As much as I want to, I know I can’t stay at Ichabod’s tonight. I’m reluctant to do what my father asks, but I don’t want to give him an actual heart attack. Returning home for the night seems like the quickest road to an easy life.
As soon as we step outside, the town seems different. It’s eerily silent as Ichabod and I make our way through the dark roads back to Van Tassel Manor. The gas lamps lining the streets flicker weakly and the air is thick with mist, milky and opaque. It muffles our footsteps and swallows the town in a ghostly haze. I pull my coat tighter around me, trying to ignore the uneasiness curling in my stomach.
“My flat is a lot warmer than this, you know,” Ichabod chuckles. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks, his voice low, one hand hovering at the small of my back.
I shake my head. “My father would kill me. And he already doesn’t like you.”
“Oh, I know,” he smiles mischievously.
“You don’t have to escort me back.”
“I’m just ensuring you make it home,” he says.
“I can take care of myself,” I retort, but secretly suppress a smile.
“I know. But that won’t stop me from standing between you and whatever’s out there.”
We walk in silence for a while, the only sounds the distant caw of a raven and the occasional rustle of fallen leaves as a breeze slips through the alleyways. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. The streets are too empty, the air is too still. Sleepy Hollow always has an old world feel, but with the fog rolling in again, it’s like we’ve stepped straight into a nightmare.
A sound.
My head snaps around.
The steadyclip-clopof hooves against the slick cobblestones.
I stop walking. My breath catches in my throat.
Ichabod stiffens beside me. “Kat…”
It’s the same noise I heard the other night, and I can tell that Ichabod hears it too. I’ve spent the last few days pretending it wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen. But here it is again. The metered sound of hooves. They’re getting closer.
The mist parts just enough for me to see a lone figure crossing the town square in front of the old bandstand. I squint into the darkness.
“Who is that?” I whisper.
“It’s the mayor,” Ichabod replies quietly, taking my arm.
My stomach starts to unclench, but Ichabod is pulling me sideways, towards a side alley.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. Look.” He tips his chin in the direction of the mayor.
I squint into the mist again, and that’s when I see it. Another figure emerging from the gloom.
It’s hard to make out at first, a mass of shimmering smoke.
The mayor is hunched over, hurrying along. Unaware.
The second figure is moving closer now and I hear the clink of metal on metal.
It draws closer and I make out the shape of a horse.
And the rider, clad in dark leather uniform.
Without a head.
Ichabod is still pulling me towards the side street, and I’m glad he’s holding onto me as I feel my knees buckle.
