The Hollow

by Jessica Verday

  I gazed at it in awe and held it up to the light.

  Made in the same fashion as the first one, this pendant had a drawing of the Headless Horseman on one side and a fat orange pumpkin on the other. The Horseman was a bold, black charcoal outline, beautiful and dramatic, while the pumpkin was fully colored and shaded in. It looked like it had been plucked from the nearest pumpkin patch.

  Both drawings were flawless, and completely lifelike. To say that I was merely happy with it would have been a huge disservice. It was a perfect representation of the legend that I loved. I couldn't believe that he'd made me another necklace.

  Jumping off the bed, I ran to put the necklace on. I turned from side to side to look at it in the mirror, marveling at its beauty. Then I remembered the notebook.

  I ran back to the bed to return my attention to it, and tilted the box over. The notebook slid out, making a dull thumping noise as it hit the covers. A drawing of a pencil was on the cover, but the backwas made out of cardboard. I opened it up, and the first page was titled simply "The Sketchbook."

  I was stunned when I flipped over to the next page.

  Caspian had drawn a gorgeous picture of the cemetery with sharp jagged lines of tombstones accented against the softer curves of grass and trees. He had captured every minute detail, down to the inscriptions on the tombstones and the curled edges of stray leaves that had drifted down from the trees.

  The paper crinkled slightly when I touched it, and I sat back in silence. Maybe I should have made him something too. This gift was so personal, so… amazing. What if he didn't like the telescope and book I'd gotten him? How could anything store-bought compare to the obvious time and effort he had spent creating this?

  Worry and doubt set in, and I started flipping through the pages to distract myself. It looked like the whole notebook was filled with drawings. There was one of the bridge, and one of the river. Another one was of Washington living's grave, and the one after that was a picture of the tall iron gates guarding the cemetery entrance. They were all done in charcoal, ranging from simple black outlines to scenes with countless amounts of light and dark gray shadows.

  I was startled when one of the last pages revealed a drawing of me, and I looked at it closer. Caspian had drawn mesitting next to Kristen's grave, looking out into the distance. A couple strands of hair blew slightly in a nonexistent breeze, and the sadness was clearly evident in my eyes. He had titled it "Abbey Kristen."

  I slowly flipped over to the next page, unsure of what I would find.

  There was another drawing of me there, this time at the river on prom night. Caspian had captured the rushing water perfectly, and me in my black dress, lying in the middle of it with my hair floating all around me. He had even drawn the black choker necklace I'd worn that night, and my eyes were blazing. This portrait was titled "Abbey's Pain."

  The second-to-last page showed a picture of a storefront, downtown on Main Street. I hadn't given him very many details, but it was drawn exactly like the shop I'd picked out for my own. He'd also added a sign on top of the store that said abbey's hollow. This portrait was named "Abbey's Future."

  A tear suddenly rolled down my cheek, and I wiped it away, trying very hard not to let it smear any of the lines on the page. Hesitation made me stop before I flipped to the last page, but I knew I couldn't not look at it. So I counted to three and held my breath as I turned to the drawing.

  It was just me, my hands at my hips and my hair pushed off to one side, in jeans and a tank top. He had written "Abbey the Brave"at the bottom of the page, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I saw a slight gap between the waistband of my jeans and the bottom of my shirt. At first I thought I was imagining it.

  But I wasn't.

  Right where my left hip bone would be, Caspian had drawn a tattoo. The design looked like some type of triangle and circle pattern, a replica of his. I smiled and shook my head, feeling a warm glow settle over me. How was I going to tell him "Thank you" for thisl

  As I carefully closed the notebook, a letter fell out from the pages, and I picked it up, wondering how I'd missed it. Paying close attention to every word, I eagerly started reading.

  Dear Abbey,

  I hope you like the Christmas presents. I wanted to get you something that reminded you of me. I don't know where to go from here. I don't think this is working. What I want and what I can have are two very different things. I'm sorry. It just has to be this way.

  Merry Christmas (I hope).

