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“The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe; and that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the millpond.
The schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.” Washington Irving - The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
After a life of loss and secrets, I’m choosing to be wicked. And, my lord, it feels impossibly good.
I should have seen it coming. The jealousy. The rage. I’d rattled the cage that held the devil. I shouldn’t have been surprised when the devil lashed out. But I was.
Promise me that when you feel the call to magic, to the strange and the unusual, to power, that you ignore it, my father’s words ring in my ears. That you will never show it or tell anyone about it—including your mother.
“I knew you had it in you, Katrina,” my mother says in a low voice. “All this time your father made me believe you didn’t have it in you, but I knew he was lying. I knew this school would bring it out.”
Katrina Van Tassel belongs to Brom Bones—it is written in the stars, scored in the earth, burned in the ashes, and the more you get involved, the more your life will be at stake.”
I feel only loneliness. Such a terrible feeling to feel small and alone as others go on laughing without you, part of some world you’re not privy to.
“You haven’t read any Poe?” he asks. I shake my head. “What a shame,” says Crane. “Now there’s a fellow I would have liked to have had a drink with.”
“My beautiful, sweet Kat,” he whispers to me, his eyes wild and burning as they gaze deep into mine. “You are an obsession that borders psychosis.”
“What a strange thing it is to cry,” I mutter, watching as a teardrop falls from my face and down to the ground between us. “What a strange thing to have our hearts bleed in this way that it comes out from our eyes.”
We start riding back the way we came, and Crane says into my ear. “I guess it’s true what they say.” “What?” I say back, looking over my shoulder at him to meet his sharp gaze. “Welcome to Sleepy Hollow,” he says gravely. “May you never leave.”
I’m not a huge believer in coincidences. Life isn’t as random as people make it out to be, I suppose that’s why I do tarot and have a gift for divinity. Things happen because they are supposed to, because it is ordained, because there is order to life. We are all flies in a web? Perhaps. But we are all cogs in a wheel? Most definitely.
“I’m your god, Kat, don’t you forget it,” Crane murmurs, taking my lobe between his teeth and giving it a sharp tug. “I’m your god and he’s your devil.”
I stare openly, blink, look around. There’s only darkness. Did he become an even deeper shadow? “Crane?” I whisper, reaching out with my hand, hoping I’ll touch him. And then I do touch something. Something hard and cold. Something not Crane. I gasp, withdrawing my hand as the headless horseman steps out into the light, his ax raised above his head.
“Are the three of you going to stick around Sleepy Hollow?” I laugh. “After we’re healed, we’re going to get on our horses and ride out of here and never ever return.” “Farewell to Sleepy Hollow,” Kat says. “May you never look back.” And isn’t that a fact.
