Author's Log: Good day my fair readers! It is a pleasure to present you all with this next chapter. But first I do believe that some thanks are in order. First of all, a gracious thank you to LINALOVE for reviewing and inspiring me to continue on with this story, you have my undying gratitude. Second of all, thank you to everyone who has read this. Please, do read this next installment and see what Icabod, Helen, and the residents (alive and dead) of Sleepy Hollow are up to.

Good night my Fair Readers, until we meet again.

Danbamina

Red Thomas stuck his head out of the large house he shared with his younger sister and mother, "Mary! Mum says to come inside! It's getting late!"

"All right!" Mary's distant voice replied from their back garden gate, "I'll be there in a minute!"

"Hurry up!" Red withdrew his head and went back into the warm interior of the manor house, shutting the big door and the cold out along with it, "She'll be in, in a minute Mum." He told his elderly mother, bending to stoke the fire back into a roaring inferno.

"Of course, love." Mrs. Thomas patted her youngest son's shoulder comfortingly, "You're father would be so proud of you." Mrs. Thomas bent her white head down and kissed him gently on the cheek before bustling back to her rocking chair and knitting needles.

"Thanks Mum." Red glanced back at her, feeling a tear leak from beneath his light lashes.

"Get your hair out of your face, love, how will the ladies see it if you're hair is all in it?" Mrs. Thomas scolded gently; her sons' deaths hadn't really ever sunk into her dazed mind, which had been left that way after her husband's tragic drowning.

"Course Mum." Red brushed his hair from his face and stood up. A shriek of fright came from outside, "What was that?"

"Maybe it was your brothers, finally coming home at last?"

"Yeah….WHOA!" Red stepped away from the fireplace as it flared up, a horse's whinny and then rhythmic thudding of boots on wood, "Mum. I think you'd better go to bed now."

"Why?"

"Now." Red rushed over and picked his mother up, "Bed." He set her down in her nearby bedroom and closed and locked the door from the outside, just as the front door burst open. The Headless Horseman stood on the threshold turning from side-to-side his sword and ax drawn, his cape blew around him in a gust that came in from outside.

Red grabbed the poker from the fireplace and advanced towards the Horseman's dark form, the Horseman drew his sword and ax and swung them around impressively, as was his usual style, before attacking Red.

Red was no inexperienced fighter, but he couldn't hope to hold the Horseman off for long. After all, Red reasoned with himself, he was only fourteen and the Horseman had years of experience in battle and was considerably older and much more dead than poor alive Red. The scuffle didn't last very long, the Horseman had soon disarmed Red and with one fell slice of his sword lopped his head clean off.

The Horseman then picked the head up by the hair and proceeded towards where Mrs. Thomas was waiting with bated breath to see who would come through the doorway. Her victorious son? Or the dreadful Horseman?

Inevitably it was the Horseman who broke the door down. Mrs. Thomas stared at him, her eyes darting from the head in his hand to where his head should have been and back. He advanced ever so slowly, as if this was an honor for her, giving her time to see his regal entrance, (despite the rudeness it was none-the-less regal) the way he walked purposefully toward her….

She opened her mouth to utter a scream but it died in her severed throat. The Horseman bent and picked up her head too before leaving his killing grounds. He stepped up to his great, black steed, Daredevil and stuffed the heads in his black velvet bag before mounting and riding furiously off, like a bat out of hell.

***

Icabod rode his "stolen" horse just as furiously as the Horseman rode his, only going towards the killing grounds and not away from it. Admiral galloped powerfully on.

"Blast them for living so far away!" He shouted out loud, his words being whipped away in the wind flying past his face. As he drew closer he fancied he could hear a girl's scream on the growing wind, "Hup boy!" He called to the horse, driving his heels into the animal's sides once again, "I know you can go faster!" He goaded the horse on to even greater speeds.

At last! They came into view of the large house, just in time to see the Horseman mount his horse and speed away. A sense of dread filled Icabod's stomach, causing him to slow his horse to a stop and stare after the Horseman's swiftly retreating figure, dumbstruck. This can't be. Not again! Icabod got off of Admiral, loosely looping the reins of the tired horse over a fence post and walking in a daze up the paved walkway leading the broken front door.

