Ichabod Crane knew precisely why he was returning to Sleepy Hollow—though he loathed to admit it. Why should I be driven from my home, while Brom Bones lives the life that ought to have been mine? The more Ichabod pondered this, the more his ire grew. It was the cursed horseman. His frustration mounted as he neared the town that had once been so familiar. He resolved to visit his old schoolhouse—where else was there to go? He was not surprised to find the room fallen into disrepair, yet it saddened him somewhat—the place once filled with children was now empty and desolate. Dust lay thick upon every surface, covering the desks and the books that lined the shelves. With nothing else to do, Ichabod sat at his old desk and began to ponder. How many years has it been? Why, it must be a decade by now. For a long time, he felt as though he could not leave the derelict schoolroom. Why did I come back here, to this wretched town? What is there for me in this place? It was toward evening when Ichabod was torn from his thoughts by the sound of several light taps against the door. His gaze snapped up as someone entered the room.
It was Katrina Van Tassel.
She looked just as Ichabod had remembered her—a rosy bloom in her fair cheeks, and with pure yellow gold jewelry adorning her. Ichabod shook his head, trying to clear his mind. I must be seeing things.
“How do you fare?” she asked pleasantly. Her voice seemed almost melodious. “I am heartily glad to see you.”
“But what are you doing out here?” Ichabod asked as Katrina moved farther into the schoolhouse. She perched on the edge of a desk and gave a sweet smile.
“Oh, I have a friend who lives nearby, and she swore that she saw a man who looked curiously like the old schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane. I could not help my curiosity.”
“I have no interest in speaking with you, madam—or anyone at all, for that matter.”
“You have returned to Sleepy Hollow, then?” Katrina asked, apparently content to ignore Ichabod’s prior statement.
“Just paying a brief visit,” he mumbled.
“But for what reason did you leave, all those years ago?”
“You very well know why,” Ichabod retorted. “All of the stories were true.”
Katrina looked at him quizzically. “But the Horseman was never real, Mr. Crane. It was just Brom Bones in a silly costume, that is all. He was merely having a bit of fun. He just wanted to give you a little scare, that is all.”
“Liar,” Ichabod said, though he felt unsure even as he said it.
“You never realized?” Katrina seemed vaguely confused. “You cannot have truly thought that a man on horseback was riding around without a head.”
Ichabod stormed out of the room, muttering curses as he went. He arbitrarily selected a direction and began walking, desiring to put as much distance between himself and Katrina as he could.
“Oh, I am at the end of my tether,” he said to himself furiously, kicking at the dirt as he traveled. “In all my born days, I have never experienced this kind of utter disrespect.”
As he walked, his anger began to abate, and he soon found himself in an area that was eerily familiar. The sun had set, and it was quite dark, but he would know this place anywhere. He was dismayed to see that—out of all the places he could have traversed to—he found himself in the haunted place where he had fled a decade ago.
The sight of the road evoked a sense of dread in Ichabod. He had spent years—years—trying to forget that terrifying chase; trying to convince himself that it was all just a silly dream, that none of it was real. Katrina had just told him as much, and yet, he still couldn’t shake his nerves. For a moment, he completely forgot his outrage altogether. His nerves rapidly turned to fear as he heard the sound of crunching leaves behind him. Ichabod was paralyzed by the icy terror coursing through his veins, and it was all he could do to make himself turn around.
He was looking directly at the Headless Horseman, thundering down the road toward Ichabod. The figure was shrouded in fog, yet Ichabod instantly knew what it was. The sound of the horse’s hooves on gravel was loud—too loud. The rider came to a halt. Ichabod gazed up at the rider in horror, for it had the body of a person, clad completely in a black cloak, yet there was nothing above the neck. The being—whatever it was—had no head. Fog seemed to roll off the figure in thick curls.
The horse stared at Ichabod. It wasn’t moving like a normal horse—not at all, in fact. The great black steed had galloped along the road in a manner completely average to horses, at least as far as Ichabod knew—though he was not very skilled when it came to equines, as everyone was aware. But now the horse’s movements were…listless. It slowly moved closer to where Ichabod stood, dragging its hooves. Its huge dark eyes surveilled Ichabod.
For a brief moment, Ichabod considered the possibility that it was simply Bones again, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. This was different. Whatever that is, it is not of this world, Ichabod mused. He summoned up all of his resolution, and was determined to not be chased out of Sleepy Hollow again. No, if Ichabod Crane was going to leave once again, it would not be due to Brom Bones, or any other miserable inhabitant of that cursed town.
Both horse and rider appeared to be watching him. “Who are you?” Ichabod called out, drawing upon his newfound courage. Silence. “What are you?” Still, the figure was soundless. This isn’t right. It’s supposed to chase after me, if the legend really is true. The horse was moving, but not towards Ichabod. The rider was completely motionless, but the horse was…restless. It appeared to be prancing, yet it was not moving forward. It was like it wanted to move, but there was an invisible barrier stopping it. Even Ichabod could tell that something was wrong. Animals aren’t supposed to act like that. But what are the rules of logic when compared to the supernatural? He took a step back. The horse continued doing its strange dance in place. Ichabod took another step, and then another, and yet the horse still did not move. He started taking several steps back, and the horse only tossed its head. Ichabod turned and started walking. He glanced back several times, but the horse and the rider just kept watching, until eventually he was out of sight. It granted me safe passage, Ichabod thought to himself as he hurried past the bridge. It let me go. Though the journey home was long, Ichabod traveled quickly in order to get away from that nightmare of a village. Many things about that night would later confuse him, but there was one thing that Ichabod Crane was absolutely certain of: he would never again return to Sleepy Hollow.
