Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
The most frightening, mind-twisting thing about all of that is the fact that I’m now remembering that I saw that very horseman inside the void, in that place between worlds and dimensions where I was searching for Brom. I saw the headless horseman, this entity of evil, there, and now he’s here.
In this life.
In my life.
And yet, just like it happened in that black, empty space, he didn’t hurt me. It seemed like he wanted to, but he didn’t, like he wanted someone else instead and couldn’t be bothered with me.
“I fear he wants my mother,” I shout to Crane after I explain what I saw in the void. We gallop on the dark trail heading toward Sleepy Hollow, Snowdrop with her head down, going as fast as her hooves will take her.
“What makes you say that?” he says, his mouth close to my ear.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just have this feeling that the horseman is after someone I love. Like it’s looking for them.” I don’t have anyone else left that I love. I don’t love Crane, though lately, I worry I’m falling in love with him. Which leaves my mother, the only family I have left. Though I do care about Mary a great deal, even though I’ve barely had any time for her lately.
“And you’ve never seen him before tonight?”
“I think I’d remember if I did,” I point out. “This is the first time I’ve heard of a headless horseman, let alone seen one.” And still, that horrible feeling of dread won’t go away. Come on, Snowdrop, I urge her silently. Go faster if you can, please.
My mare snorts in response and somehow manages to pick up the pace, and it’s not long before we’re thundering past Wiley’s Swamp and out of the woods and going across the covered bridge that spans Hollow Creek, her hoofbeats echoing like a thunderstorm. We gallop down the lane past Mary’s farm, all the lights in her house off. Beyond the heavy snorts from Snowdrop and the sound of Crane’s ragged breath in my ear, I don’t hear anything else. No screams, no sounds of another horse or anyone being bludgeoned to death with an ax.
Finally, we make it to my house, the white siding bright under the pale moonlight, a few windows glowing from the inside. It feels like a safe place despite everything.
“Mother!” I yell at the house as Snowdrop comes to a skidding halt, dirt flying. Crane practically jumps off the horse before reaching up and snatching me off the saddle by the waist and placing me on the ground.
The front door swings open, and my mother comes flying out, pulling a scarf around her shoulders. “Katrina!” she exclaims. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She looks over at Crane, bewildered. “Who is this?”
“I’m Professor Crane,” he says, extending his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Van Tassel.”
She frowns at him and then turns back to me, ignoring his hand. If I wasn’t so upset already, I’d be angry at her being so rude to him. “Did the ritual go alright?”
The ritual. I pause for a moment, wondering if the ritual caused the horseman to appear.
“It was fine. Nothing happened, but…” I glance at Crane, and he gives me an encouraging look. “We saw something on the trail when we were riding home.”
Her frown deepens as she looks at him. “Why did you go with her? You know you’re not supposed to leave the school.” Crane opens his mouth to say something, but my mother turns back to me. “You shouldn’t be breaking so many rules.”
“There’s no rule against it,” Crane says stiffly. “For teachers, it’s merely discouraged. At any rate, I didn’t feel comfortable with your daughter riding home alone on a night like tonight, and you should be glad I went with her.”
“We saw a horseman,” I fill in. “A headless horseman.”
“The Hessian,” Famke’s voice rings out, and we turn to see her standing in the doorway to the house, wringing her hands together. “It’s the Hessian.”
“Who is the Hessian?” I ask.
My mother holds Famke’s gaze for a moment, something unreadable passing between them. Then she looks back to me, her forehead wrinkled. “The Galloping Hessian of the Hollow. He’s a ghost, a spirit of a man who died during the Revolutionary War. Was decapitated by a cannon. He’s the legend of Sleepy Hollow.”
“I’ve never heard of him before now,” I say. I glance at Crane briefly. “Neither has he. Doesn’t sound like much of a legend.”
“He hasn’t been seen in fifty years,” my mother says. “There were stories about him aplenty when I was growing up.” An odd look comes over her face. Her eyes seem brighter, like this whole thing excites her. “I’ll have to tell the Sisters.”
Strange that she calls them the sisters and not her sisters.