Sleepy Hollow: Rise Headless and Ride

by Richard Gleaves

  “So. What happened to the girl?”

  “She backed into the road. Right there.”

  “Oh.”

  “The driver who ran her over said something held his arms so he couldn’t turn. And years later, Jill swore to me that she could still hear that little girl whispering every time she used her Gift. I’ve heard a hundred stories like that. Do not tell anyone who’s an outsider. It never ends well. Sometimes they do get attacked and survive – and become one of us. But mostly they die.”

  “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Were you thinking I killed my grandmother?”

  “Maybe…” she said.

  “I didn’t tell her about my Gift, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “You said you told somebody – I just assumed – ”

  “No. Joey. I told Joey.”

  Kate rose to her feet and sat on the bed.

  “That’s bad,” she said.

  “So you’re saying, ‘Don’t kill Joey too?’”

  “I’m saying – watch out for Joey. Because everyone we tell dies.”

  “That’s just great,” said Jason. “Great.” His frustration and pain felt like a fist squeezing his heart. “Hey, Universe, just take everybody. Why not? You should go, Kate.”

  “Go?”

  “Yeah. Go. Do. Go. Really. I can’t talk to you. Not anymore. Not tonight.”

  “Jason,” she said, “you’re being childish.”

  “I’m allowed,” he bellowed. “Tonight I am allowed to be childish.”

  “Fine,” she said, pulling her shoes on. “I’ll go.”

  “Yes. Please. Just go,” he said. “I can’t take this shit right now.”

  “Shit? Shit? Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s horseshit. Supernatural families? Like who? The Munsters?”

  Kate made a face of revulsion and marched out of the room. He followed her down the stairs.

  “Yeah. Bye, Kate. Say hi to the Frankensteins for me.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said.

  “And the Draculas, of course.”

  “Never talk to me again.”

  “Just go,” he snapped.

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!”

  Kate slammed the door.

  Charley barked from Eliza’s room.

  Jason opened the door and said: “Give my best to Casper!” He slammed it again.

  As he stood alone in the center of the living room, everything he’d experienced in the past month spread out on the floor like so many tarot cards. His Gift, his visions, the ghost upstairs. How could he make fun of what Kate believed, when he’d seen so much with his own eyes? Her explanations had made a crazy sort of sense. Did he have any better theory? And – was he still the complete skeptic he’d been a month ago?

  He was. He believed only in those things he could see and feel and touch.

  But I have seen and felt and touched the supernatural.

  It was something definite, something finite, an understandable part of the universe. It was something he would have to study and break down and understand in his own way. But – he didn’t want to face it alone. He needed help. He needed Kate.

  And, of course, he was in love with the girl.

  He ran out the front door and into the rain. He saw that vision of her – walking up the aisle. He wanted that vision to be true. He wanted the supernatural to be real. Yes, he wanted all the magic he could find.

  He found Kate down the road. She’d left her umbrella inside. She fumbled with the keys to her car. He took her by the shoulders, spun her around – and kissed her.

  The cold rain and her warmth fought each other. The warmth won. She accepted the kiss, returned it for one lingering moment – then stuck her leg between his, flipped him to the ground, and jerked his wrist up from behind. The wet grass scoured the side of his face. Her knee jabbed into his back.

  “Not cool,” she said. “You know I’m with Zef.”

  “I know,” said Jason. “I don’t care.”

  “I do.”

  She released him and he rolled over onto his back, looking up at her from the mud.

  “Say you’re sorry,” she said.

  Rain fell into his eyes.

  “I’m not sorry I kissed you,” he said. “But I’m sorry for how I acted inside. I’m done being childish. Come back in?”

  She walked away, standing in the street.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” he said. He sat up, wiping his nose, and held a hand out to her.

  She stared at his hand. Maybe she was afraid to touch him, still, afraid of what might happen if past and future came together, palm to palm.

  “As a friend?” she said.

  “As a friend.”

  She walked to him. She took his hand and helped him up.

  They ran for shelter together.

