The Hollow

by Erik Schubach

  When I came into the flickering street lamps, people retired back into their dwellings, wanting to distance themselves from me, lest the violence follow me. I paused when old man Jasper staggered from Jefferson's and out into the pouring rain in the street.

  He saw me and shook a finger at me, placed it on the side of his nose, and said, “Just one left now, then Laura will have her peace.”

  What? I tried to stop the man, but he staggered off into the night. One left? Laura? Laura Jefferson? My head snapped to the church, where I saw the light in the window extinguish. I knew just one part of the story about Laura Jefferson and the village's shame, but not the full story. Was it somehow connected to the horseman?

  I narrowed my eyes as I looked around the town, were they holding something back from me? Had they held something back from father? Is that why he was never able to track down the summoner of the black arts?

  I growled to myself and stomped toward the livery barn and my old room, to get out of the rain. The vicar and I were going to have a long talk in the morning.

  I shook off the rain from my cape, then stomped the mud from my boots when I stepped inside the old barn. I moved to the stables along the wall to check on Tirza, happy that the vicar had made sure to have her moved in out of the rain as he promised.

  I took the oil lamp which was burning in the space, and trudged up the stairs in the back, bone weary from my long ride, and shivering from being out in the rain. I twisted my hair to get the water out of it. I was looking forward to sitting in the straw bed next to the wood burning stove and letting sleep claim me.

  I froze when I was nearly at the top of the stairs when a figure moved into the light of the lamp. I swallowed, unable to tear my eyes from the person standing there. Feeling suddenly weak and excited in the same moment I gave a weak smile.

  Dorothy stood there, a crooked smile on her face. “Hello, Im.”

  I felt like we were kids again, and I felt the heat on my cheeks as I squeaked out, “Hello, Dot.”

  She seemed pleased with my reaction, and she said, “We didn't get a chance to speak. And I heard you went out to challenge the Horseman tonight. Are you right in the head?”

  How had word spread so quickly? Was everyone watching where I went after I left the inn? She asked almost bashfully, “Mind if we talk in your room?”

  All I could do was manage to say, “Alright,” as I pushed my wet hair over my shoulder, realizing I must look a drowned mess.

  I reached past her to the wooden peg, slid the bolt to the side, and pushed the door open. Then I made an ushering motion with my hand since I had seemed to have lost my voice.

  She gave me a little wink, and I followed her in. She was still my weakness after all these years, and it looked as though she knew it.

  Chapter 4 – Shame

  I sat the lantern down on the small table just inside the door and looked around at the place. It hadn't really changed since the last time I was there all those years ago. A straw filled mattress on the floor by the corner, a little wood stove which someone had already conveniently stoked for me. And a table with two chairs.

  I inhaled. It smelled of hay and manure just like I remembered. But oddly, that wasn't an unpleasant smell. Of all the places father had dragged me around to as I grew up, this room here in Sleepy Hollow felt more like home than any other place, since we were always on the move and we had spent more time here than anyplace else.

  I looked over at the woman staring at me patiently as I sorted through the memories. I smiled at those memories. It could also have been because I had my first kiss here in the Hollow. I finally found my voice and said quietly, “Please, Dot, have a seat.”

  She smiled and sat at the table, and I moved over and sat in the other chair with my hands on the table, palms down. She reached over and laid a hand on top of mine as she said, “It truly is good to see you, Im.”

  I smiled at her, almost involuntarily and nodded. Then her brows knitted as she looked down at my hands and pulled hers away as she stood. “You're positively freezing. You've no sense in your head, being out in that freezing downpour.”

  She put a cast iron kettle on the stovetop and reached back to pull me up and stand me in front of the stove as she rubbed my shoulders. You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold.

  I looked at her and blushed. I'd not be undressing in front of her, or that would be the death of me. If she knew my impure thoughts of her. Thoughts I have harbored for almost half my natural life. I countered, “I'm fine, woman. Stop doting.”

