“Remove your hands from me,” I said.
Surprisingly, his hand stilled, though his fingertips still rested at the level of my navel. “Come now, Ichabod, surely you desire to have a peek between someone’s legs. Katrina’s? Mine? Would you care to watch? Or… perhaps join in?” His mouth was so close to my ear that I felt the brush of his lips against it, and I jerked back, throwing up my hands in an attempt to shove him away.
“I said, remove your hands, Abraham Von Brunt,” I said, hissing through my teeth like a soaked cat, though both of us knew my threats were empty.
Brom chuckled. “Do not play coy with me, Crane. Surely you’ve explored the desires of the flesh, slaked your lust between a pair of wet thighs?”
The revulsion and horror on my face must have given him an answer, because he drew back with a bark of laughter. “God be damned, Ichabod Crane, you’re a virgin!”
Several heads turned in our direction, and I felt for a moment that I might flee the house in embarrassment. Not shame, for I did not think that a man needed to throw himself at every pretty creature who beckoned, but neither did it seem like anyone else’s business to know, and certainly not the entire gathered town. Brom laughed and slapped my shoulder again. “What do you say, man? Shall we show you what you’re missing?”
I glared at him. “That is enough out of you, Brom Bones,” I said, as if he were a misbehaving student. “I have no interest in your business, and I will thank you to keep your nose out of mine.”
Brom chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief, but he took a step back, allowing me to at least take a full breath and straighten my shoulders. I was taller than him by several inches, but I knew he would still easily best me in a fight, and I had no desire to come to blows at a party where I was outside the inner circle. He gave me a small, mocking bow. “As you wish, my Lord Crane.” Then he turned and vanished into the crowd.
I felt my jaw tighten, and the desire to leave the festivities and return to my quiet sanctuary at the Van Ripper home was growing more overwhelming by the minute. But the press of bodies gathered near the doorways precluded me to make any sort of graceful exit, and I was eventually drawn as an unwilling participant into a conversation with Baltus and several of the elder villagers. I stood by the fireplace, overheating in my jacket as I tried to listen politely. But I instead found myself staring at a decoration on the mantle that boasted large sunflowers, small gourds, and, in the midst of all of it, an ivory-colored human-like skull. I stared at it in curious fascination until I was asked to dance with several of my students, and my sour mood eventually mellowed as the little girls giggled and gave me hugs about the waist before running back to their mothers.
By and by, the dancing died down, and people set about to chatting. There were brief mentions of the war that had occurred not so very many years ago, but as the candles burned lower and dimmer, casting more menacing shadows upon the great room’s walls, there came tales of the spirits and spooks and haunts of Sleepy Hollow. I had heard some of these tales before, for the people of Sleepy Hollow seemed to be quite the superstitious bunch. Something about this region, in its seclusion, carried an atmosphere of dreams and fancies that infected the town. But then came a new tale I had not heard before, one that shook me to the very marrow in my bones.
Brom leaped upon a chair in the center of the room, drawing all attention to him. Despite the copious amount of drink he had imbibed, he seemed strangely sober now, scanning the room with his dark eyes. “The Horseman comes,” he said as the room quieted, and several soft gasps escaped from the crowd. I sat to the side, half in shadow, penned in by bodies on either side of me, securing me to my seat as Brom began his dark tale.
“Down the fork in the road, and across the covered wooden bridge lies the small, whitewashed church and cemetery. There is the haunt of the headless rider. A horseman, dressed in black, and driving forth a steed darker than the shadows of Hell. No one knows who he is or where he came from. Every year, on Halloween night, he rides through the Hollow. Every year, he strikes down a someone in the glen, consuming their soul and taking their head for his own.” His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he scanned the crowd, lighting on me for the briefest moment, and I felt a drop of sweat form on the back of my neck.
“Who will be the sacrifice this year?” Brom continued. My eyes darted around the room. Every single person was transfixed, staring unblinking at Brom, as still as statues. “Who will the Horseman take as his conquest? Whose soul will he drag to hell in payment for the loss of his head?” The bead of sweat rolled under the collar of my shirt, making its way down my spine like an ice drop.
Brom’s shadow flickered upon the wall in the dying light of the candles, and his large shoulders and hunched back looked positively monstrous over the wooden beams. “There must always be a sacrifice for the Horseman,” he said, jumping lightly down from the chair and turning in a wide circle to encompass every person in the room with his gaze. “Without his yearly tithe of blood, he will ride through the Hollow and slaughter us all. When you hear his horse’s hooves on the path, it is too late. The Horseman comes. For you!” He whirled around and yelled this last line at one of the little boys on the edge of the group. The boy screamed, and whatever spell had held the crowd entranced suddenly broke. The lights seemed to flare a little brighter, and the townsfolk began to laugh and chatter again.