  Kate slept over that night. She wouldn’t get into trouble. Her father wouldn’t find out. He’d started some senate campaign in Massachusetts. They searched the cupboard for food but didn’t find very much. It was Eliza, ultimately, who made dinner for Jason and Kate – they discovered one of her famous lasagnas in the freezer. And, happily, the rocky road ice cream hadn’t melted.

  After dinner they watched Seabiscuit on cable. Kate swung her legs over Jason’s and threw popcorn at him when he tickled her feet. Charley ate the kernels that fell to the floor.

  Not once did they discuss their Gifts, or the spirit world, or supernatural families. Jason forgot about Hadewych, about the Legacy, about the funeral, and about his grief.

  They slept on Jason’s bed, in their clothes. He slept under the covers. She slept above. He woke in the middle of the night to find her arm draped across his body. Something unknotted inside him. Denial and anger became acceptance and gratitude. He would be leaving town soon, he knew. But at least he and Kate had spent this one night together.

  Even as friends it was pretty damn good.

  32 STAINED GLASS

  The Sleepy Hollow Chamber of Commerce canceled the Annual Haunted Hayride and Block Party due to the inclement weather. They offered no refunds and promised instead to reschedule the event for early November. This outraged the village children. Rescheduling was not acceptable, in their opinion. A hayride in November wouldn’t be a haunted hayride at all, just an – an early Thanksgiving float. How dare they? Was nothing sacred?

  Moods soured. Worries deepened. Surely Halloween would go forward as planned? The children nagged their parents to do something. They checked the weather reports. They stared out the windows of schoolrooms.

  Rain, rain, go away.

  Come again another day.

  Little goblins want to play.

  #

  On the evening of the twenty-ninth, Jason sat in the living room of 417 Gory Brook and watched It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. He clutched Eliza’s afghan. On screen, Linus Van Pelt threw arms wide and proclaimed his pumpkin patch to be the most sincere pumpkin patch in the world.

  Jason thumbed the TV off, threw the afghan aside, and paced. He couldn’t leave town yet but he couldn’t bear to remain in Sleepy Hollow another minute. He’d tired of the rain and the constant rumble of thunder. He’d narrowed Eliza’s possessions down to a half-dozen crucial boxes and carried them out to the detached garage. He’d wadded most of his own clothes into trash bags. He’d hidden one bar of gold in the glove compartment of the RV and buried the other in the muddy side lawn – between the roots of the persimmon tree.

  He picked up a stick of firewood and hit the stone of the fireplace with it. That felt good, so he kept swinging until he’d covered the hearth with bark. He dropped the wood and told himself to chill out.

  He went upstairs to his room. His good suit hung from the back of his bedroom door, waiting for Eliza’s funeral. He took a legal-sized envelope from his dresser. Inside, he’d folded the only records of Eliza’s genealogical research that he would be taking away with him.

>   The grave-rubbings.

  He sat on the bed and unfolded the fragile sheets. He made note of the rubbings he had made himself – Jim Crane, Bethel Crane. Eliza had made notes in the corners of these (“taken by Jason on September 21st, Calvary”).

  He found William Crane. Soldier. Died 1792.

  He found William’s son: Sacred to the memory of Hon. Ichabod Crane, 1775 to 1849.

  No Absalom, of course.

  He flipped through Jesse, Jack, and Adam Crane. He found the rubbings he had been searching for.

  Andrew Crane. Dianne Crane.

  His parents.

  Today was the day, the terrible day – the twenty-ninth of October, the anniversary of their deaths. The tenth anniversary, and it came around at a moment when he had suffered yet another awful loss. He thought of the vision of his mom and dad, the hairbrush vision.

  “It’s getting cold, baby. And I need to get Jason to school,” said Andrew.

  “I can be on time or presentable but not both!” Dianne had said.

  And once again, though it has been barely – what? – eleven days since that vision? I can remember the words… but not their voices.

