Sleepy Hollow 2: A New Beginning

Prologue

He was running through the western woods. Seemed to be consuming him these days, replacing his usual constable bravery with fear. While being so immersed in his flight, Ichabod failed to notice a rather strange-looking tree in front of him until he nearly ran into it. Yelping, he screeched to a halt, staring at the long-dead plant that twisted eerily toward the sky, appearing as though it were trying to rip itself from the ground. Tangled roots suddenly waved in the air amid the tempest that sprang into being. Lightning illuminated the forest, revealing a gaping hole in the tree's trunk. Hoofbeats sounded above the crashing thunder, jogging the constable's memory.

'This is the Tree of the Dead! A poor fool must've found the Horseman's head--again--and summoned him from Hell to kill people!'

In a flurry of movement, the Horseman galloped forth, but he was not as headless as Ichabod had thought. Filed teeth bared in a snarl, the Hessian charged toward the frozen constable, broadsword poised to strike. Uttering an inhuman roar, he swung the blade, its keen edge rushing to meet his prey's neck....

Screaming, Ichabod Crane shot upright, his trembling body coated with a cold sweat. Wincing, he touched the scar where the Horseman's sword had stabbed him, faint pain radiating along his frame. Calculating the amount of sun streaming into the room, the constable guessed it was early afternoon and crawled out of bed. Going over to the window, Ichabod was sure he heard the whinny of a horse, then dismissed it as a fleeting fancy.

"Ichabod, come quickly! Policemen that work in Sleepy Hollow are looking for you!"

The very mention of Sleepy Hollow sent shivers down the constable's spine. Gulping, he strode out of the house to where Katrina and two uniformed men stood. "Ah, gentlemen, a pleasure. What, pray tell, brings you to this quiet village east of Sleepy Hollow?" Don't say people minus their heads. Please don't say that!

"Nine civilians have recently been discovered dead without their heads attached," the older policeman answered, surprised by Ichabod's reaction: a near faint. "Surely you don't think he has returned? It has been two years, for pity's sake!"

"Only takes one trip to find the Hessian's grave and the Tree of the Dead," the constable muttered, goosebumps prickling his flesh. "He cannot control what goes on outside the tree, thus he has no protection. Anyone could have stolen the skull to enact revenge." Pursing his lips, Ichabod paced back and forth, brow furrowed in concentration. Whirling, he confronted the two policemen. "Find yourselves someone else. I am not going through that nightmare a second time."

"You don't really have a choice, Mr. Crane," the younger policeman declared, flourishing a paper. "This was discovered nailed to the inn door where you stayed before. It says 'Bring me Ichabod Crane and the killings will cease. You have one week to comply or Sleepy Hollow will be destroyed, along with its neighboring villages.' Signed, the Hessian."

"Me?" Ichabod squeaked loudly."Why does the Horseman want me?I--Of course! He wants to finish me off. That sword to the shoulder was his way of marking me. P--perhaps no one is controlling the Horseman. All right, I'll go to Sleepy Hollow and face my fears." Fetching his horse, the constable gathered his tools, and was shocked by Katrina jumping into the saddle behind him. "Very well, we shall both go." Kicking the animal's flanks, they cantered from the village in the direction of Sleepy Hollow. I hope I'm wrong and it's just some idiots pulling a prank.



Chapter One

A carriage swayed along the road connecting New York City with Sleepy Hollow. Its occupants, a woman and her small boy, huddled beneath the canvas roof while her husband guided the horses. Soft rain began to fall from the clouds, soon drenching the land. One of the carriage's wheels sank into the mud, immobilizing the vehicle. Cursing vehemently, the man hopped off and checked the problem, which was impossible to fix as the large wheel was stuck to a depth of two feet. "God blast it! Come on, Sheila, looks like we're walking the last five miles."

Grumbling, Sheila slid to the ground, holding Greggory in her arms. About to follow her husband, she abruptly halted, the sound of a horse behind them. Turning slowly, all three stared at a figure bearing down on them, bolts of lightning illuminating the rider's features. Cold, pitiless light blue eyes focused on them, it was clear his intentions were not pleasant.

"Run! Get out of here!" Ben yelled, shoving his wife forward, getting his shotgun from the carriage. Not bothering to see if Sheila was obeying him, he aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger, shoulder absorbing the kickback. Satisfied when the pellets blew the man from his horse, his confidence fled as the rider stood, sword somehow in hand. Desperate to reload, Ben dropped to one knee, shaking hands pouring powder into the gun's barrel, painfully aware of the approaching footsteps. Before he could place the primer, the object was knocked out of his grasp to land several feet away. Trembling, he peered into that icy gaze and gasped upon recognizing the Hessian Horseman that had terrorized Sleepy Hollow two years ago.

