And then there’s Ichabod.
He’s bound on a makeshift altar at the feet of the robed men. His wrists and ankles are secured with torn strips of material. His shirt has been ripped open, exposing the lean lines of his stomach, rising and falling as he struggles against his restraints. Lying on his back, stretched out, his face is contorted in fear.
I take it all in in a fraction of a second.
Then the man on the right moves forward, and I see the glint of a blade in his hand. It’s a long, curved knife, its wicked sharp edge gleaming in the low light. My stomach drops.
He’s seen me, but still he raises the knife. He’s going to kill Ichabod.
I shove the doors open the rest of the way with a force that sends them crashing back against the stone walls.
“No!” I shout, my voice echoing in the big, empty space.
My father falters, raising his eyes to meet mine. Ichabod takes advantage of the pause and rolls off the altar with a defiant twist, landing on his knees. Hands still bound in front of him, he tries to shuffle back and away from the three men.
The man with the knife takes another step forward.
My father looks deep into my face for just a beat. Then he holds up one hand.
“Enough,” he says. His voice is filled with authority, but something more. He sounds defeated.
The room stills. Then, almost reluctantly, the man lowers his knife and steps back. My father slowly reaches up and lowers his hood, the other two men following his lead. Ichabod shuffles closer to me, and I move forward, putting myself between him and the improvised altar. His breath is ragged as he looks up at me, relieved and disbelieving.
I face my father, my voice coming out as little more than a whisper. “What is this?”
My hands tremble as I take in the scene before me — the candles, the robes, the curved knife. It’s like some kind of ritual. Some kind of cult sacrifice.
My father hasn’t answered, and the silence grows between us.
I can’t tear my eyes away from him. It’s as if a cold wave of realisation has crashed down around me, numbing me to my core.
Has my father been involved in the deaths in town? Is he in league with the Horseman somehow? Is that what this is all about?
My father, who I’ve barely reconnected with since being back in Sleepy Hollow. Who kept warning me of the dangers, to stay inside after nightfall. He’s involved in this, part of something dark.
Finally, he takes a step towards me, and I recoil.
20
My father still stands at the head of the semicircle, his dark robes shifting as he takes a step towards me. His eyes are clouded, something I’ve never seen before, filled with guilt and sorrow but also determination.
“Kat,” he says, his voice low. “You shouldn’t be here.” The flickering candlelight makes his expression even more severe.
“I don’t understand. You were about to kill Ichabod.” I shake my head. “What the hell is going on? And who the fuck are they?” I gesture wildly to the two men flanking my father. If I was whispering before, I’m shouting now.
They share uneasy glances and shift their weight. It feels like the whole world is tilting, like I’ve stepped into some nightmarish play where everyone knows their lines but me.
“Well,” Ichabod coughs, and uses his bound hands to point to the man on the left, “this is our honourable police chief, and that,” he indicates the other, “is the town priest.” He glowers at the two men.
“You need to understand, Kat,” my father says, “this is bigger than you think. Bigger than any one man. Than me. Or Ichabod.”
“No, no.” I’m shaking my head again. I don’tunderstandany of this. “You were going to kill him!”
The man with the knife, the priest, steps forward. He tucks the blade into the folds of his robes and bows his shaven head. “If we don’t act, the town will fall, Miss Van Tassel. You must listen.”
I don’t want to listen. I feel like screaming. I want to grab Ichabod and run. But the way my father is looking at me keeps me rooted to the spot — like heneedsme to listen, like he needs me to understand.
“The Headless Horseman is real,” my father says. “He is not just a legend or a ghost story. He first appeared centuries ago and was bound, through blood and sacrifice, to stop him walking the earth. For generations, we have ensured he remains trapped. We exist to protect this town from him.”
