The words flew about my head like a company of bats as I tried to understand them. I could hardly say that witches were not real when I had undeniable proof of the supernatural sitting in front of me. “Witches?” I said, half question, half scoff. “Baltus Van Tassel is a wealthy landowner.”
The Horseman stared at me, and I realized after an uncomfortable silence that being a rich elder in a town did not preclude one from dark magic. I sighed and rubbed at my eyes with my fingers.
“I am sorry, you are probably still much unnerved after this evening,” the Horseman suddenly said. “I have much to share with you, but perhaps it would be better for you to rest.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than almost anything I had ever said in my life, and I froze at my own brevity. The Horseman did too. I felt a moment of selfish glee at having momentarily startled this supernatural being, but I had too many questions fighting for space in my mind to dwell upon it. “What does this curse do?”
“It powers the spell that shields Sleepy Hollow from the rest of the world,” the Horseman said, his voice low, as if trying to not set me off again. “It protects this town. No one dies of old age or illness. The harvest is bountiful, the animals reproduce well. It is a haven from the rest of the world, trapped in time.”
Had the man relating this information to me not been impossibly headless in front of me, I might have thought the whole thing no more than another folktale. But, even still, the idea that Sleepy Hollow was under the curse of a witch family to make it prosperous seemed downright absurd.
“Surely the townspeople know that this is an enchanted place?” I scoffed. “If they do not grow old or die?”
“The magic distorts their memories,” the Horseman replied. “It has been this way for many years without change. Sleepy Hollow is trapped in time, as are all in it.”
I heaved a rusty sigh. “Let me say, for the sake of this discussion, that I believe what you’re saying is true. What happens to those she curses?”
The Horseman’s voice became quieter. “After they leave the harvest party on Halloween night, she chases them through the forest. It is a game for her, hunting her victim like prey.”
I recalled the screeching and rustling in the woods that had followed me. I had thought it to be the Horseman, but I wondered now if instead it had been Katrina, chasing after me as her dark magic festered inside of me. Of course, that was predicated on my believing what the Horseman was telling me. “And what happens if she catches them?” I asked.
The Horseman’s body slumped a bit. “She decapitates them and uses their soul to power her magic for another year. The body is left for the villagers to find, but she takes their head away as her prize.”
“But, she did not catch me,” I said pointedly.
“The dark curse is still inside of you. It will drain your soul, piece by piece, as she needs it, instead of releasing to her all at once as it does when she kills her victim.”
I remembered the cannon boom of my heart that had precluded me falling off of Gunpowder after I crossed the bridge, the head-splitting agony that had stolen my breath and sent me spiraling into darkness. Was that the magic inside of me, siphoning my soul like syrup from a tree? How often would I experience such torture? “What… what will happen to me?” I asked, licking my lips with my suddenly very dry tongue.
The Horseman was silent for a long moment, so long that I wondered if perhaps he did not know or did not care to answer, before he slowly said, “At midnight on Halloween night next year, whatever is left of your soul will leave your body, and you will die.”
The world swam in front of my eyes, and I wavered in place for a moment, glad I was leaning against the wall or I might have toppled over. I had a year to live, in whatever half-life state this was as my soul was wrung from my body like water from a cloth.
The Horseman frowned, leaning in for a moment as if he wanted to put his hand on my shoulder, but I drew back with a sharp breath, and he returned to his spot again. “I am sorry. I know this is so much to understand after a very trying ordeal. Do you want to rest now?”
I did not know what I wanted. Suddenly being told that in a year I would die was hardly a place to end this conversation with this specter, but I did not know what else to say. Without thinking, my hand moved up to feel my own heart beating under my ribs. It felt no different than it ever did. Could there really be a dark curse inside of me, sapping my life from me? After a moment of me not answering him, the Horseman got to his feet and walked away. I watched him cross a short distance before he walked down a set of stairs and disappeared from view. I wanted to look to see where he had gone, but my whole form felt numb, and I simply sat and stared.
Chapter Four
IthinkIstayedin that spot for several days, for the light changed in the windows many times. The Horseman left me cups of water, plates of berries and clumsily-roasted meat, and a chamber pot. I felt exhausted and angry, and my body did not want to listen to my commands. I ached from my dash through the woods on Gunpowder. I vaguely wondered where the foolish creature had wandered off to, but that was hardly my priority now. I slept more than I ever had in my life, my whole body listless with something I could not name. It was not entirely fear, nor anger, nor despair, but a strange mixture of all and nothing. The Horseman did not speak to me, and I did not speak to him.
I eventually seemed to rouse from whatever stupor had fallen into. As I stood, I realized now that the low wall I had been leaning against was actually the loft at the back of what appeared to be the sanctuary of a small church. I turned to stare out over the space below me. Light streamed in through the windows where the wooden shutters had been opened. Across from me was a formal pulpit and sounding board, with a raised dais and kneeling rail. Looking straight down, I could see that the area that most likely had once been filled with wooden pews for worshippers only contained a few now, the rest seeming to have been cleared away.
I could see the Horseman, stretched out on one of these benches. His head was resting on his upper chest, and he held a book in front of him, appearing to be reading. The sight of it was so profoundly absurd that I nearly laughed. Instead, I crossed the gallery, realizing that there was also a lovely pipe organ up here as I went, to find the stairs that led downward. I took them carefully, each one creaking softly under my step. When I reached the bottom, I entered the sanctuary again. The Horseman had set down his book, and I could see him watching me, but he said nothing.
My eyes raked over the rows of pews, some of which had been removed to make a wider living space that was strewn with a few books, paper and quill, and other implements that spoke to someone living here. Scattered about were carved figurines of all sizes, from the size of my pinky to a nearly full-sized dog, in various levels of skill. When I reached the railing at the front of the sanctuary, I turned to gaze back at the congregation area and up to the balcony where the Horseman had made his comfortable nook next to the pipe organ. Some part of me wondered if it would still play after all of these years, or if the Horseman himself could play it. “Is this where you live?” I finally asked to break the silence that had stretched as I explored.
“Yes,” he said, still half-reclined on the pew as he watched me.
I let my eyes roam for another moment before I heard him ask, “Are you hungry?”
I nodded slowly. The Horseman motioned to a door at the back of the sanctuary near the stairs. “Go refresh yourself, I will get you some food.” He did not move from his spot on the pew until after I had stepped inside the small privy and closed the door. A lantern glowed warmly, and the room was at least warm and clean.
Once my business was completed and I had washed myself quickly with the pan of water there, I stepped out again and made my way back into the sanctuary area. The Horseman had set out a piece of cloth spread with some forest berries for me. “It is not much for now. I will get more for you when the sun goes down.”
I ate quickly and swallowed the cup of water he left for me, and then we stared at one another again. “You have lived here alone, all of these years?” I asked when the silence became almost deafening.
He rose to his feet, holding his head in his hands at chest-level, and slowly approached me, as though he were the one invading my home instead of the other way around. “Nearly,” he said.