  She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows and said, “I like doting.”

  Then she sighed, pulled a chair over to the stove for me to sit, and then brought the other one to face me. “So tell me of all the wonders you have seen outside the Hollow.”

  She reached over to move my wet hair over my shoulder, her hand resting on my cheek a heartbeat too long. I closed my eyes and leaned into it. I opened my eyes to her smile and nodded and started weaving the tales of fighting the evils of our new nation for the church and the government.

  I paused after recounting the fall of my father and said, “You don't need to be hearing this, you've suffered a loss of your own.”

  She shrugged, and I prompted her for tales from the Hollow. My mind kept going back to the words of old man Jasper as I listened to her account of a life she found uninteresting, feeling stuck in a town from the past when she has heard tales of the modern cities like Boston and Philadelphia.

  She admitted to seeking out the news of father's exploits for any news about the young woman he traveled with. I asked shyly, “Why.”

  She softened and whispered, “You were my first kiss, silly woman.” She held her pinky out, and I took it on reflex. This seemed to warm her as her eyes sparkled. It felt as if no time had passed between us, though the journey felt as if it had taken a lifetime.

  I thought of the Jasper again and asked with furrowed brow, not wishing to upset her. “How much do you know about what transpired before your mother...” I couldn't bring myself to speak of her mother taking her own life a few weeks before father brought us to Sleepy Hollow.

  She cocked her head at me, her own brow furrowing as I saw demons dance in her eyes. She reached over to touch my sleeve, then turned and opened the door on the stove and crouched to throw in a piece of wood from the little rack beside it. “Your things are dry now. We can talk of this in the morning over breakfast in the Inn.”

  I had made her uncomfortable. I grabbed her hand as she stood back up and said as I gave her hand a squeeze, “Alright. I'm sorry I brought it up. I just have... questions.” She nodded not letting go of my hand. I repeated, “I truly did miss you.”

  She winked as she let our hands drop. “What's not to miss?”

  I chuckled. “Same old, Dot.”

  I stood and walked her to the door, and she gave me a hug as she said, “Who are you calling old? If I remember right, you're close to two months older than I am.”

  I grinned as I opened the door. “You wretch.” Then I looked down. “See you on the morrow.” She gave a cute hike of her skirt as she spun and almost sauntered down the stairs. Sweet Mary, Mother of God, was she teasing me?

  I remembered all the reasons I had loved being around her as I closed the door then stripped out of my clothes which were still a little damp on the inside.

  I saw my saddle bags on the floor near the bed and dug out my nightdress to put it on. Then I wrapped my weapons belt around my hips and sat on the mattress to reload my flintlock. That task accomplished, I pulled a blanket over me and drifted into a fitful sleep, with one hand on a dagger which was blessed by a Wampanoag elder.

  ***

  The morning came as it inevitably always does, unconcerned with mortal whims. Muted light filtering through the small window above the bed. My breath fogged the chill air as the fire had extinguished itself as I slept.

  I sat up and looked out the window. It had frost on it and the
morning light was silvered and dim. With my hand, I wiped away the frost on the glass to peer out at a sky, darkened with swirling clouds the like you only saw when the world was held deep in the throes of winter.

  This wasn't good. It would take only a few days of an unnatural cold snap like this to freeze over the Pocantico. I dressed with urgency. My window for investigation had just diminished exponentially. If I didn't solve this soon and send the Horseman to his final rest, he would ride through the Hollow with blood in his wake, unchecked.

  I looked at his hatchet beside my gear. No, not unchecked. He was not infallible, just dangerous. And like all evil it could be detained or destroyed if you know its weaknesses or the weaknesses of the one controlling it. Now more than ever I thought the key was to figure out what drove the one who bound him to the mortal world.

  I made my way down to the stables and checked on Tirza, the liveryman had already set up a feed bag for her. I wondered if it were still the mute old Frenchman, Claude, who ran the stables, he'd likely be around sixty now. He always had our horses groomed and fed before we came down in the morning.

