by Dax Varley
The memory pierced my heart. “He was very brave. He barely cried.”
“Garritt was like that. Always strong.” His face pinched. “He got into mischief a lot, though I’m sure Brom was behind most of that.”
I didn’t tell him that it was Brom who’d pushed Garritt out of the tree.
The Notary raised his head and looked at me. “But he was a good boy. A strong boy. Do you know how powerful something would have to be to terrify him that much?”
I nodded agreement. “Yes, sir. His tortured look still haunts me.”
He pursed his trembling lips. “Katrina, do you know why The Horseman killed my boy?”
I shook my head. “No. Nor do I know why he killed Marten. Or Nikolass. His brutal path makes no sense.”
He blinked his weak and watery eyes. “I don’t know what the Council will do with you, Katrina, but they’ll no longer have this.” He opened a fist. My talisman lay curled within his palm. “I’ll toss it in the river.”
I slumped, tears stinging my eyes. “Bless you, Notary.”
He closed it back in his hand, then straggled to the door. Just before exiting, he turned back. “Katrina, if I thought it would’ve saved my son’s life, I would’ve dug those bones up myself.”
* * *
Once he’d gone I made an effort to rise. My bones ached, but the effort was easier than I’d feared. Upon standing, my foot kicked something under my skirt. The flask. Brom had been here.
I scooped it up and shook it. The sloshing liquid was like the peal of a bell. I removed the cap, filled my mouth, then swished it around to kill what remained of Fallon. A broad dark smear leading out of the cell told me his body had been dragged away. By who? I vigorously spit the whiskey into the chamber pot, ridding him for good. Then I took a hearty swig for myself.
What time is it? I looked up, trying to judge by the degree of darkness, but the canopy of trees made it an impossible task. I sat down on the chair to wait. Eventually, someone would come for me – one way or the other.
* * *
At last there was a great disturbance within the courtroom. Scuffling, shouting. A single hard knock thwacked the door.
Someone’s head has cracked against it.
The door flew open and Brom rushed in. He called behind him, “Get the key.”
“Brom,” I cried, hurrying toward the bars. “You came back.”
He gripped my hand. “Yes, and I’ve brought someone to help.”
It was then that Ichabod rushed in, fumbling with the key.
Oh God! Ichabod.
He unlocked the cell and rushed to embrace me. The feel of him was heaven to my touch.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, squeezing me to him. “I tried to get back to you, but they were holding me.”
“Come,” Brom ordered. “You can explain once we’re safe.”
Ichabod placed his arm around me, guiding me out. We stepped over a guard, sprawled unconscious at our feet, then passed another lying face down on the floor.
At the backdoor, Brom peered out, then hurried to a patch of overgrowth. Moments later, he led their horses out.
“Where are we going?” I asked Ichabod.
“First to the schoolhouse. We’ve hidden Dewdrop within the woods.”
He helped me onto his horse, then mounted, straddling behind me. As quietly as we dared, we trotted around to the road. Then, when it felt safe, they kicked the horses into a gallop, and we flew against the frigid wind.
Ichabod had both hands on the reins, his body warm against me. My mind urged the horse to move faster – to spirit us from danger.
But we’d barely made a quarter mile when I heard a third set of hoofbeats behind us. We’ve been discovered!
“Don’t look back,” Ichabod said, but I already had.
Dear God!
My breath caught and my heart froze. The Horseman trailed us, his steed kicking up sparks as he quickly gained ground.
“Ichabod,” I murmured. But he kept his eyes forward, spurring his horse on.
Brom was soon beside us, his face as pale as moonlight.
“Continue to the school,” Ichabod said. “He never dismounts. We can find refuge there.”
If we make it!
We cut off the road and across a field, our horses side by side. Within seconds the schoolhouse came into view. But The Horseman rode with ghostly power. As we entered the schoolyard, he bore down on Brom, reaching across and snatching Daredevil’s bridle.
When Ichabod didn’t slow, I grabbed the reins. “Brom!”
The Horseman held Brom by his hair, the scythe raised. But instead of sweeping it across his neck, he raised his foot and kicked him off his horse. Brom hurdled to the ground, landing on his back. His breath whumped from his body.
“Ichabod, we cannot leave him.” I turned the horse and before it fully halted, leapt off.
“Katrina!” Ichabod yelled, bounding down and coming after me.
“Brom, get up,” I urged. “Hurry!”
Brom struggled to his feet, but to our astonishment, The Horseman dropped from his horse and stalked toward him.
He dismounted.
I raced toward Brom, but The Horseman was there. Ichabod caught up and restrained me.
I turned, pleading. “We’ve got help him.”
“How?” Ichabod said, holding me tight. “Going closer would be suicide.”
I struggled, but he held me firm. “We must try. Surely there is some weapon.”
