“I wanted to protect you!” The Horseman’s voice rose in desperation to match mine. “I tried to save you!”
“Yet you knew I couldn’t be saved once she cursed me,” I hissed. “Do not pretend that your intention was pure.”
The Horseman stared at me for a long moment before his shoulders slumped, suddenly seeming like his own weight was dragging him down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You are right. I chose my own selfishness over your suffering.”
Something inside me twinged with regret. I could only imagine the depths of his loneliness here, night after night, year after year, with no one for company. I understood being alone with no one to talk to, though I could not know the magnitude of it. But just as quickly as it had come, the pang was gone, replaced by dagger-sharp fury once more.
The words left me before I could think about them. “You should have left me to die!” I snarled, whirling away from him and striding across the sanctuary toward the arched door of the church. He followed after me, matching my pace.
“Ichabod, wait. I know you are angry, but your soul is tethered to her, and she will use your emotions to try to draw you out of hiding. She will kill you.”
“She will not!” I declared, swinging around to point one finger violently at him, instinctively pointing to where his face should have been and having to adjust it lower to the level of his chest where he held his head. “I will not let her. I will escape this place. I will leave Sleepy Hollow!”
“You will not.” His voice was desperate now. “Please. Do not do this.”
With a snarl, I turned and yanked open the heavy, wooden door. Sunlight flooded in, blinding after the muted light of the church, and I threw up an arm. It was then that I realized the entire churchyard, with its stone monuments to the dead, was covered in a layer of shining white, as was the bridge. The stream still flowed, but chunks of ice floated down it. My breath left my lungs in a puff.
The Horseman was next to me now. “Ichabod,” he said, his voice firm. “Once you cross that bridge, she can reach you. She can kill you.” He reached out his hand to grasp my arm, but I shoved it away, with enough force that he took a step back.
“She’s going to kill me anyway,” I said fiercely. “If I run now, I should make it to Tarry Town.”
“You will not,” the Horseman said, his voice cold and desperate. “I do not say this to trap you here. I say this to keep you alive.”
“For how long? Until she saps all of my soul from me and leaves me a withered husk?” I demanded. I took a step outside, the snow crunching under my shoe, which was not meant for this sort of weather.
“Ichabod.” His voice was pleading. “At least if you are going to run, wait until spring. You will freeze out there.”
“I will go to the village,” I replied firmly.
“No!” His declaration was so vehement that it stopped me in my tracks. “The villagers will be no friends to you. You are cursed, and they know it. They will burn you alive to pay the blood sacrifice.”
A jolt of fear shot through me at that, but I could not let my determination be swayed. “At least I shall be warm then!” I snapped before turning on my heel. He might have responded, but I did not hear him over the stomp of my feet over the snow as I stormed down the church steps and through the pathway, the gravestones watching me depart in the silent gloom. I stepped through the picket fence that surrounded the churchyard and took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, frosty air. It was icy cold, and I could feel the inside of my nose freeze with each breath I drew in. There was no sign of Gunpowder anywhere, not that I had expected him to simply be waiting where I had fallen however many nights ago. I strode toward the bridge, wanting to wrap my arms around myself, but I would not show the Horseman any weakness. I reached the bridge, peering through it to the bright opening at the other end. A part of me wanted to glance back, to see him watching me from the doorway, but I would not give him that satisfaction. I was going to leave Sleepy Hollow and its ridiculous tales of curses behind. I took one step onto the bare planks, then another. My feet left wet, snowy tracks for the first few paces as I started across the bridge. It was not very long, but it still felt as if I were walking for an eternity before I emerged out the other side into the sunlight once again.
I felt nothing different. No shift in the air, no change in my body. No creature or monster sprang from the brush to grab me, nothing stirred in the trees other than the wind. Lifting my head high, I started to walk. The church was to the east, the Van Tassel farm to the north, the Hudson River to the west, and the village to the south. After leaving the glen, I could head further south to Tarry Town, where I would be free from all of these spooks and spirits and nonsense. Away from Sleepy Hollow and the ridiculous folklore about blood curses and witch families. I started through the trees, unsure of the path, as the entire area was covered with snow, so I simply looked for where the area was clear and walked that way.
