by Mark Latham
As Baltus reveled in his own cleverness, night drew in completely, and the patriarch failed to notice the drop in temperature and rising mists that presaged the coming of something unnatural. He primed his pistol to fire, when he saw the strange look in Irving’s eyes, and heard a heavy footfall behind him. The Horseman had arrived.
“It matters not, Irving!” shouted Baltus. “The Hessian obeys his last instruction still – and he comes for you!”
THE OLD DUTCH CHURCH
The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits… On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered.
The local church, known simply as “the Old Dutch Church,” is a 17th-century stone building, which sits within a five-acre churchyard. Its borders are not marked, and roll into the contiguous Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, and probably merge into long-forgotten Indian burial grounds too. The old families of Sleepy Hollow lie here, alongside the dead of the Battle of White Plains, some in mass or unmarked graves. The church was built by Fredrick Philipse I as a place of worship for the tenants of his manor, which later became the settlement of Sleepy Hollow.
Some say that the Hessian’s body lies within the churchyard; even so, the Headless Horseman cannot enter the sanctified ground – his dark horse shies away from the invisible barrier around the perimeter as though there is a solid wall before it.
The Hessian rode forward menacingly, his old uniform now almost entirely black and tattered, his high-collared cloak hiding the grievous wound at his neck.
“I think not, Van Tassel,” replied Irving. “Your devilry ends tonight!” With that, he threw the skull with all his might, and dived to the ground as Baltus discharged his pistol, the leaden shot striking a tree across the marsh.
Baltus could only look on in horror as the Horseman snatched the skull from the air, and squeezed it onto his neck. The grinning skull turned to Van Tassel, eyes now blazing with hellfire, and in that moment the old man dropped to the ground, his wits deserting him. He whimpered like a small child, begging for mercy, although the Horseman seemed not to notice he was even there. The Hessian strode past Van Tassel, mounted his steed, and in a flash of smoke and lightning was gone from this Earth, forevermore.
Irving requisitioned Van Tassel’s trap, and drove the defeated villain back to the village. Baltus had been driven quite mad by the experience, and was never able to speak sense of what had happened. Knowing that no-one would believe the truth, Irving simply told the militia that he had found the old man out by Wiley Swamp when he was returning home – none of the rowdies ever confessed to their part in the matter, nor to how they had been frightened by a ghost whilst threatening an innocent man.
The churchyard outside the famous Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow, said to be the final resting place of the Hessian’s remains.
By the time Irving returned to New York, the Reverend Steenwyck had purchased his old family pile, and Katrina and Brom took ownership of the Van Tassel estate. The grimoire, however, was removed from Sleepy Hollow by Irving, to be secreted in the secret library of the Lycean, where it remains still …
Irving’s Occult Studies
Believing the Horseman to be defeated, Washington Irving wrote about the exploits of Ichabod Crane in the form of a fictional, yet cautionary, tale. When its publication found some international success, he was able to devote the coming years to his studies into the occult, delving into ancient folklore and magical texts, and forming strong ties with several notable psychical detection organizations around the globe. He was endlessly fascinated by the legends of headless horsemen in particular, knowing how deadly they could be to the unwary.
Irving investigated several American headless hauntings, before venturing to Europe for several years, where he hoped to find the source of the strange phenomena. He journeyed to England, France, and Germany, uncovering – and even successfully defeating at times – dark forces, continuing the Lycean Club’s secret war against dangerous supernatural entities.
When at last he returned to the United States in 1835, Irving built a home on the bounds of Sleepy Hollow, which he called Sunnyside in honor of his final victory over the darkness that Van Tassel had wrought.
Chapter 3 – Headless Horsemen through History
Though the Legend of Sleepy Hollow has remained the most enduring and famous tale of headless horsemen, Irving’s research revealed to him that decollated spirits have roamed the earth since ancient times. In each case they appear to be earthbound due to some great wrong that has befallen them, and almost always presage some terrible disaster or death if they are seen by mortals. Some are said to appear randomly, forewarning of the imminent death of the unfortunate observer. Others seem to be driven by a sinister force, appearing quite deliberately in order to bring about the end of an unwitting victim for reasons unknown. That these spirits were more powerful and of greater sentience than other mournful ghosts was beyond question to the young Irving. What made them especially dangerous, however, was that they could be controlled, as he knew from bitter experience. Thus, he sought to study the strange phenomenon of headless horsemen; to catalogue and document their appearances worldwide, in the hope that he could better understand – and one day defeat – this terrible race of revenants.
Irving travelled first to England, ostensibly to pursue his writing career at the behest of his friend Walter Scott. Initially he had hoped to travel to Germany, and perhaps even to meet the Grimms, but in the end he remained for a while in the industrial city of Birmingham with relatives while he worked on his books. The real reason for the delay, of course, was that he had found in the British Isles more tales of headless spirits than he had ever dreamt of, and so he visited London and Edinburgh frequently to delve into tales far older than he had expected.