“Against a ghost? Katrina, we are powerless. Ichabod backed up, pulling me with him toward the school. Our horse had fled into the woods, leaving us helpless and exposed. But I would not desert Brom. I pushed forward against Ichabod’s grip.
Brom eyes met mine, fear masking his face. We were just yards apart when The Horseman strode up, kicking Brom back to the ground. Before he could make another move, the towering ghost raised his foot and stomped down on his chest. Steam rose as it seared though his shirt and into his flesh. Brom screamed, his face twisting in agony.
“Brom!”
I fought against Ichabod, but he would not loosen his hold. “Katrina, he will kill you if you interfere!”
The Horseman brought the tip of his scythe to Brom’s neck, piercing it into his flesh. Brom’s shrieks grew louder as blood seeped from the puncture.
I scoured the yard for something, anything to help him. When I raised my eyes again, the steam from Brom’s chest had cleared, allowing me a glimpse of The Horseman’s shoe. A shoe, not a boot. A gray leather shoe with a brass buckle. I went limp as realization struck.
No one wears shoe buckles anymore.
This was not our legendary Hessian. It was the ghost of our former schoolmaster.
“Nikolass?”
He relaxed his stance when I said his name, though he still held Brom at bay.
“Good God, Nikolass, what are you doing?”
Brom’s face opened with recognition, then froze with new fear. “Devenpeck!”
“Nikolass, please,” I begged. “Let him go.”
But he gripped the scythe with both hands and pushed it deeper into Brom’s neck. Brom winced as his blood sprayed forth. He gritted his teeth, the cords of his neck stretched tight. “Nikolass!” he yelled, “it was an accident! I swear!”
I flailed against Ichabod, but he was too strong. “It’s Nikolass,” I sobbed. “He was kind.”
“And yet he holds a blazing weapon,” Ichabod argued.
“Please,” Brom pleaded. “It was an accident. We were drunk.”
An accident? “Brom, what have you done?”
Nikolass grabbed Brom by his coat and lifted him to his knees, twisting him around to face us. He held onto Brom’s hair as he placed the crescent blade to his throat. Then he pressed his own knee into Brom’s back, just below his shoulders.
“Brom,” I called again. “What did you do?”
Nikolass pushed harder against Brom’s back, bringing the scythe tighter. A necklace of red formed bene
ath it. Yet he only applied enough pressure to maim, not kill.
Ichabod placed his mouth to my ear. “He wants a confession.”
“Brom!” I urged.
Brom clamped his eyes shut, tears squeezing through. “Katrina, it was an accident. I swear to you.”
“What did you do?”
Nikolass pressed the scythe harder against Brom’s neck.
“It was late. We’d been drinking.” He paused, gasping for breath. “It was just that stupid prank we’ve always pulled. We’d stretched wire between the trees.”
When he paused again, Nikolass brought the blade up to his jaw, leaving a crimson scrape.
Brom clenched his teeth against the pain. “We only meant to knock him off his horse.” He lost strength, wilting against Nikolass’s grip and looking up at me with sorrow in his eyes.
“Confess it,” I urged, hoping this was the ghost’s only motive.
“We sent Marten to fetch him. He cooked up a lie that the schoolhouse was on fire.
Marten.
“But we’d misjudged. We’d strung the wire too high. When Nikolass rode through, it caught on his neck.”
“Nikolass,” I said. “You heard him. It was an accident. Can you not show mercy?”
But he tugged Brom’s hair and dug his knee in harder. There was more for Brom to tell.
“The wire had cut so deep, he dangled from it. He thrashed and finally fell. Katrina, there was so much blood. Garritt pressed his coat to Nikolass’ neck, but it was useless. He pitched and croaked. There was nothing we could do.”
Brom lolled his head back, but Nikolass jerked it forward, urging him on.
“After he died, we panicked. It wasn’t the first time we’d pulled this prank. The village would know it was us. We had to do something to cover out tracks.” Brom’s eyes closed as he openly wept. “We found a scythe and cut off his head. Then we burned the grass . He made it to look like he’d fallen victim to the Hessian.”
I shivered within Ichabod’s grasp, imagining their alarm and despair.
Nikolass released Brom, kicking him to the ground. Brom pulled himself up on hands and knees, weeping. It was done. He’d gotten his confession.
Ichabod dropped his arms, setting me free. I was never so weak and exhausted. “Nikolass,” I moaned, stepping softly toward them.
But my sympathy meant nothing. With a savage thrust, Nikolass brought his blade down, severing Brom’s head from his shoulders.
“No!”
Ichabod grabbed me, yanking me back.
I froze with shock, my eyes locked on Brom’s body, a corona of blood spreading around his neck.
Nikolass stepped forward and kicked Brom’s head, sending it rolling across the dried grass. Then he placed his scythe upon his shoulder as though satisfied.