  Love, Caspian

  My heart stopped beating and sunk like a rock at those words. The warm glow faded, and I felt chilled to the very depths of mybeing. Was he breaking up with me? Did we even have something to break up? I lowered my head to my hands and thought about it calmly for a minute before the tears came. But then they really came.

  Pushing the pictures over the edge of the bed, I removed the necklace and shoved it under my pillow. I buried myself under a mountain of covers and used my pillow to muffle my sobs as I cried myself to sleep.

  It would definitely be a blue Christmas for me.

  My eyes felt crusty and swollen when I woke up the next morning, and a glance in the mirror confirmed that they looked as bad as they felt. My nose was stuffed up too, so I crawled back into bed to lie under the covers for a couple more hours.

  Mom was the first one to try to get me up, asking over and over again why I wasn't downstairs opening any presents yet. When the thought of free things didn't even faze me, I knew I had it bad.

  Eventually I crawled out of bed and stumbled downstairs like a zombie. Mom's and Dad's faces were all happy and excited, and I went through the motions of unwrapping gifts, but I didn't really care what they'd gotten me.

  As the pile of clothes, books, shoes, CDs, and perfume supplies srew, I felt worse and worse. I tried to put on a happy facewhen I gave them their gifts, and they both seemed genuinely excited to get them, especially Dad. But even that didn't last long, and I think Mom was starting to see it was all an act.

  "Are you feeling sick, Abbey?" she asked me, taking her time to sort, fold, and arrange each piece of torn wrapping paper that she came across.

  I nodded my head, too miserable to say anything else. With my red eyes and stuffy nose, I looked sick. And inside, I definitely felt sick. I made my way over to the window, leaned against the glass, and stared outside. It was a white Christmas after all. Mom continued to work around me, stopping once to feel my forehead with the back of her hand and mutter something about temperatures.

  Dad had started cooking breakfast, and it didn't take long for a plate of extra, extra chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon and eggs to appear in front of me. I didn't feel hungry, or full, or anything else. I just felt blank and empty inside.

  I picked at the pancakes so Dad's feelings wouldn't be hurt, but ignored everything else. After a couple minutes, though, I handed the plate off to Mom, told them both thanks for the gifts, and headed back upstairs. Today just felt like a stay-in-bed kind of day, and I wasn't going to fight it.

  When I made it up to my room, I just lay there for a while. I couldn't get to sleep, and my thoughts seemed to roam from onetopic to the next. It was like I couldn't shut my brain off. Finally I pulled the sheets all the way over my head and tried to make a cocoon of sorts, to curl up and die in. My hand hit something cold and hard when I moved the pillow, and I grabbed at it, feeling a pit of dread fill up my stomach as I pulled whatever it was free.

  As soon as my eyes recognized it, the floodgates opened again. Instantly more tears came, and I cried softly to myself as I sat there stroking the smooth glass. I turned it over and over again compulsively. And while I don't think it's actually possible to cry while you're asleep, I couldn't tell the difference. My tears felt like they would never end.

  * * *

  Hours later I felt a slow pull, that lazy urge that tells you it's time to get up because you've been sleeping for far too long. But I wanted to fight it. I wanted to stay where I was forever, a
nd never move another muscle again. Ever.

  However, the pull was strong and I became more and more awake, even as I lay there with my eyes tightly closed. I could tell that it was later in the day because the light had shifted. Shadows played behind my eyes, and I opened them to a darkened room witha blinking alarm clock that let me know exactly how late it really was.

  Sitting up slowly, I took in my surroundings. Everything looked different half cloaked in the dark, and I tried to shake off my grogginess. Something nagged at the back of my mind until I remembered what day it was. I didn't have very much time left.

  I climbed wearily out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater as quickly as I could. But I had to stop several times to give myself a break. Every muscle in my body ached. Who knew crying could take so much out of you? I grabbed my gloves and scarf and slid them on while I took the stairs two at a time. I was really going to have to hurry to get back in time for dinner with the Maxwells.