English Horsemen
Irving had not expected England to be so steeped in legends of headless ghosts, giants, horsemen, and beasts. Indeed, the more time he spent poring over old books of folklore, the more he started to believe that the headless spirits he sought had not originated in Germany at all, but in Britain. Of course, Britain had been invaded many times over its long history, and so many of its traditions had come from far-off lands, from Scandinavia and continental Europe to the holy lands of the Middle East. Yet the British Isles were littered with ancient sites of undeniable esoteric power – Avebury, Salisbury, Tintagel, Ballymeanoch, and Bennachie amongst others – and Irving began to believe that the ancient magic that the Britons of old had believed in was somehow giving power to the headless phantoms that had arrived here with superstitious invaders many centuries earlier.
Irving’s interest in British legends was truly piqued when he was travelling by coach one day from Birmingham to the picturesque walled city of Chester. Along the road he stopped at a low-rent coaching inn near the village of Duddon, of some considerable age, named The Headless Woman. Such a name was not uncommon, Irving learned, but he soon found that the name of this particular establishment had its own eerie legend attached. The name of the public house recalled the tale of a serving girl – one Grace Trigg – from the nearby Hockenhull Hall, who had died a violent death in 1664. Local legend went that she had been found hiding in a cellar by Cromwell’s parliamentarian soldiers after the hall’s owners – outspoken royalists – had fled. The girl was tortured in the inn to give up the location of the family’s hidden valuables, but would not say. For her loyalty, she was dragged upstairs to the attic and beheaded; her body was later dumped in the River Gowy. Over the years many locals have reported seeing the headless spirit
of Grace Trigg during periods of disquiet – she supposedly crawls out of the river with her head under her arm, walks through the maize fields that bound the village, and returns to the inn’s attic, where she wails and cries the night through. Anyone who sees her on her wanderings is sure to lose a blood relative soon, or else to be betrayed in some heinous fashion.
One of the most haunted public houses in Britain, in the Cheshire village of Duddon, plagued by the headless ghost of the murdered Grace Trigg.
Upon hearing this story, Irving secured rooms for the night and, against the advice of the innkeeper, insisted on staying in the attic. Using his books from the New York Lycean, he cast about his bed a circle of protection, and spent the night in silent vigil. He was only partly disappointed – although no apparition appeared before him, he did hear a quiet sobbing from the corner of the attic room, which filled him with great melancholy. When the sobbing stopped, Irving – remembering his last encounter with a headless spirit – lit his lantern and ventured from his circle. In the far corner of the room, he was horrified to discover a pool of dark blood, seeping across the floorboards. Irving retreated back to his bed at once, and spent a restless night. The next morning, the landlord informed Irving that the blood stain often appeared, especially at night, and no amount of scrubbing would remove it.
The interlude was a strange one, but it led to further delving into Britain’s folklore. Once Irving’s business in Chester was complete, he spent some time in London at the original Lycean Club. Welcomed as an American member of the elite club, Irving spent much time in the library, which was packed full of esoteric writings. There he learned of the Black Shucks – ghostly dogs that supposedly roam rural England and whose appearance precedes tragedy. Oftentimes the great black hounds have no heads, and yet manage to howl all the same, their chilling calls echoing across windswept moors across England, from Dartmoor to York. He read of the myriad headless ghosts of England who, like Grace Trigg, seem earthbound and set on some purpose that is unfathomable to men. From Anne Boleyn to Sir Walter Raleigh, these spirits most often wander great ancestral piles, as if somehow royal blood imbues them with particular unearthly vigor.
Black Shuck – an infamous demonic hound of England – sometimes appears headless, yet still howling. His appearance presages the death of any who witness him.
Of these spirits, Irving was particularly fascinated by the ghosts of Oxford. At St John’s College within the famous university, the Archbishop William Laud was said to haunt the library, kicking his head around the aisles at night. Much like Grace Trigg, Laud was also beheaded by parliamentarian forces, and Irving theorized that strong religious beliefs might have lent his wronged spirit considerable power. The same could be said for the other frequent haunt of Oxford – a man named Napier – who was hung, drawn, and quartered in 1610 for his Catholic beliefs. A martyr, his ghost apparently “pulled himself together,” all but for the head, which was never found. Napier’s purpose for staying in the mortal realm is almost certainly revenge – Irving found that many good Protestants had died of mysterious illnesses or fatal accidents after reporting a sighting of the headless ghost.
Irving lost himself in his studies, but swiftly realized that mere ghost stories could be found the world over. What he needed to do while in Britain was to look for the source of the stories – the legends and myths that preceded all tales of haunted houses. And while on the shores of fabled Albion, there was but one place to begin: the tales of King Arthur.
One of the most famous headless spirits in England, Anne Boleyn’s ghost is said to wander between several locales, notably the Tower of London, Blickling Hall, and Windsor Castle.
THE HEADLESS GHOSTS OF BLICKLING HALL
A grand Jacobean country house in Norfolk, Blickling Hall boasts one of the largest collections of headless ghost legends in all England, and is visited frequently by the decollated spirit of none other than Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII’s second wife, who lived there as a girl.
