... and watch... and wait.

The Burgomaster finally moved, rushing to pull Katrina and Masbath out of the Horseman's path. The Hessian ignored them, gazing at Ichabod intently. Suddenly his lips curled, baring his sharp teeth in a grin of bloodlust.

Ichabod gasped for breath, but his lungs seemed as paralyzed as the rest of his body. The Horseman raised his sword higher.

He drew back.

And he swung...

Ichabod's eyes clenched tightly shut, anticipating the blow. But to his surprise, he felt not the hot steel of the blade but the brush of cool ash against his neck. The sword fell to dust as it touched him, and he opened his eyes just in time to see it disintegrate in the Horseman's hand.

Ichabod cried out in utter relief, then looked questioningly toward Katrina. She freed herself from the Burgomaster's grasp and ran quickly to his side.

"You didn't...?" he asked quickly.

She shook her head, obviously as confused as he was. "No, I didn't..."

The wind began to stir again, but quite differently than before. It was a cool, gentle wind, and the swirling mist that accompanied it sparkled in color and light. Ichabod caught just a hint of fragrance as the mist swirled gracefully up, encircling him and Katrina together as if protecting them somehow.

They watched in silent awe as the mist gracefully shot off and slowly solidifed in the forms of two lovely yet ghostly figures.

"Mother!" Ichabod and Katrina whispered simultaneously. They glanced at each other quickly in surprise, then back toward the luminous figures.

"No!" the Lady Van Tassel shouted angrily. "No, they are mine!" She stormed past the Horseman, grabbing the hatchet from his saddle as she passed and marching forcefully toward Ichabod and Katrina. "Must I do everything myself?"

As she tromped through the leaves, the sparkling mist rose, displacing a tree root beneath her feet. The Lady Van Tassel stumbled and pitched forward, lying motionless where she fell.

The Burgomaster ran to her and hesitated just a moment before rolling her to her back. With the hatchet buried deep in her chest, she choked on her last breaths. A stream of blood escaped her lips, and her body went deathly limp.

The Burgomaster gazed at her in disbelief a moment, then rose to his feet. "She's dead."

The Horseman looked upon her from atop his horse, then moved to retrieve her body. He pulled her into the saddle with him and stroked her face almost lovingly. A broad smile crossed his lips, exposing every last jagged tooth, and he threw his head back in a hoarse laugh. Ignoring them now, he turned to set his horse at full gallop, disappearing into the pit where the Tree of the Dead once stood. Dried leaves and dark mist swirled together but quickly came to rest until both appeared never to have been disturbed.

Ichabod and Katrina exchanged stunned glances before Katrina finally found her voice.

"She no longer controls him," she said softly. "They are equals now."

The Burgomaster produced a pocket knife and cut Ichabod's bonds free. Ichabod tossed the noose away distastefully and slid out of his saddle, taking Katrina in his arms. They clung to each other tightly for an eternity, it seemed, before finally turning back to face the spectres in the mist.

"The real Lady Van Tassel, I presume?" Ichabod whispered to Katrina beside him, though his gaze remained locked on the ghostly forms.

Katrina nodded shakily. "And the lovely Lady Crane?"

Ichabod gulped and nodded.

The two figures smiled sweetly, and the fragrant mist began to swirl once more. Each motherly form spiraled in opposite directions, coming around to lightly brush each child's cheek as if offering a goodbye kiss. Once done, they coiled upward and disappeared as quickly as they had come.

Ichabod looked back into Katrina's stunned face, then finally back to the Burgomaster. He was still visibly shaken but more composed now.

"Has this been sufficient proof, Burgomaster?"

"Indeed, Constable," he replied unsteadily. "Proof that hell itself cannot stand between a mother and her child."

********************

Katrina and Ichabod stood to face each other in the massive New York church with the Burgomaster looking on from the pulpit. Young Masbath stood happily at Ichabod's side, a broad smile lighting his face.

Ichabod's bride was as beautiful as he had ever seen her, bedecked from head to toe in wispy, billowing white. Her golden hair hung in ringlets beneath the thin veil, and her dark eyes shone with a deep and heartfelt joy.

"Do you have a ring?" the Burgomaster said.

Ichabod turned to Masbath, and the boy promptly produced the golden band. He turned back to Katrina, took her hand in his, and slid the ring onto her finger. They smiled at each other, then faced the pulpit once more.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the Burgomaster said, followed by a long, somewhat uneasy pause. "Constable... you may kiss your bride."

Ichabod smiled happily a moment, but then could almost feel the blood drain from his face. He looked into the eyes of his bride, and the room began to spin as he leaned slowly forward to kiss her.

As their lips met, Ichabod Crane fainted dead away.