  Jason’s phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah – good. You picked up this time,” said Hadewych. “Change of plans, I’m afraid. Too wet for a funeral tomorrow. They say we’ll have to put it off and hope for a clear patch.”

  “Fine,” Jason said. He hung up and threw the phone to the floor. He smoothed the paper against the bedspread, careful not to smudge the charcoal.

  The rain continued through the night.

  Joey came over. They played Scrabble.

  “You’re really leaving?” said Joey.

  “I have to.”

  “I guess so.”

  Joey won the game. He received sixty-two points by playing all his letters on the word “DESOLATE.”

  #

  On the thirtieth of October the village children grew apoplectic. Their worst nightmares had come true. Weather forecasters proclaimed that the showers would continue through Halloween and into the first week of November. Despair filled every heart. What a trick fate had played! Candy-hungry monsters stomped feet and demanded restitution. Hunger strikes were declared – “Let it be Proclaimed to All and Sundry that We Shall Eat No Vegetables Until Halloween is Restored to Us!” A few tykes were even rumored to have lost their faith in the Lord and converted to Satanism out of spite.

  Homeowners began to take down decorations. Diabetics sighed with relief.

  But on the morning of the crucial day – just when the ruination of every witch, superhero and tin-foiled robot seemed inevitable – just as the weather stood poised to thrust a rusty razor blade into the great candy-apple core of the holiday – the heavens above Sleepy Hollow opened and the sun grinned above like a plastic pumpkin. A cheer rose. Goodness had triumphed. Hope was rekindled, faith in God restored. (Except, perhaps, in the hearts of those few impish ragamuffins who took the good weather as evidence that their midnight goat sacrificing had paid off.)

  Relief. Blessed relief. Sleepy Hollow’s children would have their Halloween fun.

  And Eliza would have a Halloween funeral.

  #

  The sun shone into the chapel through the stained glass images of St. Matthew, St. Mark, St. Luke and St. John. The Gospel authors knelt and faced inward towards Jesus, who loomed magnificently at center – arms outstretched.

  Jason raised a gloved hand and smoothed the hair at Eliza’s temple.

  Hadewych, to his credit, had done everything asked of him. Not a detail had gone awry. The gladiolas and roses made the chapel smell like a flower shop. Eliza’s cherry-wood coffin gleamed; her blue dress fit perfectly; her hair was immaculate; her knobby hands rested demurely across her midsection; her fingernails were, as Jason had requested, Jungle Red. Even the tiny whiskers had vanished from her chin, though Jason sort of missed those. She looked as though she had drifted to sleep on the sofa. She neither grinned nor scowled. Her expression held a wisp of a smile, contemplating a job completed and completed well. Beams through the stained glass cast patches of soft blue and pink across her cheeks and eyelids.

  Jason took a daisy from his dime-store bouquet and tucked it behind her ear.

  “I’ll miss you forever,” he whispered.

  He kissed her forehead. She wasn’t cold – or warm either – she was exactly the temperature of the room.

  He didn’t cry. He felt strangely numb. Empty. A desert. Even his lips seemed cracked and parched.

  “That’s a beautiful touch,” said Hadewych, straightening the daisy. “I hope you’re pleased?”

  “I am,” Jason said. “Everything’s perfect.”

  “Some of my best work,” said McCaffrey.

  The funeral director stood behind Hadewych. He wore a bolo tie.

  “Your work?” Jason said.

  “She deserved the best,” McCaffrey said. “Nothing too harsh. And Hadewych give me lots of pictures.”

  Jason turned to Hadewych and struck him in the chest with the bouquet.

  “I told you I didn’t want him. I said ‘anyone but him’ and you promised.”

  “Don’t embarrass me,” said Hadewych, taking the flowers and brushing a leaf from his lapel.

  “Embarrass you? I said no.”

  “I get it,” said McCaffrey, his voice low. “Hadewych said I wasn’t your first pick. That’s okay. I figure you didn’t like what you saw – behind the curtain? But everybody’s morgue’s like that. It ain’t a pretty business. And… nobody would’ve given your granny more respect. No sir.” McCaffrey’s voice caught. He sniffed and twisted a length of paper towel. “Fine lady.”