  I stroked Tirza between her eyes and patted her flank before moving out into the freezing morning air. I had thought the barn had been cold, but it felt like winter outside, this cold snap was a few weeks early, and that worried me as a skiff of ice crunched under my feet where the puddles from the rain had already started freezing.

  I looked nervously toward the river, ice had started forming on its banks. I exhaled and shook my head, by breath fogging the air. Three or four days like this and we wouldn't need to hunt the Horseman, he would be hunting us if the river froze over.

  I had to work fast. I had to wonder if this cold spell was natural, as the timing was suspect. Was the summoner also responsible for nature baring her fangs to bite into the world so soon?

  I crossed the square to the Jefferson. There were signs of the Hollow's awakening popping up around the lane. Lights in windows smoke drifting up into the air from chimneys, and even a few people sticking their heads outside to watch me enter the inn.

  I almost sighed when I stepped into the heat of the public space. A cheerful fire crackled in the big fireplace near the bar. I hadn't had a chance to warm up since I woke to the cold, and the familiar, cozy atmosphere was welcome.

  I glanced around. Nobody was about, they must have been in the kitchen. Before I could move in that direction, Hank stepped out with an armload of wood for the rack by the fireplace. He paused when he saw me and smiled, inclining his head in greeting.

  I said as I pulled off my black gloves to tuck them into my belt, then loosened my riding cape, “Good morning Hank.”

  He called out as he walked to the wood rack and unloaded, “Abbey, Dotty, Imelda's here.”

  Then he turned to me and said, “Dotty said you'd be joining us for breakfast. Have a seat, woman.”

  I smiled and then noted a teenaged girl sitting at the top of the stairs in a rumpled dress as I sat at the table closest the fire. She was rocking in place and looking at me. I recognized her right away, she looked so very similar to Dot, there was no mistaking her. “Hello, Mary. It is good to see you.”

  She just looked at me for a moment, then stood and ran back upstairs where the two rooms of the inn were located.

  Hank stepped past me and gave me an apologetic look. “She hasn't been quite the same since...” He left the circumstances regarding their mother and their father's death unspoken.

  I nodded, it had to be hard for him to see his sister suffering. But the circumstances surrounding his mother's death was one of the things I had come in to talk about. He stepped into the kitchen as Dorothy pushed past him with a plate piled high with food.

  I had to look down at my hands clasped on the table top, to hide my smile as she stepped up with a grin on her face. Her hair was pulled into a bun to keep it out of the way, and her amused eyes glittered as the firelight danced across her ice blue irises. I muttered as she slid the plate in front of me, “I'm glad I amuse you.” Then I shot her an amused smirk of my own.

  She crinkled her nose at me, bumped my shoulder with her hip before joining me at the table. She shook her head as she pilfered a strip of thick bacon from my plate and started nibbling on it. “It's just so entertaining to see the bravest woman I know being so bashful all the time. I'm glad I can have that effect even now, after all these years.”

  She always had and always will have that effect, but I could never voice it. I prodded, “You are so full of yourself, Dot. It's a wonder you can get your head through the doorway.” We shared a look of merriment between us as I looked down at the plate, then picked up the provided fork to take a bite of the fluffy eggs.

  I savored the food a moment, closing my eyes against what I was about to do. I knew it was the emotional pulling a bandage off of an old wound, and I didn't wish to ever see Dorothy suffering.

  She sat back draping her arms behind her over the chair back and exhaled, slumping into the chair. “I know that look. Go on, let's get whatever unpleasantness you are trying to shield me from over with now. The quicker it is dispensed with, the quicker we can visit.”

  I smiled into a bite of a potato and diced ham mash and shook my head a little as I muttered, “You can still read me better than I can read myself.”

  Her smile disappeared, replaced with a serious look as she again offered her pinky. I fought back a sigh as I looped my pinky in hers and we just sat there looking into each other's eyes, getting acquainted. Taking each other's measure and offering our own. How I had missed her.

