Horror seized me. I did not need to see any more, to see what my father had planned and executed in that dark wood. I turned and fled.
The trees blurred as I ran, the night swallowing my pounding feet and heaving breaths. But even over the pulsing beat in my eardrums, I heard the sound of cantering hooves.
I did not stop or look back until I had reached the safety of Van Tassel Manor.
November 13, 1819
It has been a few days now since that dreadful night I followed my father into the woods. I scarcely want to think about what happened out there amongst the dark and gnarled trees once I left. By the time I returned home, flushed and breathless, the bottom of my skirts were torn and muddied. Ihave hidden the dress so that my father will never suspect I was out in the forest that night.
I went straight to my bed, and I confess, I pulled the covers over my head like a child.
But when I awoke the next morning, the bright autumn sun was breaking through the curtains. I could hardly believe it, and I opened them tentatively, not wanting to trust my eyes. But the mist was gone. The heavy, suffocating haze that had lingered over Sleepy Hollow had lifted. In fact, it was as if it had never been there at all. There were no dark crows. I could hear birds chirping. It was bright and clear, a new day in every sense of the word.
Whatever my father, his fellow elders and that wise woman had done, it had worked.
The terror that had plagued our small town is gone.
That afternoon, Lucy and I took a walk about the town. Of course, it was not the same, and I suppose will not be for some time. But people were starting to fill the square again. We saw some shop owners restocking and preparing to reopen their doors. There were no bodies in the street.
My father is particularly pleased with himself. He stands taller now and talks with a renewed sense of authority. He is enjoying the fact that Sleepy Hollow and its people are once again safe because of his actions — no matter what they were.
I no longer feel conflicted. I know that my soldier had to be stopped. I hope that he now rests in a better place, no longer full of vengeance. I can look out of my window again without fear of what I will see.
Of course, now that things have started to return to normal, my father intends to see his plans through.
My marriage.
With danger behind us, my father has wasted no time in returning to the planning of my nuptials. He is eager to seeme wed, before the baby starts to show. He has no care for the suffering I have endured.
And so, dear diary, I do not know if I will ever find the strength to write again. I feel as if my fate is no longer my own, and my future has been mapped out already.
I know I must carry on for our child. And I can only hope that one day, when my time comes, my soldier and I will be reunited once again.
29
It’s him—the soldier—he’s the Horseman.
I read the last few entries quickly, my heart beating in time to my eyes jumping across the yellowed page.
It’s been right in front of me this whole time. How could I be so oblivious? Katrina, her lost love seeking revenge, the beheadings, the date1819scribbled in the top corner of each of the entries.
It all fits.
The Headless Horseman.
Katrina’s soldier.
They’re one and the same.
It’s so obvious now. This was the man who became the Horseman.
Several thoughts hit me all at once.
Reading the diary before, I had been struck by Katrina’s love for her soldier. And now I can see she loved him even in death, even tormenting the town. She had wanted an end to hissuffering. She had wanted him to move on to a better place. My heart squeezes when I realise that never happened.
It almost gives me a new perspective on the Horseman.Almost.
But the thought that I’m stuck on, can’t get past, is that she was pregnant.