Once I was out of sight of the bridge, I wrapped my arms around myself. My black suit was not made for weather this ferocious, and I was already regretting my decision to leave without a blanket or coat of some kind. I realized I also had no food or water with me. Water would be easy enough to procure, for the snow was pure in many places, but my stomach rumbled in such a way that it made me wonder if other creatures would think me a vicious beast in the forest.
My body grew heavier every step further I took from the church. Cold was settling in, and I feared that I might never get warm. I would have given the entirety of my meager belongings for a cup of hot chocolate and a warm bowl of rabbit stew. That brought back memories of the delicious food from the Van Tassel harvest party that I had gorged myself on. A last meal for a sacrificial lamb, if the Horseman’s words had been true.
Something snapped in the trees nearby, and I whirled around, looking for any sign of movement, but there was none. I could see a little better with the sun than I could on that dark night I had set off to the Van Tassel party, but the woods were still full of shadows and unseen ghouls. I turned and picked up my pace, as fast as I dared without slipping on icy patches of ground.
I knew I had to be getting closer to the village. I could smell chimney smoke and some kind of roasting meat that made my mouth water. I heard the jingle of bells on a horse harness and the squeal of children as they played in the snow that I was so eager to escape from. I started toward the village. I would ask for a coat and something warm to eat, with the promise to return it, along with interest and my gratitude, once I reached Tarry Town.
A sudden shriek made me stop dead in my tracks, heart freezing solid in my chest. It was the sound of a little girl, and I pictured a burning pyre in the town square. And then I heard her wail “Maaaaa!” in a plaintive tone that told me it was probably nothing more than a brother putting snow down the neck of his sister for fun. I unclenched my jaw and forced the air from my lungs as a large, warm burst. I was much jumpier than I thought I should have been. My nerves were so tight I might have played a concerto on them. I wondered if, in my hesitant state, it might be better to skirt the village rather than entering outright. I did not need the folk to see me as nervous as a rabbit or coiled as a snake. I would find a blanket in a barn and then return it later with a profound apology for my rudeness.
I slipped through the trees along the edge of the village. It was much quieter than it had been during the earlier months. I supposed the snow and cold had driven most people inside, since the land could not be planted or harvested during such a time. I found my way to one of the outer buildings toward the edge of the town. It was a storehouse with smoked meats and dried fruits and vegetables. I greedily ate my fill, making a mental note of every bite I took, that I might send payment to the Jansen family, whose building I currently squatted in. I found a small burlap sack and was filling it with cheese and meat when I heard footsteps approaching, and my heart thundered in my chest.
This was the moment, and I had to make a decision. I could step forth and reveal myself, or I could hide. I knew not which would be the wiser choice, but I had mere seconds to make it. It was possible the Horseman had made up the story to keep me with him, to keep me from asking for help to escape this place. Logic dictated that I could reveal myself later if I liked, but once I was found, there was no hiding again, so I dove behind several bags of potatoes and curled up, trying to make myself as small as possible with my gangly form. I heard not one, but two, voices outside the storehouse door before it creaked open, light spilling across the floor only a foot away from where I crouched.
“…in for a hard winter,” said a voice that I recognized as Master Jansen.
There was a rustling, and I saw the shadows of the two men as they searched the shelves for something. I held my breath, sure my heartbeat might give me away.
A laugh resounded, that of Ezra Brouwer. “Maybe the snow came on so sudden because that boy’s blood hasn’t been spilled yet.”
“They never did find that Ichabod Crane, did they?” Jansen asked.
“Nope. Just Hans’s saddle, and that ragged old thing he calls a horse, wandering around the fork.”