I realized now that Brom’s story had been nothing more than that, a ghost story to chill the blood of the partygoers, to frighten the children. And I had allowed myself to get caught up in it like a short-pantsed schoolboy. My discomfort with Brom had manifested his spooky tale into something other than the folkloric yarn it actually was. I found myself back at the dining table, trying to suppress the unrest in my body with all manner of sweet and delectable treats.
The crowd began to thin, with people starting to make their way home. Some rode in wagons, others upon horseback. While the arrivals for the party at the Van Tassel farm had been a trickle, the departure now felt like the floodgates had opened. Beyond the windows, the world outside was pitch black, made even blacker by the looming forest that blocked out the stars. My heartbeat picked up a little in my chest as I realized that I was going to have to take Gunpowder all the way through the forest, back to the Van Ripper farm, which lay at the complete opposite end of the hollow from the Van Tassel estate. I began to wish I had taken my leave much earlier, when Brom had accosted me, but there was nothing to be done for it now.
Katrina suddenly appeared at my side, catching my hand in hers. “Master Crane,” she cooed. “What did you think of our little gathering?”
I gave her a polite smile. “It was the most lavish of festivities, Miss Van Tassel. You have my gratitude for inviting me to celebrate.”
“Of course. You’re a member of this town now, are you not?” she asked, her lashes fluttering a little.
I blushed a bit at that. “For now,” I said.
“Then of course you are welcome,” Katrina said. She moved closer, and suddenly her warm breasts were pressed to my arm through my jacket. “Brom has told me that you might be interested in a late-night rendezvous.”
My stomach plummeted, and I forced a smile I did not feel. Katrina Van Tassel was my hostess and the daughter of the richest man in the hollow; I could not afford to treat her with disrespect. I also did not wish to make myself appear foolish, depending what Brom had told her. “I apologize, my lady. I do not know what Master Von Brunt has told you, but I believe there to have been a miscommunication between us.”
Katrina batted her lashes again, pressing closer to me. “Is that so? Does that mean you do not wish to stay here with us tonight, Master Crane?”
My heart picked up in my chest. She was quite beautiful, and I am not ashamed to admit that I did consider her offer for a moment. But something about her, not just Brom’s goading, felt wrong, though I could not say what it was. A shiver ran through my body, but I forced myself to not let it show. “Thank you, my lady, but no. I should return to the Van Ripper farm.”
Katrina’s full lips turned down in a pout, but I would not allow her to guilt me in this decision. “Are you sure?” Her hand slid up to press lightly against my chest, and my heart gave a sudden sharp beat under her palm that sent me back a step and made my breath catch in my throat.
“Yes, I am sure,” I said, trying to give her a polite smile, my hand moving up to rub lightly at the spot where my heart had flared beneath her touch.
“As you wish,” she said, releasing me. “Good night, Ichabod Crane.”
“Good night.” I drew back from her, aware that there were suddenly very few people about in the room. It appeared to be myself, Katrina, Baltus, and Brom. Brom was sitting in a chair by the fire, nursing another cup of ale. Baltus sat nearby, smoking his pipe and watching Katrina and I with a small, knowing smile. I gave them both a polite bow. “Good night.”
They both nodded to me, and I excused myself from their presence. Stepping from the warm, candlelit house into the cool, dark night was like being plunged into the icy waters of the Hudson. I followed the lamplight to the stables where Gunpowder was snoring to wake the dead. I roused him, and he snorted in his grumpy way, but I did not care. I was eager to be as far away from the Van Tassel estate as I could get. My skin was still crawling, and I could not figure out why. Surely the prospect of spending the night in bed with Katrina and possibly Brom couldn’t have disturbed me that much.
I saddled Gunpowder faster than I knew was possible, and then I gave him a kick in the ribs to get him to walk. He ignored my first one, and I was obliged to kick him harder, at which he set off at a speed similar to a summer mosey through the gardens. I would have been faster on foot. “Come on, now, boy,” I prompted him, giving him a scratch on the ear and regretting I had not saved some of the feast’s produce for him. “Let’s get you home, and then I’ll get you a lump of sugar. Two lumps if you pick up the pace.” Gunpowder thought about this for a moment, then seemed satisfied with our deal, his steps hastening a little as he trotted past the fields that surrounded the Van Tassel farm.
