Okay another chapter up! I really need to owrk on my other stories but I've got way to many ideas for this one! Review please!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything... I'm still in the smae situation I was in before..

Chapter Four- Showing Skin

"Murder! Murder! The horseman has killed again!"

Clara jumped out of bed and looked out the window. There was a thin layer of fog that gave everything an eerie look and the sky was, once again, overcast. Having no time to marvel at the wonderful scenery, Clara ran to the kitchen and started to call for her father. She panicked when there was no answer.

"Daniel! Daniel!"

The young woman ran to her brother's room and shook the poor boy awake. "What is it, Clara?" He asked tiredly.

"The horseman has claimed another!" She exclaimed while putting on her cover up.

"What's wrong, sister?!" Daniel asked. "You look as though you've been painted white!"

"… Father isn't here, Daniel." She whispered shakily.

Both Masbaths were silent. Clara took her brother's hand and went outside. She knew that both were not in the proper state of dress to venture out, but she didn't care. Propriety wasn't the young woman's priority. And so, dressed only in her chemise, cover up robe and old shoes, Clara went to see who had been claimed.

"Magistrate Philipse! What's happened?" She asked weakly.

The leaders of the town, who had all been standing together talking up until this point, all turned to look at the distressed young woman. In any other circumstances, Clara would have thought her appearance comical; what with her patched up white chemise and red cover up robe, her hair bedraggled. But unfortunately, these were not other circumstances.

She saw most of the leaders take advantage of the skin she happened to be showing and quickly covered up. "W-what's happened?" Clara whispered weakly.

"The horseman…" Philipse said gently. "He has claimed Jonathan Masbath."

Clara wanted to wretch. She wanted to run away from everything. But then she felt a pressure on her waist and looked down; Daniel was hugging her torso tightly.

I hate you. It was the only thing that ran through her mind over and over again. I hate you… I hate you… That was the last thing she said to him, that was the last thing she said to her father; I hate you.

Something caught Clara's eye in her peripheral vision; it was Constable Crane trying to ride one of Killian's horses. The sight would've made the young woman burst out laughing on any normal day, but today, Clara was too upset to laugh. She tenderly took Daniel by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Go home and stay there, Daniel." She murmured softly while wiping his tears away. "But I want to help!" He protested. Clara shook her head and started to pull the young boy towards their house. "This is for your own safety, Daniel." She said sternly while opening the door and bringing him inside.

Then, in one fluid motion, Clara kissed Daniel on the forehead, took her dark green velvet cloak and was gone.

She ran to the stable connected to her house and swiftly mounted her horse; Crescent. Clara rode as fast as she could and soon found herself behind a rock that was buried in bushes. Upon seeing her father she felt the bile rise in her throat.

"I-it's ok!" Ichabod exclaimed. "I am here now." He stumbled off his horse.

Clara let a small giggle escape her lips, but quickly bit her tongue when she remembered the situation.

"The fourth victim, Jonathan Masbath." Doctor Lancaster stated.

"And… the head…?"

"Taken." Philipse murmured.

"Taken!" Ichabod exclaimed.

Clara heard an awkward pause.

"Interesting… very interesting…" The Constable continued.

"What is?" Baltus asked curiously.

"In headless corpse cases of this sort… the head is usually removed to prevent identification of the body."

"But we know this is Jonathan Masbath!" The older man exclaimed, puzzled.

"Exactly! So, why was the head removed?"

Clara heard yet another pause.

"Why?" Baltus finally asked.

"… I don't know…" Ichabod murmured.

"You have moved the body?" The Constable asked.

"I did." Lancaster affirmed.

"You must never move the body!"

"Why not?"

Ichabod was at a loss for words. "… Because."

Clara heard him gallop around the site. "The stride is gigantic…"

She heard him turn and stop right near her hiding place and held her breath. Then, he turned and went back the way he came. "The attacker rode Masbath down… turned his horse… came back…" Clara heard his antics halt. "… Came back to claim the head."

He walked towards Clara again and she heard him set something down. She heard the clinking of bottles and then, silence.

"A chemical reaction. It shows there was only a smear of blood, no more."

Clara heard the confusion in his voice and frowned herself. How was that even possible?