Spectral activity began at Blickling Hall when news of Anne’s death reached Norfolk in the spring of 1536. Across the countryside, many reported seeing four headless horses dragging the body of a headless man. The apparition crossed 12 bridges in a single night, before ending its haunt within the grounds of Blickling Hall. In the months that followed two separate spirits began to be sighted around the house and grounds, and more would follow. The first is the Grey Lady – thought by some to be Anne – who regularly strolls by the lake and has been seen in the house. Unusually for most ghosts, she has on occasion interacted with people, responding to questions, often with the phrase “That for which I search is lost forever.” The second ghost, which is very much confirmed to be the spirit of Anne Boleyn, is a headless spirit who carried her head around the halls of the house, dripping blood as she goes. This is a terrifying sight, though there has been no recorded incident of the apparition bringing any calamity upon the household. That cannot be said, however, of the ghostly carriage that bears Anne to Blickling. On the anniversary of her execution each year (May 19), Anne arrives at Blickling Hall in a carriage pulled by headless horses. It can be seen across the south of England from London to Norfolk, and woe betide any man of cruel heart or inconstant lover that sees it. Though Anne’s ghost is doomed to repeat the same sequence of events each year, she seems to have some measure of control over her wanderings – she appears at various royal residences seemingly at random, and has a good many legends attached to her.
Several years after Anne’s death, her father, Thomas, also died, and returned to Blickling Hall to haunt his former home. He engineered his daughter’s marriage to England’s monarch, and lost his daughter and his son as a result. As penance he is required to cross a dozen bridges before the cock crows each day for a thousand years. His route takes him from Blickling to Wroxham, and he is sighted at many villages in between. Just like his daughter, Thomas carries his head under his arms, but rather than ooze blood, his mouth gushes flames, perhaps symbolizing the torment he suffers.
Archbishop William Laud, who haunts the library of St John’s College in Oxford.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
With a rough rasping the reins he twists,
hurled out the hall door, his head in his hand,
that the fire of the flint flew from fleet hooves.
to what land he came no man there knew,
no more than they knew where he had come from
what then?
The king and Gawain there
at that green man laugh and grin;
yet broadcast it was abroad
as a marvel among those men.
One of the oldest tales of headless horsemen to exist in the library of the Lycean Club was the tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The oldest known manuscript – a copy of which Irving studied at length while in London – is believed to date from the late 14th century, written by an unknown scholar. The origin of the tale, steeped as it is in Celtic faerie-lore, is certainly older still, and Irving felt sure that he had found one of the first known records of headless spirits interacting with mortal men. The tale recounts how, during a New Year’s Eve feast at King Arthur’s court, the Green Knight paid an unexpected visit to Camelot. He challenged Arthur to strike him with his own axe, on the condition that the king agreed to receive a blow in return exactly one year and a day hence.
Arthur hesitated, but when the Green Knight mocked his reticence, the king stepped forward. At this, Sir Gawain leapt up and asked to take on the challenge himself as the king’s champion. Once given leave to do so, Gawain took hold of the Green Knight’s axe and, in one deadly blow, cut off the knight’s head. To the amazement of the court, the decapitated knight picked up his severed head and, before riding away, reiterated the terms of the pact – the young Gawain must seek him in a year and a day at the Green Chapel to receive the return strike.
Time passed, and autumn arrived. On the Day of All Saints, Gawain prepared to leave Camelot and find the Green Knig
ht. Putting on his best armor, he mounted his horse, Gringolet, and set off through the wilderness. Upon his journey, Gawain encountered all manner of beasts, suffered from hunger and cold, and grew increasingly desperate. On Christmas Day, Gawain prayed to find a place to hear Mass, and looked up to see a castle in the distance. The lord of the castle, Bertilak, welcomed Gawain warmly, introducing him to his lady and a strange old woman who sat beside her, never speaking. For sport, Bertilak struck a deal with Gawain: the host would go out hunting with his men each day, and when he returned in the evening, he would exchange his winnings for anything Gawain has managed to acquire by staying behind at the castle.
The first day, the lord hunted a herd of does while Gawain slept late. That morning, the lord’s wife crept into Gawain’s chambers and attempted to seduce him. Gawain refused her, but before she left she stole one kiss from him. That evening, when the host gave Gawain the venison he had caught, Gawain kissed him, since he had won one kiss from the lady. The second day, the lord hunted a wild boar; the lady again entered Gawain’s chambers, and this time kissed him twice. That evening Gawain gave the host the two kisses in exchange for the boar’s head. The third day, the lord hunted a fox, and the lady kissed Gawain three times. She also offered Gawain her girdle, as a token of her love. The green silk girdle around her waist was no ordinary cloth, she claimed, but was possessed of the magical ability to protect the wearer from death. Intrigued, Gawain accepted the cloth, but when it came to the time to exchange his winnings with the host, Gawain gave the three kisses but did not mention the lady’s green girdle. The host gave Gawain the fox skin he had won that day, seemingly none the wiser.