“Ah, maybe that’s the secret,” he smiles faintly. “That’s what makes it so haunting.”
There’s something about the way he says it that raises the hair on my arms.
We move deeper into the museum, into the heart of Sleepy Hollow’s own story, a gallery dedicated to the history of the town itself. I wander over to one of the large glass display cases.
“The Legend of the Headless Horseman,” I read aloud. “Is this where you’ve been doing your research then?” I ask, finally broaching the subject that’s been hanging in the air since last night.
Ichabod steps up beside me.
“Partly,” he shrugs, but there’s a ripple of tension in his voice. “Do you know anything about the story?”
“Uh, yeah, Brom was talking about it just the other day. You Sleepy Hollow men seem a tad obsessed with this guy.”
“It’s one of the town’s most enduring stories, Katrina. And there’s always been an underlying fear that one day he’ll return.”
I turn to face him properly. “You really think it’s true?” I ask. “That the Horseman is real?”
“After last night, how can you not?” he counters.
I pause. Sure,somethingcreepy had happened last night. But in the harsh light of day, with children pointing excitedly at display boards and families murmuring about lunch, it all feels absurd. Whatever I saw last night, it couldn’t have been a ghost. It had to be something else — something real.
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what happened last night,” I say finally.
“I felt his presence,” Ichabod says, quiet but certain. “And you did too, even if you don’t want to admit that to yourself.”
I hesitate. The air feels heavy, as if the weight of the town’s history is pressing in on me from all sides. I think about the chilled air and the sound of hooves in the dark.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t believe in anything like that.”
Ichabod watches me for a moment and then nods. He doesn’t argue and we don’t mention the Horseman again.
We leave the museum not long afterwards, stepping back out into the crisp afternoon air. I feel lighter and more grounded than I have in weeks.
“Thank you for this,” I say, glancing up at him. “I’ve needed this. A normal day.” I swallow. “There’s something about you that makes everything else… quieter. Even the grief.”
He smiles down at me. “Anytime, Kat.”
He reaches for my hand and runs his thumb across my knuckles.
We walk on in comfortable silence for a while longer, and we could just be two people out for an autumn stroll in any country town, until I realise we’re about to pass the old mill. Toby’s eyes, large as saucers, float to the front of my mind as I remember his distress yesterday.The town lawyer.
Like a car crash, I can’t stop myself being drawn to stare at the pavement outside the old building. Sure enough, the remnants of police tape are waving in the breeze above the blood splattered pavement.
Neither of us say anything, but as we near the edge of woods, I can’t help but glance cautiously into the trees, half expecting to see the shadow of the Horseman lurking in the dark.
The sun is beginning its descent by the time I make my way back to Van Tassel Manor. Orange rays strobe across the sky, the last warmth of the day stretching out but not quite touching the sprawling house. As soon as I step through the grand double doors, any trace of warmth vanishes, replaced by the cool stillness of the building.
The house is quiet, except for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock standing sentinel near the staircase. For a moment, I think I’ve managed to slip inside unnoticed, but then I hear the creak of a door swinging open and heavy footsteps on the floorboards.
“Katrina.”
I turn to see my father emerging from his study, his keen gaze sweeping over me. I feel like one of his students caught runningin the hallway. Philip Van Tassel towers over me, his salt and pepper hair combed neatly back, his stance wide. He closes the door to the study behind him firmly, his fingers lingering on the handle for just a second.
“You’re back later than I expected,” he remarks, his tone is even but laced with something I can’t quite place.
At least he doesn’t seem to be aware I didn’t come home last night.
I shrug. “I was out.”