Hearing unusual sounds, Clara allowed herself to peak over the rock and saw Ichabod sporting the most hilarious pair of spectacles she ever had the pleasure of seeing. In the simplest of terms, he looked like a bug!

Despite the circumstances, the young woman found herself wanting to burst out laughing at the sight… but she remained silent.

She saw Ichabod frown in puzzlement and examine her father's neck. A large bug crawled out. This time, Clara felt more queasy than ever. Apparently, she wasn't the only one that thought so, because the Constable jumped up and looked as if, he too, was trying to hold down his breakfast.

But of course, Ichabod quickly recovered. "Interesting…"

"What is it?" Baltus asked.

"The wound was cauterized in the very instant, as though the blade itself were red hot… and yet, no blistering, no scorched flesh."

"The Devil's Fire!" Philipse murmured worriedly.


Everyone had gone back to the village but Ichabod. He himself had no idea why he had stayed, but he had.

Suddenly, there came the sound of a breaking twig.

Calm down, Ichabod. He told himself. There is nothing to fear in these woods.

Another snap.

The young man took out his pistol and pointed it to the bush the sound was coming from.

"Show yourself!" He exclaimed shakily.


Clara sighed and slowly stood up. The hood that was covering her face just a moment ago was pulled down by a branch. As the young woman emerged from the bushes, her chemise and cover up got caught in braches too, but this time the consequences were much more disastrous…

The materiel that had been covering her breast had been ripped, but not enough to expose a large amount of skin. Her robe had also been ripped; just at the waist.

By now she was standing up in the bush. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she opened one to find the Constable, his eyes widened, looking at her bosom. She immediately looked down and saw what had happened; she covered up with her cloak.

Ichabod quickly looked down at his feet. "I… I… Miss Clara?"

"Hello Constable." She murmured shyly.

The young man cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I…" He shook his head. "That was terribly improper of me, Miss Clara."

The young woman smiled, her cheeks a delicate pink. Carefully, she managed to maneuver herself out of the bush with minimal lacerations. Ichabod was still looking at the ground, a blush painted his cheeks.

Clara quietly walked up to him and lifted his chin slightly so that she was looking into his beautiful eyes. "You've no need to be sorry, Constable. Neither of us could predict that would've happened… I should be the one apologizing for scaring you."

Ichabod looked like he was about to protest but Clara put a finger to his lips, he frowned in confusion but had to admit, he enjoyed the sensation. "You realize that now you've seen more of me then my betrothed." She jested. Ichabod turned looked at her with an emotion she couldn't quite figure out and turned away, he began to walk back towards the village.

Clara grabbed his arm. "I am sorry if I offended-"

"This is terribly improper, Clara." He whispered, not looking at her.

The brunette stepped closer to him. "What is? That a man and a woman are having a conversation near where a corpse once lay?"

Ichabod shook his head and met her eyes. They were both extremely close to each other and Clara felt her eyelids become heavy. Ichabod felt his become heavy as well and began to lean down towards the brown-eyed beauty. Both Ichabod and Clara kept their eyes open and just as their lips were about to touch, Ichabod stopped. "It is improper that a Constable and a young woman in her nightgown are speaking intimately with each other, especially since the said beautiful woman is betrothed." He whispered onto her lips. And with mush hesitance, Ichabod stepped back and looked away from her.

"…Oh." Clara murmured. "I hope that you'll forgive me, then. I did not mean to act indecently."

She walked to where her father lay a mere hour ago and kneeled.

Ichabod saw this and put a hand on her shoulder, he cleared his throat. "I am… I am sorry for your loss, Miss Masbath."

And she heard him leave.


Ichabod rode back to the village slowly, but his mind was racing. I almost kissed her. I almost kissed Clara Masbath. The thought was more than enough to get him excited, so was what she was wearing. Her nightgown was white with peach patches where the fabric had ripped and her red robe sported similar pieces of material. Ichabod sighed. It's not proper for me to be having such unpure thoughts… she's betrothed for God's sake!

Shaking his head for the umpteenth time that day, Constable Crane returned Gunpowder to his stall and went to his room to think.

He opened his ledger and wrote Clara in curly letters. Looking at his masterpiece, Ichabod rolled his eyes and held his face in his hands…. What was happening?