Worried about her husband, Sheila whirled, breath hitching as Ben's head was severed, thumping to the earth. Legs refusing to operate, she watched the Horseman advance, sheathing his blade. Sharpened teeth visible, he stopped in front of her, body emanating incredible strength. Drawing back a gloved hand to strike, he seemed to pause, thinking. "You will give me the child if you want to live." Muscles frozen, the woman was unable to shake her head or even speak, causing the Hessian's eyes to darken. Reaching out, he snatched the boy from her, slapping her to the muddy ground. Pivoting, he walked to his charger and mounted expertly, his captive cringing in front of him. "Hyaa!"

Sheila pushed herself onto her elbows, a cut in her lip oozing blood. Defiantly lifting her head, she spread her arms, not uttering a noise as the heavy horse ran over her, breaking multiple bones and cracking her spine.


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"Ichabod! Come quick, I've found something!"

"Coming!" Ichabod called, clumsily leaping off his horse. Running out of the woods, he found Katrina beside a carriage, the policemen kneeling a little ways off. Walking up to her, the constable blanched, pressing a cloth to his mouth. "Poor bloke. Never stood a chance, even with his gun." Crouching, he peeled the collar down to reveal a stump that had been cauterized. "Just as I thought: the Horseman. "And he has taken the head once again."

"Mr. Crane, over here!"

Hurrying to join the policemen, Ichabod blanched at the sight of the broken woman before him. Noticing something peculiar, he leaned down, able to make out the shape of a deep hoofprint stamped on her chest. Thinking she was dead, the constable jumped as the woman coughed, breathing labored. "Good God, she's still alive! Hush, don't try to speak. You'll only---"

"M-my son! He t-took my b-boy!" the woman choked, blood staining her lips. "B-Ben was p-protecting us w-when he was k-killed. Th-then the H-Horseman c-came for me and s-stole my b-baby! His h-horse ran me down...." Voice dropping to a whisper, she uttered her last words. "Pl-please, br-bring my child h-home safely." Eyes fluttering shut, her head lolled loosely, the life gone from her body.

Shaking uncontrollably, Ichabod straightened and strode to his steed, climbing up swiftly. "I think it's time we confront the village to make them see the danger they are in."


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"No need to panic, my good people! Rest assured that the police---"

"Have no idea what their up against!" Ichabod said, riding hard toward the assembled crowd. "No mortal soul can defeat the Hessian. Anyone who attempts it shall face the same fate as those who came before them. Oh, you may think this is a sham, but know that two innocent people were murdered on the old trail. The woman was crushed by the Horseman's own horse, her husband beheaded. What's more, her son, eight-year-old Greggory, has been taken by the fiend for purposes we can't comprehend."

"Stop sprouting nonsense, Ichabod Crane!" newly-appointed magistrate Herculson scoffed, shaking his head sadly. "You yourself said that the Horseman would never surface again once he had his head. Now you expect us to believe that he is back of his own free will?"

Ichabod casually glanced at the sky, which was growing dark. "Nightfall is almost upon us, Magistrate. Would you care to join me on a journey into the western woods? There I am sure all your doubts would be answered." Grumbling, the man motioned for his horse, then allowed himself to be led into the forest. Shortly thereafter, the two of them arrive at a grotesquely morphed tree set aside from the other plants. Calculating the amount of sunlight left, the constable tied his horse to a sturdy branch, commanding his companion to do the same. "We just have to wait an hour."

"You know this is ridiculous, Crane," Herculson remarked after the hour had nearly expired. "Just give up and---MY GOD!" Shafts of lightning cleaved the sky as dense fog covered the ground. Roots ripping from the soil, a gaping hole appeared along the Tree of the Dead's trunk. Neighing loudly, an ebony stallion burst into view, nostrils flared. But it what was on the horse's back that caused the magistrate to hide behind Ichabod, who looked as if he wanted to bolt.

"Ah, so you did come, Ichabod," the Horseman purred, smirking at their horrified expressions. Drawing his sword, he laid it on Herculson's neck and--consequently--Ichabod's as well. "Is this my next victim? How thoughtful of you." Getting ready to sweep the blade in an arc, he was stopped by a hand on his arm. Realizing what he had done, the constable seemed to shrink in stature, but not before the Hessian snarled threateningly. "Becoming bold now, are we? You won't be so confident when we fight each other."

"F-fight?!" Ichabod yelped, gulping. Ignoring him, the Hessian prodded his horse and rode to do his grisly deed. Sick to his stomach, the constable repeated himself, collapsing to the ground in a dead faint, Herculson mimicking him an instant later.



Chapter Two

Greggory sat huddled in the corner, the heat forcing his small body to produce gallons of sweat. The memory of his kidnapping was still fresh in his mind. After running down his mother, the Horseman had charged into the western woods, his grip on the child all but snapping his ribs. While they had cantered toward the Tree of the Dead, the only thing Greggory could think about was that the tree's bark would shred him beyond repair. However, the plunge had been more easier than the child had expected, taking them to a shadowy room where the Hessian had left him to go...elsewhere.