  I hit the kitchen, and headed for the cabinet that held the old Tupperware and extra lunch boxes, and nearly tripped over a chair. I dug through all the containers near the back of the cabinet and pulled out a small insulated traveling thermos. Just what I was looking for. Then I made my way over to the fridge and pulled out several juice containers.

  Mom came in when my back was turned, but there was a tone of disapproval in her voice. "What are you doing, Abbey?"

  I tried to act like I didn't hear her, while I looked for my prize. Time was ticking away, and I had to do this before Christmas night was over.

  "And why do you have gloves and a scarf on? Are you thatcold? Let me feel your forehead again."

  I was searching desperately now, moving egg cartons and bowls of cookie dough out of the way. "I'm not cold, Mom. I'm just looking for the eggnog. Did you buy any this year? You always buy some." I risked a quick glance in her direction. "And why do we have three cartons of milk? Who drinks that much milk?"

  She stepped closer, trying to reach out and feel my forehead.

  "It's on the left, two tubs of butter and one bag of celery over," she sighed. "But maybe you should have some hot tea instead. I don't know if eggnog would be good for you right now."

  I held up the thermos while I moved the butter tubs and grabbed the nog. "It's not for me, Mom. It's our tradition, remember?"

  A stern look crossed her face and she was already shaking her head before I'd even finished talking. "Not this year, it's not. You're not going outside in this weather. The Maxwells will be here any minute."

  I looked pointedly at the clock on the wall behind me before unscrewing the thermos lid and pouring in the eggnog. "They won't be here for another twenty-three minutes, at least. And I won't be gone long. You know I have to do this, Mom. I can't let Kristen down. I already told her that I'd be doing it for both of us this year."

  The thermos lid slid back on and it screwed on tight before clicking into place with a loud pop. I put the eggnog and the juiceand milk containers back into the fridge, then slammed the door.

  "You told who already? What do you mean by that?" Mom looked befuddled.

  "I told Kristen. You know… at her grave. I told her that I would be doing it for both of us today. Look, I'm all bundled up, and I'll even button my coat all the way to the top. But I have to go. It'll be quick, and I'll be back in time for dinner, but in order to do that, I have to leave now."

  I kissed her on the cheek and scooped up the thermos. Then I headed over to the closet for myjacket. She was standing there with her mouth wide open. She spluttered for a minute and held up a finger to me. "Fine, Abbey. But if you get pneumonia, don't say I didn't warn you. And if you are late for dinner, we're not waiting."

  "Okay, Mom," I called back from the doorway as I buttoned my coat one-handed. "See you soon. Love you, too."

  Her final words came drifting out to me, half mumbled as I closed the front door. "Don't think I'm going to spend all day making chicken soup when you do get sick!"

  I smiled to myself. Who did she think she was kidding? There would probably be hot chocolate waiting for me when I got home tonight.

  Holding my thermos in one hand and my coat with the other, I kept my head down and walked quickly. The snow was still falling, swirling all around me and crunching loudly beneath my feet. If itkept up at this rate, we'd have a blizzard in the morning.

  As I trudged onward, I thought about the first time I'd done this…

  * * *

  "Hurry up, Kristen. The sun will be going down soon. I wanted to do this in the daylight."

  'Why don't we just do it at night, Abbey? It'll be spookier that way. And are you sure the low-fat sugar free eggnog will be okay?" she called out to me. "That's all my mom bought this year."

  I laughed at her question. "Of course the sugar free kind is okay. It's not like he's actually going to drink any of it. It's just symbolic. And it's not supposed to be spooky. Leaving letters on his grave on Halloween night was spooky. But Christmas? Not for the spooky."

  "Yeah?" Kristen giggled. "Well, tell that to Tim Burton. He thinks Christmas is all about the spooky."

  We both laughed as we walked uphill and pushed through the cemetery gates. As we came closer to his grave, Kristen leaned in and whispered, "I think we should make this a yearlytradition."

  "Agreed," I whispered back.

  I smiled at the memory. We'd had so much fun together. It was hard to believe it wouldn't happen again. The thought sobered me, and when I reached the main gates, my fingers slipped on the cold, wet iron. Frustration welled up inside me and I slammed my thermos against the gate in a sudden burst of anger. "Damn it!"

