Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow. The film Sleepy Hollow was made by Tim Burton who adapted it from Washington Irving's short story The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
Chapter 8: Into the Den of the Damned
Masbath yawned loudly, rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes. It was fairly late, almost ten already, and Masbath knew that his master didn't like to have breakfast too late. Unfortunately, the young man had over slept and had forgotten to wake his master. Constable Crane, being the far better cook, was the one who prepared all the meals, but Masbath was the one who had to remind him to actually cook them, and the constable was not a morning person, especially in his current condition. Masbath could only pray that he wouldn't be in too foul a mood.
The young man knocked timidly on the older man's door. He paused, waiting for a reply, when he received none, he knocked again. "Sir," he called. "It's time for breakfast." Still no reply. Worry started to spread in his mind. Masbath tried the knob and was surprised to have it turn easily.
"Sir," he called again, peeking inside the constable's room. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach and Masbath's mind was reeling at the sight in front of him. The room was completely neat and devoid of any signs of Constable Crane.
Ichabod sighed and curled up onto his side contently. He was having the most wonderful dream about his mother, and for the first time, there were no images of her death. There was only him and her sitting in her garden as she held his hand and told him the names of all the plants and their many uses.
There was a slight pang of regret as he realized that his child would never know its grandmother. He stroked the top of his stomach in his sleep. It was only when he felt it growl did he realize that he had over slept.
Why didn't Masbath wake me? He thought. It wasn't like the young man to let him over sleep. He couldn't risk being late for work. His superiors were already out to get him, the last thing he need was to fuel their intent and give them reason to terminate him.
His eyes fluttered opened slowly, his vision was still blurred slightly from sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around him as a sudden wave of horror over took him. He did not recognize his surroundings, but he had an awful feeling that he knew where he was. He was lying in a pile of furs on the floor of a dark, seemingly endless room. A fire that burned not too far from the edge of his make shift bed was the only source of light in the room. He was certain now that he was inside of the Tree of the Dead.
A figure sat hunched over near the edge of the fire. His back was turned toward Ichabod, but the constable could tell from his dark cloak and bulky form that it was the Hessian. He was working intensely on something in the palm of his hand, and in the fire light, Ichabod caught the gleam of a blade in the dead man's hand.
Ichabod closed his eyes tightly, hoping that he would wake up from this nightmare. I'm dreaming! He told himself. This is a dream! A horrible, horrible dream! As hard as he tried to convince himself of this, he knew that it was all very real. Peaking out over the covers, Ichabod felt the color drain from his face as the Hessian turned and glanced at him. The dead man got to his feet and walked over to him.
Ichabod scrambled backward in fear, his thoughts centering on his unborn child. Please, don't let him hurt my baby! He pleaded to what ever spirit might have been watching over him in this evil place. He closed his eyes as tight as possible, his muscles tightening as if he were waiting for some type of blow. When it never came, Ichabod summoned all of his courage and took a timid look in the Horseman's direction.
In the palm of the dead German's hand was a small wooden horse. The horse seemed to have been crafted with such care and love that the constable couldn't turn away from it. He hesitantly reached out to take the horse in his hands, half expecting the Horseman to stab him.
"I... I don't understand," he said quietly, is voice filled with confusion as he ran his pale fingers gently over the small wooden figure.
"For the baby," the Hessian said in heavily accented English.
Ichabod's head snapped up in surprise. "You-you can speak?" he asked in surprise. "You speak English?"
The Hessian nodded. "I have not spoken in over twenty years," he explained, choosing his words carefully. "And I have not had much practice, either, but I have you to thank for being able to do so again."
The mortal blushed at his words and the tenderness that was hidden in them. He looked down at the horse in his hands. Glancing back up to thank the dead man, his eyes caught a glimpse of something he had not seen before. Behind the Horseman was a wooden crib, painted black with dark gray sheets inside of it. Ichabod trembled at the sight.
"For the baby," the Hessian explained.
Ichabod felt his throat clench. "I... it's beautiful," he said honestly. Looking over at the German, he started into his gray eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"This is my baby?" he asked nodding towards the mortal's rounded stomach. Ichabod nodded slowly. "Then I will take care of you."
Ichabod felt his eyes nearly double in size at his words. "T-take care of me?" he repeated in disbelief. "Why?"
"Because it is my child," he said, giving the young man an odd look, as if he had asked why the sky was blue. "Lay down," he said softly, laying him back down gently and tucking the fur blanket under his chin. "You need rest. I will bring food." A strange slit in nothingness opened up and formed a doorway of fire and blood. The Hessian stepped threw and the doorway closed off behind him.
Ichabod sat up quickly. His mind was muddled with confusion. This was not the reaction he had been expecting from the dead man. Wanting the baby, perhaps, but wanting to take him in and take care of him was something he wasn't prepared for. He placed a gentle hand on top of his round stomach, holding it protectively. From the cradle and the small toy horse, it seemed that the Hessian was planning on keeping him and his baby here for quite sometime and he doubted he'd find away to escape. He curled himself up into a tight ball and began to rock slightly as he waited for the Hessian to return.
