“Let’s head out,” Connor said.
“Children, we’re working with children,” Callum complained, raising his eyes to the heavens.
Jack
“I thought it would be bigger,” I grumbled.
“Are you for real? With that mist rising, it’s spooky enough,” Connor replied.
“The Headless Horseman Bridge. Famous worldwide,” I murmured. “The original was wooden. This is a concrete replacement.”
“What about the Old Dutch Church? When was that built?” Callum inquired, peering around.
Harry’s voice crackled over the radio. “Sixteen ninety-seven to sixteen ninety-nine was the construction period.”
“Still getting our live feed?” I teased, and Harry responded with a snort.
“When was Sleepy Hollow written?” Hugo inquired.
“Eighteen twenty was the publishing date,” Harry replied.
“A hundred and twenty years, roughly, between them,” Connor mused.
“Where was the real-life body buried?” Callum asked.
“In the Old Dutch Church graveyard. You have to wonder if the church has its own stories?” Connor drawled.
“We’ve not got permission for that. But we do this,” I said and nodded towards the bridge.
It stood above the creek, with early morning mist rising from it. The sloped sides of the bank were covered in leaves, which moved gently in the wind. The rustling noises added to the eerie atmosphere.
We parked a little way away and stood staring at it. It was just before dawn, and the sky was that bruised purple colour.
“What the fuck!” Connor exclaimed, raising a shaking hand.
We were stunned as a huge black stallion galloped in our direction. A tall man sat in his saddle—minus his head!
“No way, no fuckin’ way,” I gasped as it reached the bridge and began crossing.
“Tell me you’re getting this,” Hugo whispered.
“Hell yeah,” Phil replied.
The spectre cantered towards us, and a cackle came from the body. In one hand, he held a lantern while his other hand held the reins of the horse. Sitting in front of him was a severed head.
“Holy cow!” I exclaimed.
We stood as it reached the end of the bridge facing us. The stallion reared up, and then it disappeared.
Callie
“Are you sure it was the Headless Horseman?” I demanded over the radio.
“Yes. We searched for a projector and found nothing,” Connor replied.
“The Horseman wasn’t real, which leaves one of three things. A thought-form, a Tulpa, or a demon,” Jack mused.
“I agree. If it is, he’s strong,” Callum added.