  It did nothing, of course, except send a clanging pain through my arm and my shoulder blade, and I lowered my head for a minute before trying again.

  This time, as I concentrated, the gate moved forward just enough for me to slip in, and I was grateful for small favors. I rushed down to Kristen's grave first, skidding to a halt in front of it. "I'm here, Kristen. I brought the eggnog." I held up the thermos. "I'll let him know that it's from both of us. Merry Christmas."

  I felt a strange feeling of release as I stared down at her stone. Maybe it really was okay that I didn't know all of her secrets and would never find out who D. was. Maybe the important thing was the fact that she had wanted to tell me, but for whatever reasons just couldn't. Maybe that had to be enough.

  Lifting a hand, I waved before I turned and headed in the direction of Washington living's grave. The snow was getting harder and harder to see throuah, so I hurried to aet over there asfast as I could.

  Once I made it up the stairs and through the gate without slipping, I swept a glance over the family plot. I was glad to see that Caspian's gifts were gone, but sad to see that he was nowhere in sight. My tattered and bruised heart gave a little shudder, but I brushed the feeling aside and bent to the task at hand.

  Next to the gravestone I hurriedly unscrewed the lid to the thermos. It was not an easy task to do with my gloves on, but it was way too cold to take them off, even for a couple of seconds. A minute later I had success, and I poured a small amount into the lid before holding it up to the grave. "Happy Christmas to you, Mr. Irving. It will have to be quick, but this one's from me and Kristen. May all your yules be merry."

  I tapped the stone gently with my mug, and then swigged my eggnog before dumping the contents of the thermos into the frozen dirt before me. I waited a brief second in silence, and nodded my head once. "See you in the new year."

  Getting to my feet, I re-capped the thermos as I navigated my way out of the family plot. The daylight was almost gone, and I took small steps, mindful of the possibility of dangerous hidden ice. When I was finally clear of the cemetery,1 picked up my pace, so the walk home didn't take very long. I arrived at the front door at the same time the Maxwells were stepping into the hallway to clean off their snow covered boots and coats.

  I gave them both quick hugs and welcomed them before Mr. Maxwell went in. Kristen's mom had a
quizzical look on her face when she saw the thick layer of snow I had on my coat. I held up the thermos as my answer to her unspoken question. "Just had to go drop by an old friend's place. It's a tradition."

  She smiled a little as she nodded her head. I could tell by the look in her eye that she knew exactly what I was talking about. She reached out for another hug and held me tight for a moment, then loosened her grip. "I wanted to say thank you for the beautiful gift, Abbey. It really meant a lot to us."

  "You're welcome," I replied.

  She linked her arm through mine, and we walked to our seats. Mom had really outdone herself, and the table, covered by various plates, platters, dishes, and bowls, was literally groaning from the weight of the food.

  I sat down to the left of Mrs. M. and picked up my glass of water when everyone else held up their champagne flutes for a toast. "To happy holidays, healthy new years, and good memories of the ones we love," bellowed Dad.

  "To the ones we love," echoed the rest of the table.

  Looking out the window at the snow, I made my own silent toast. "To the ones we love…"

  Chapter Twenty-two

  A New Partner

  He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette, is indeed a hero.

  "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"

  January came in with a bang. Or at least it did for everyone else. Mine was more of a dull thud. I spent New Year's Eve alone, too depressed to even wait for the ball to drop. Mom and Dad went out to celebrate with some friends, so I went to bed early. It wasn't like I had anything to be happy about.

  My boyfriend didn't want to be my boyfriend. My best friend was still dead. And midterms were about to start as soon as I went back to school.

  Definitely nothing to be happy about.

  In my last few fleeting days of freedom, I worked nonstop on my Sleepy Hollow perfume project. I'd decided to make one scent for each of the main characters, but first I wanted to create scents that evoked the settings and emotions of the legend. I had the perfect combination in mind for one I wanted to call the Midnight Hour, and I spent long hours trying to perfect it.