Ichabod slowly stepped backward, inching us away, though I wondered if there was a need. Nikolass had his revenge. His three slayers were dead. He could now rest in peace.
But instead of riding off, he strode toward us with a determination that spiked my blood.
“Nikolass…”
He continued marching our way.
“Nikolass, what are you doing?”
Ichabod grabbed my hand. “Run, now.” We turned and fled.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nikolass still advanced at a hurried pace.
Ichabod tugged me along. “The cellar,” he said. It was just ahead.
We can make it.
He opened one of the doors and shoved me inside. I lost my footing on the steps and stumbled to the bottom. Ichabod barred the doors and ran to me.
He encircled his arms around me, holding me tight. We stood, blind in the darkness.
“What is unfinished?” I whispered.
I felt him shake his head.
We waited, apprehensive, our breathing thick. Then the first blow struck the doors.
I yelped as we cringed back. Nikolass struck it again.
We inched into a corner as he axed the doors with his scythe, smashing and splintering the wood.
“We’re trapped,” I uttered.
With one final strike, the doors exploded and moonlight revealed us.
Nikolass kicked aside the remaining wood, then tramped down the stairs, scythe raised.
My mouth tasted of ash as the blood drained from my face. Heaven, help us. We waited, pinned in the corner with no means of escape. Ichabod moved in front of me, attempting to shield me from Devenpeck’s wrath.
“Ichabod,” I wept as this Horseman raised his weapon high. But instead of thrusting it down upon Ichabod’s neck, he dug it into the dirt just a few feet from where we stood.
He brought it down again and again, kicking up plumes of dust all around us. I gripped Ichabod’s waist, peering over his shoulder as Nikolass continued pounding the earth.
When he’d made a hole about a foot deep, he knelt to his knees and burrowed with his hands. And though his body cast a darkened shadow, I could still make out the strings of hair he’d uncovered. This drove him to dig faster, flinging the soil in handfuls. And when finally he reached it, he carefully placed both hands on the jaws, and lifted his head from its grave.
I barely blinked, my heart thumping. He cradled the filthy withered thing in his arms. Then leaving his scythe lying there, he turned, facing us. Facing me.
“Nikolass,” I whispered.
He stood for a moment, his stature relaxed…weary. Then he shifted back and ascended the stairs.
“Ahh,” I gasped, sinking against Ichabod. He spun, gathering me into his arms.
After a couple of minutes, Ichabod said, “He’s gone by now. Let’s hurry.” He helped me up the steps and into the moonlight.
Once outside, my eyes fell upon Brom’s body, soaking in its blood. His horse stood near him, braying and nickering in distress.
The ache inside me was heart-wrenching. “I am free because of him.”
“Not yet,” Ichabod reminded. “We must go.”
I rushed to Daredevil, gathering his reins. “Here. This horse is faster than yours.”
Leading him along, we brushed through the woods to where Dewdrop was hidden. Quickly mounting, we sprinted away.
Without interference, we raced off. Away from the school. Away from the village. Away from my home. When we reached the hilltop some distance away, I slowed, turning my horse. I gazed upon Sleepy Hollow one last time – now just misty shadows dwarfed by the rolling Hudson. Through all the years I’d dreamed of escaping, I never imagined it would be like this.
My breath quivered.
“Katrina,” Ichabod urged. “We must hurry.”
I nodded through tearful eyes.
We spurred our horses and fled into the night, not knowing where dawn would take us.
But as we rode away, a chill embraced me and a question came to my mind.
If it was Nikolass rising, who was that outside my window, beckoning to me?
For a lighter read…
SPELLBOUND AND DETERMINED
By Dax Varley
Welcome to Mimi's Charms & Enchantments - a New Age shop filled with magical merchandise and colorful customers. Cam couldn't ask for a better afterschool job.
When a shady man in gray slinks in one afternoon, Cam is thisclose to calling 911. To her relief, he hurries away, leaving behind the nauseating odor of his cologne and a curious spell he's dropped on the floor. But this spell is not your average hocus-pocus. It's ancient, odd and promises Power Supreme - something Cam could definitely use to keep up her 3.9 grade point average.
But the spell requires more than what's stocked on Mimi's shelves. And acquiring each item will take some heavy teamwork. With the help of her best friend, Reade, and Zach, the high school's resident genius/nerd, Cam can't lose...unless the Gray man returns.
Click here to buy on Amazon.
When Dax Varley isn't reading, she's slinging words onto a page. She lives in Richmond, Texas with her husband and a half-dozen imaginary friends.
Re
al or imaginary, you can find her at the following locations:
http://www.daxvarley.com
Twitter: @daxvarley
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DaxVarley
SEVERED by Dax Varley
Copyright 2013