The dead man returned an hour later with two large sacks of food he had taken from the village. He hadn't eaten since his death and had forgotten how much food one person could consume. He wondered how long the two sacks would last, especially since the young man was with child and eating for two. He placed the sacks on the floor and pulled out a freshly baked loaf of bread, handing it over to the young man.
The boy was curled into a tight ball, his knees tucked under his chin, and a miserable look on his beautiful young face. The young man looked at the bread questioningly, before timidly reaching for it.
"T-thank you," he stammered uneasily, before picking at the loaf, tearing small pieces and nibbling at them.
The Hessian frowned. No more than an hour down here and already he was miserable. He sighed, dropping his thick black riding cloak around his thin shoulders. The young man clutched the cloak tightly around himself. The Horseman sat down beside him and wasn't surprised when he flinched and scooted away. He chuckled slightly as he stared into the fire.
"You need not worry," he said, trying his best not to frighten the young man. "I will not harm you."
The young man chuckled nervously. "I some how find that hard to believe... coming from you."
The dead German smiled inwardly at the comment. "If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."
The young man blanched and swallowed hard. "Yes... that thought had occurred to me."
The Hessian watched the young man eat, trying to think of something he could say that would help him relax. He was so tense; the Horseman wished he could convince him that he wasn't going to hurt him. He had wanted the beautiful mortal since he first saw him. He knew that taking advantage of him that night was wrong, but he simply couldn't resist, he was so damn lovely, and now he was blessed with a child by the young man.
A thought suddenly occurred to him, he was about to have a child with this young man and he didn't even know his name. "Tell me boy, what is your name?"
He stopped picking at the bread just long enough to give him a nervous reply. "I-Ichabod. Ichabod Crane." He glanced at him shyly. "What... what's your name?"
He stared at him blankly for a moment. He had not used his given name in many years and it was hazy at best, but he could just barely recall it. "Viktor," he said at last.
Ichabod nodded. He was about to take another bite of the bread when suddenly he gasped and clutched his stomach. Viktor stared at him in surprise. He grabbed one of the mortal's slightly swollen, pale hands in his large gloved one and stroked it gently. "What is wrong, Ichabod?"
Ichabod blushed. He never would have expected the dead man to be so tender. The kind tone, the soft touch, even the use of his given name was a bit unnerving. "I-it's nothing really," he stammered nervously. "It's just... I felt the... our... baby kick."
Viktor raised his eyebrows at him. Kick? The baby was already kicking? "May I?" he asked, referring to the nervous mortal's stomach. Ichabod nodded shyly in response. He gasped and squirmed as the Horseman placed his large gloved hand on top of his rounded belly. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing more then a thin night shirt. He could feel the heat from the palm of his hand and fought to suppress a moan. He realized then just how long it had been since someone had touched him intimately. In fact, if he recalled correctly, the Hessian himself was the last person to touch him in such a way.
He saw from the corner of his eye a slight smile grace the dead man's face as he felt the baby give a light kick. He chuckled softly, caressing the top of the inspector's stomach gently. "That's wonderful," he murmured.
Ichabod felt his lips quiver and a whimper of pleasure escape them. Viktor smiled wolfishly as he saw the effect his touch was having on the young man. He took this as an invitation and bent down to place a light kiss on the constable's petal soft lips. Ichabod moaned, his eyelids fluttering shut as he felt the Horseman's warm tongue graced against his lips, begging for entry. He parted his lips tentatively, allowing the German's tongue to explore the inside of his mouth.
He knew that this was strange, wrong for him to be doing something like this with another man, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was how good it made him feel.
Ichabod sat trembling and panting from the force of his release. His face was flushed slightly and his skin was still glistening with sweat. His mind was reeling. Never had he imagined that something like this could feel so good. The young constable lay in the arms of German man; resting his head on his broad shoulder as the Hessian rubbed his back in soothing circles.
Viktor smiled down at the pale young man. "Aren't you glad you didn't faint this time, meine liebe?"
Ichabod chuckled nervously at the remark, still concentrating on catching his breath. He cuddled closer to the Horseman, blushing slightly. "That certainly was a new experience," he said meekly. He looked into the eyes of the dead man hesitantly, mustering up every ounce of courage he had. "V-Viktor? Why... why did you take advantage of me that night?"
"Because I wanted you," he said simply, brushing back a strand of soft black hair with the tips of his roughed fingers.
"Oh... why?"
Viktor chuckled at his words. "Why not? You're beautiful." He gently lifted the mortal's hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to his finger tips.
Ichabod blushed deeper at his words. Men weren't considered beautiful, and he most certainly didn't consider himself beautiful. "I-I'm not beautiful," he stuttered shyly. "I'm... I'm far too skinny and pale-"
The Hessian silenced him with a fierce kiss to his already swollen lips. He grasped the young man's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head upward. "You are beautiful, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool."
Ichabod had to bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying, but his eyes began to water anyway. He tried to duck his head and turn away, but the Hessian's grip stayed strong. He placed a gentle kiss on his lips and stroked his hair fondly. Leaning into the other man's embrace, Ichabod realized that his stay here wouldn't be as miserable as he had thought.
AN: According to Alta Vista, "meine liebe" is German for "my love".