  Jason balled his fists, thinking of that dingy little room.

  I couldn’t even spare her that…

  “You said everything looked perfect,” Hadewych said. “Not one minute ago. What’s changed?”

  “I just wish I didn’t know…” Jason said.

  Hadewych put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and whispered in the boy’s ear. “You should thank him.”

  “Thank him?”

  “Vernon did the funeral for free,” Hadewych said.

  Jason frowned but thought, I’ll be sneaking away tonight. It’s better if Hadewych thinks I’m resigned and beaten. He nodded. He touched McCaffrey’s arm but couldn’t manage an actual thank you.

  “She looks very pretty,” he said.

  McCaffrey gave a little bow and shuffled off.

  “Do you approve of the location at least?” said Hadewych.

  Jason nodded.

  They weren’t going to fill the Chapel of the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. They would be lucky to fill a pew. He and Eliza hadn’t made too many friends in town yet. But Eliza would have adored the stained glass – not the images of Jesus and the Gospel authors, but the immense windows on either side of the double entranceway.

  The leftmost window depicted scenes from The Legend.

  The life-sized Ichabod at center wore his hat cocked at a jaunty angle. His features were drowsy and a little secretive. He held the hands of two children – a girl and a boy. They made a merry trio dancing off to school together.

  Smaller panels depicted scenes from the story: the schoolmaster at the blackboard (Ichabod apparently taught basic addition the way another man might proclaim the Book of Mormon), Ichabod wooing Katrina by the millpond, Katrina spurning Ichabod’s love (the schoolmaster clutched his brow like a foiled super-villain) and finally – Ichabod clinging to his horse as he fled a shadowy pursuer.

  “How’re you folks doing?” James Osorio emerged from an interior hall.

  “We were just admiring the glass,” said Jason. “It’s great.”

  “I do notice,” muttered Hadewych, “that there’s no depiction of Brom.”

  “Sure there is,” said Osorio. He pointed to the horseman pursuing Ichabod. “Right there. That’s Brom, right?”

  Hadewych did not look pleased. He tossed th
e bouquet in the trash.

  “Indeed.”

  The rightmost window depicted scenes from the life of author Washington Irving.

  The full-size Irving raised a quill pen in greeting. He carried The Legend stuck under his arm. He stood framed in a wreath of leaves and clover, among rabbits, ships, banners, branches and berries. Panels showed him receiving his degree, writing at his desk, presenting papers to some king, and –

  “What’s he doing here?” said Jason.

  “Building Sunnyside,” said Osorio.

  “His estate – down in Tarrytown,” said Hadewych.

  “Right. I remember.”

  “He named our cemetery. His grave is on the tour.”

  Osorio stepped aside to wait by the doors. Jason and Hadewych stood looking at Irving’s window. The last Crane shoulder to shoulder with the next-to-last Van Brunt.

  How odd to see a literary figure enshrined in stained glass – a mere human being with a career and bills – but, come to think of it, were the stained glass depictions of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John so different? Weren’t the Gospel authors, in a sense, also literary figures? Jason wondered for one blasphemous moment whether Jesus was their Ichabod.

  “What’s this?” said Hadewych, glancing down. The sword from Absalom’s coffin leaned in the corner.

  “Oh. I’m giving that back to you,” said Jason.

  “No. It’s yours.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “She adored the thing,” said Hadewych. “How about we bury her with – ”

  “No,” Jason said, horrified. He would not bury his grandmother with that sword in her coffin like Absalom. “Are you high?”

  “Bad idea,” Hadewych nodded. “I agree. Bad idea. Eliza wasn’t a Viking, was she? Keep the sword though. I think you’ll come to treasure it. In time.” Hadewych patted Jason’s shoulder and walked away, leaving the sword in the corner.

  Would he? Jason thought of Eliza… gonna getcha! Maybe he would.