30
First light has barely broken, but Ichabod and I are already making our way to Brom’s house. Neither of us have been there before, but Ichabod is confident he knows where it is.
The streets are empty and the wind howls around us. It’s early enough that the streetlamps haven’t gone out yet, and they flicker feebly. Every rustling leaf and creak of a shop sign makes me jump. I’ve spent the majority of this walk looking over my shoulder. From the twisted branches of the barren trees, beady black eyes track our progress. Although silent, their presence feels suffocating, as more and more crows gather. I pull my coat more tightly around me, suppressing a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold.
Ichabod walks stiffly beside me. I can see that the injury from last night is slowing him down, but he won’t admit it.
We reach Brom’s house, the small stone building sitting next to the bakery. The windows are dark. It’s still ridiculously early,but I knock anyway. I reckon Brom knows this town’s history better than anyone, and I need some answers.
We wait, both of us tense, glancing behind us every few seconds.
After a few moments, the door cracks open and Brom’s wary face appears, his hair tousled from sleep.
“Kat?” he asks in surprise, his eyes flickering between the two of us standing on his doorstep.
“I’m sorry, did we wake you? Only it’s urgent.”
“Um, yeah, it’s like —” He looks at his wrist and realises he doesn’t have his watch on. He laughs through his nose and opens the door wider. “Come on in.” He’s wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt hastily pulled on, but he steps to the side to let us pass.
The inside of his house is warm, a stark contrast to the constant chill outside. Everything is dark, and Brom leads us into the living room, turning on lights as he goes.
He stops in the middle of the room and rubs a hand across the back of his neck.
“Uh, how can I help then?” He eyes Ichabod warily, as if expecting a fight. “I’m guessing this is about…” He trails off.
“All the deaths in town? Yes.” I sigh. “Do you believe me now, about Ichabod?”
Brom looks awkward and runs a hair through his hair. He faces Ichabod. “Look, man, I am sorry for believing the rumours. It was stupid of me. I’ve spoken to Pop, and obviously things around here have gotten seriously dark and spooky lately. I guess… I don’t know. I’ve always been interested in the tale of the Horseman, but I didn’t want to actually accept it was true, you know?” He shrugs apologetically. “It was easier to think it was someone human rather than…” He looks around for the right word but doesn’t find it.
“No harm done,” Ichabod replies, also shrugging, and then wincing in pain. “Figuratively speaking.” He laughs darkly.
“And Kat, I’m sorry for our fight and the way I left things. I was just trying to look out for you. I hope you know that.” He smiles tentatively at me.
“Yeah, I know. There’s a lot of that going around lately.” I roll my eyes and manage a small laugh. “But look, we’ve come because we need your help. How much did Poppy tell you?”
“Uh, well, just that the Horseman is actually real, that I’m an idiot, and that you were planning some massive showdown to try and stop him. But now you’re here, so…?” The question lingers in the air.
I collapse into the sofa behind me and drag my fingers through my hair.
“Yeah, well. That didn’t go so well.” I give a hollow laugh and look up at Brom, who’s now sat down opposite me on the edge of a chair. “We didn’t… we didn’t stop him or trap him or anything else we were hoping. He… he killed my dad, and now he’s returned to full power.” The end of my sentence gets lost in a sob. Ichabod eases into the seat next to me and rubs my back gently.
Brom blows out a steady breath, eyes wide.
“Jesus, Kat. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” He looks stunned.
“Thanks.” I smile weakly and wipe my cheeks. I cough and steady myself. “Um, so you said earlier that you liked the Horseman story,” I start, and Brom looks sheepish. “You seem to know the town’s history better than anyone. That book I found in Poppy’s shop, I take it you’ve read it?”
He still looks embarrassed, but nods. “Yeah, I’ve read it. I’ve read quite a bit about the Horseman.”
“Good,” I say. “We need some information. I found a diary from one of my relatives in 1819, the original Katrina Van Tassel,the one I’m named after. She had a lover, a soldier who was killed. I think that man became the Horseman.”
Brom leans forward and steeples his fingers under his chin, nodding. “Okay, yeah. That would fit. The legend is a bit hazy about whether the Horseman dates back to the late 1700s or early 1800s. He was a soldier, a Hessian mercenary, but none of the books give him a name. He got caught with the daughter of Sleepy Hollow’s most powerful landowner. It was a bit of a scandal, she was betrothed to someone else. Her father was furious, and the soldier was put to death in the centre of town, beheaded up by that old bandstand. The story goes that he returned as a vengeful spirit, taking the heads of those who wronged him.”
I nod slowly. This matches exactly with what I’ve read.
“That was the night it all started,” he continues. “Some think he cursed the town with his dying breath, determined to have his revenge. Others say his spirit couldn’t rest because he was betrayed, and he became trapped here in between worlds.”
“I think they’re both right,” I say. “Katrina was pregnant when he was killed.”