  I was first to break as I dipped my eyes down as I blushed at the memory of her lips on mine. She seemed pleased as she pulled her hand away, saying, “Because you always wear your emotions on the surface, Im.”

  I smiled down at the plate and trailed the fork through the mash. Then I set it down and looked at Dot, my hands braced on the table and just came out with it, “I know this is a painful subject, but I think it may help me understand better what has brought the Horseman to Sleepy Hollow.”

  She narrowed her eyes a bit in suspicion, likely guess what I was about to ask. I hesitated second guessing myself, then said, “Never mind, I can ask Hank.”

  She shook her head and sat up straighter in the chair and mimicked my posture by bracing her own hands on the table. “Don't you go protecting me now Imelda Crane. Not after you left me here for fifteen years. I'm not some porcelain doll to be coddled.”

  I almost snorted. No, a porcelain doll she was not. We were a couple of tomboys through and through. I nodded and gave her a crooked apologetic smile and shrugged. “Sorry?”

  She snorted, and the twinkle returned to her eyes. “Then go on silly woman, be plain, ask your questions.”

  I took a calming breath and began. “I know so little of your mother's passing, God rest her soul. What father and I were told is that the Hollow held a shame that had driven her to take her own life.” I swallowed, not breaking eye contact as I added, “And that you were the one to find her hanging by the old oak behind the inn.”

  She flinched at that, but she was true to her word, she was strong. I could see the emotion swirling on her face and the ghost of a memory fogging her eyes. She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as she confirmed, “I did.”

  I reached out a hand to place on top of her's to console her, but hesitated, was it appropriate? Should I... she took the decision from me as she turned one hand around and clasped mine, lacing our fingers as she shot me a grateful look. I was momentarily sidetracked from my questions by the heat of her skin against mine.

  She gave a little squeeze and shake. That was enough to pull me back to the business at hand. I squinted one eye in apology. “Could you tell me the circumstances that lead to her decision? Just what is the shame of the Hollow I hear in whispers and in drunk men's ramblings?”

  She cocked her head as if debating whether or not to share. She prompted, “Do you really think it can help you to stop the Horseman?”


  I shrugged and admitted, “I don't really know, but I have heard things that point in that direction. I would be a second-rate Hunter if I were to ignore any possible avenue of investigation.”

  She started nodding, not releasing my eyes from the shackles hers had mine in. “Alright, good enough. You've always been honest to a fault.” Then she added more to herself than me, “About most things.” What was that supposed to mean? I looked down at our hands, and she shook them gently and squeezed to get my attention back on her face.

  My eyes hesitated on her lips a moment before continuing up her delicate face to her eyes. Then she brightened, as if in greeting, and I blushed. Heat spreading down my cheeks and neck as my hand started sweating.

  She seemed awfully smug and pleased with herself. I narrowed one eye, and this just got her smiling. Then she exhaled, her smile melting away as she broke eye contact and looked up, recalling a memory. “It was so long ago, just before you came to the Hollow. I know most of it as I spied on all the meetings between mother, father, and the town council.”

  She sat back in her chair, pressing her back against it as if for support. “Things hadn't been good between mother and father for some time. They were always sniping and biting at each other's heels. Hank and I would always bring Mary out to make mischief down the lane when they really got into their arguments.”

  I nodded, even as children they were so protective of their little sister. She cocked her head to look at the fire. “They still loved each other, but things were strained. Then one night, the vicar caught mother in undress with the Chandler John, when he came to the shop to buy candles for the church.”

  She bared her teeth in a grimace. “A quorum was called, the town council and Vicar Jackson passed judgment on mother for her transgressions, labeling her naught but a harlot. They excommunicated her from the church against her and father's protestations. Father had been furious with her, but he truly still did love her and wanted to work to make things right. He felt he had driven her into the arms of another.”