"I want to get out of here!" Greggory wailed, his shrill voice echoing. Throwing himself at the locked door, he began banging on it, shouting. "Let me out, you monster! For the love of God, LET ME----" He did not have time to finish his sentence, as the door swung open suddenly, slamming him into the rough wall. Silhouetted in the doorway was the ominous frame of the Hessian, who entered and banged the door closed. Blood chilling in his veins, the helpless boy waited for the next move to be made.

"Mark me, boy, if you don't shut up, I'll personally tear your tongue out," the Horseman growled, flexing his gloved right hand meaningfully. "Do I make myself clear?" Too afraid to speak for fear of making a sound, Greggory nodded. "Excellent, because in my version of Hell, I do what I want...to whom I want. Including you, so keep quiet unless you want to experience extreme pain." Without warning, the Hessian's gaze grew crazed while he bent to haul the boy to his feet. "On second thought, I think I'll show you what I mean before I leave."

"NO, unhand me!" Greggory hollered, struggling to break his antagonizer's hold. Despite his yells, the Horseman sank his razor teeth into the soft flesh, relishing the warm blood that flooded in his mouth. Releasing the child, he grinned wickedly, the gaping wound pumping blood on the dirt floor. Laughing, the Hessian exited the room, leaving Greggory to lie on his back, body wracked with pain, tears crawling down his face.


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Ichabod was strolling the dirt roads of Sleepy Hollow the next morning, mind dwelling on his upcoming confrontation with the Hessian, when many men surrounded him, wearing angry expressions. "Good morning, gentlemen. There any particular reason you're looking at me like a pack of starving wolves?"

"We think you should go back to wherever you belong, Constable," one man said dangerously, cracking his knuckles. The others nodded silently. "You come here to plant this blasphemy into innocent heads just to improve your name. And we won't allow it. Get you stuff packed and get out of town. Unless you require assistance." An unseen signal rippling through them, the crowd of men inched closer.

"Don't! He's telling the truth! The Horseman rides again, I assure you! Mr. Crane, he's coming for you NOW! Run, for the Lord's sake, RUN!"

"Young Masbeth, fancy seeing you of all people!" Ichabod said in relief, mopping sweat off his brow, the boy's words not hitting him until yells of "HESSIAN!" reverberated in the air. Swirling fog snaked across the ground while thick gray clouds swathed the sky, blotting out the sun. Hearing the thunder of hooves, the constable felt his heart falter. No, it's too soon! Mustering his strength, he shouldered past the men, his scar pulsating. Knowing he had no chance of outrunning the Horseman's steed, Ichabod slowly turned, quailing upon making eye contact with his enemy.

Baring his teeth ferally, the Hessian caught his quarry and lunged, sword entering the constable's chest, his weight carrying them both to the earth. The hell's-fire edge missed the heart by a hair, which had been his plan. "Now, Crane, this wound shall ensure you do not flee before I get to kill you. Should you go beyond Sleepy Hollow, the hell's-fire will explode your heart, sending you to me to do what I wish." Rising, the Horseman yanked his sword free and slid it into its holster, amused when a pair of men approached.

"You've gone too far, sir," the younger remarked, ignoring his mind that was clamoring at him to run. "I don't know who you are, but you ought to be ashamed of yourself. The real Horseman has rest in peace for the last two years and we were told that he would never awaken again. Quit this trickery and allow us to see whom you really are."

"Fools," the Hessian snarled, grabbing the man by the throat, crystal eyes full of rage. Clenching his fist, he crushed the larynx. Tossing the body aside, he cast a glare in the second man's direction, deciding to let him go. Stare once more on Ichabod, the Horseman chuckled and mounted his stallion, wheeling the animal toward the western woods. "None of you are safe, not even the children. You may lock your holes, but come nightfall, nothing will protect them." Digging his spurs into his horse's flanks, the Hessian vanished, consumed by the fog.

Masbeth knelt beside the gasping Ichabod, scared that he would stop breathing. "A-are you all right, sir? Our doctor can examine you---"

"N-no need to w-worry, young M-Masbeth," the constable managed, painfully sitting up, face devoid of color. "It's on-only a scratch. Come, let's lo-locate the local b-blacksmith."


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"Absolutely not. I refuse to get involve in you affairs with that devil, the Horseman. You're on your own, I'm afraid."

"Understandable," Ichabod murmured, inwardly seething. "Have a good day." Don't let the Horseman bite. Lying his hand on Masbeth's arm, he guided him aside. "Are you truly up to helping me again?" The boy bobbed his head eagerly. "Very well, young Masbeth. Fetch a sword, for the next week will be filled with nothing but hard training. In addition, we'll learn what the Hessian wants with the town's children."