He entered the freezing house, took stock of the two decapitated bodies with the classic cauterized wounds, "I don't see why. Why not me? They'd only have to kill one person if it was me. Why exterminate an entire family this way? Why?" He sat down on one of the remaining chairs in the room, placing his head in his hands, "Surely not the money. There's something much more sinister going on here. Much more sinister." He shook his head in dismay, these people, all the people of the Hollow were in grave danger and he had no idea why. If not for money, what for then?

Icabod couldn't grasp it. He just couldn't. His rational mind was completely scattered on this wind from hell. This wind was the thing that had brought him here little over a year ago, had now inadvertently brought him back, and it was what was keeping him here. Icabod felt as if he were on the verge of tears, not of sadness but the angry, frustrated kind.

That's when he heard the sounds of rapid hoof beats on the dirt road outside, the change in volume as the horse ran up the paved path, and then the whinny as it came to a stop. He stiffened as the sound of boots on the wooden porch grew closer and closer. But he didn't move. He had decided that he would accept his fate as it came to him. He let tears leak from behind his closed eyes and down his cheeks, all the frustration had ebbed as the boots got louder, now he cried for his own death, shedding tears for the good of himself for the first time in years.

At the moment the boots stopped moving he gave up all hope he had that the Horseman would just go away and forget him.

"Oh Icabod…." A voice said softly, he felt thin arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him to a soft bosom, he opened his eyes to see Helen's customary white riding cloak with its embroidered blue birds staring kindly up at him pressed against his cheek, he still felt the tears coming, but what a shame it was to stain this lovely cloak, she stroked his dark hair gently, "I'm so sorry….but if you'd have been here he would've killed you too you know." She whispered in his ear, her breath tickling it lightly, "And if that would've happened…." She broke off. Icabod could hear her breathing grow slightly ragged for a brief moment and her stead heart beat seemed to fade for that one moment before returning as strong and loud in his ear as before.

"Why would he do it though?" Icabod chanced his voice and found that it was steady.

"He doesn't want too. He is being controlled. Notice he doesn't have his head." Helen told him, holding him at arms length and looking sternly at him, "Enough of this crying. I won't have it."

Icabod looked away from her stern, silver gaze, afraid it would bring his freshly stopped tears back, "Of course. Sorry."

Helen turned his face to better look at him, her thumb brushing a tear that was still clinging to his cheek away gently; her gaze had softened considerably, "Icabod. You can't blame yourself for this. It isn't your fault." She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead before getting up and offering him her hand, "Let's go now. And don't you dare ever ride my horse that hard again."

"Again?"

"You rode him here, you bring him back."

"Of course." Icabod took her hand and let her pull him to his feet; she was actually quite strong despite her appearance.

"Lovely. Now then, you have a bit of dirt on your nose." She licked her handkerchief and wiped at the side of his nose. Icabod reached up and grabbed her hand, placed a kiss on the top of it, took her handkerchief away and wiped the dirt off himself.

"You don't need to pamper me. I am a grown man, quite capable of taking care of himself, Helen." Icabod informed her handing the handkerchief back, "Shall we?"

"We shall." Helen passed him and went out the door.

Icabod cast one last look at the forlorn bodies of Red and Mrs. Thomas and whispered quietly to them and Mary, "I'm sorry. I'll figure it out in the end. I promise." He turned and left the house quickly, the bodies were almost enough to make him faint.

Author's Log: Well it seems Icabod has an admirer, he knows this, but he does not wish to be admired in this fashion just yet. He is far to busy and grief ridden to really care. Will Icabod discover why these murders are occuring when, as he said, whomever is controlling the Horseman could just kill him and get the same amount of money? Keep reading to find out, my fair readers.

And as always. REVIEW! The more who review, the faster I update. And a new thing too. TELL YOUR FRIENDS! (I like for people to read my work, makes me happy.)

Your Obediant Servant,

Danbamina