The Hollow

by Erik Schubach

  Her tone took on the air of sadness and inevitability. “The townsfolk shunned mother, to the point she couldn't take it. Then one afternoon, after gathering chestnuts in the forest, I came home to find mother just hanging there. Her body swaying in the wind.”

  She took her hand from mine, leaving a chill in the absence of her heat. She rubbed at the side of her hand and Dot whispered, “She looked so serene. Like she had finally found peace in death.”

  I hated myself for bringing an old pain to the surface. I nodded to myself.

  She looked back up to me. I pretended not to see the tears welling as she put on a brave front. My mind raced, why would this be significant? Then realization started dawning. I looked quickly around the public space as if to ensure we were alone. Then I asked in hushed tones, “Who were the men on in the quorum?”

  She looked up at me and narrowed her brow as she thought on it. “There were five and the Vicar. Richard Stevens, Terrence Watts, Henry Grant, Thomas Dubois, and Archibald Payne.”

  I exhaled long and slow. I knew the names, four of the twelve victims of the Horseman's first siege of the Hollow. Henry Grant had been the first victim in the month's long reign of terror. Over the months, there were many more victims. Among them were Thomas Dubois, and Archibald Payne. Then Richard Stevens died the night before father battled the Horseman at the bridge.

  I had known a couple of them, they were God-fearing men and a bit brash.

  Everything came into sharp focus for me. The Horseman would sometimes take the heads of his victims and lay them at the bridge, and most he would let drop where he killed them. But the only victims he beheaded, were the men of the quorum. He was leaving the heads at the bridge as an offering for whoever had summoned him.

  I swallowed in realization. And I asked carefully, already knowing the answer, “Why was Brandon the new village smithy? Did Terrance retire or move away from the Hollow?”

  She cocked her head, curious as to where I was heading with my change in topic. She shook her head. “No, Terrance died peacefully in his bed two years back, God rest his soul. Age had caught up with him as it inevitably does.”

  I exhaled. Whatever brought the Horseman back to finish his work, couldn't take Terrance's head, so had settled for that of his first born. I suppressed a dark chuckle, as I thought of old man Jasper's words. I whispered them, “Just one left now, then Laura will have her peace.”

  Dot narrowed her eyes and asked, “What was that?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing. Just thinking.” There was only one man left alive who was present at Laura Jefferson's excommunication. One man left whom someone blamed for the woman taking her own life. I suppressed a growl, Vicar Jackson had some explaining to do. He had known what had been going on with the Horseman from the beginning and didn't tell Father, nor me when the Horseman returned to finish his work. All the other deaths perpetrated by the specter were either for sport or to obscure the true targets.

  Was it as simple as the whispers in the Hollow had eluded to? Shame? Was it shame that kept everyone silent about why the Horseman stalked the night in the lands beyond the bridge?

  I pursed my lips and laid my hand on top of hers to offer comfort and apology. Dot grasped my hand and nodded appreciation. I said, “Thank you, Dot. I have to see the Vicar right away.”

  She pulled back a bit then exhaled in a huff and pointed at my plate before releasing my hand and standing. She wiped her hands on her apron and said, “Not until you finish your meal. I'll expect to see you when you're done speaking with the man. I still want to catch up.” Her lips twitched in a little smile that had me nodding dumbly. She had my full attention as she walked back to the kitchen.

  I ate as I contemplated all of this. If only we had this information fifteen years ago, maybe so many people wouldn't have died. And that still begged the question, if this was vengeance, who was summoning the Horseman, and why were there so many years between attacks?

  My first suspect would have been Gusterson Jefferson himself. But that was an impossibility now that he himself has passed on from the mortal coil, yet the Horseman now rides. I ate. This would take some pondering. The Chandler?

  And the inequality of it all, to punish the woman while not punishing the man is unconscionable. Is he not just a culpable as she was? Just as much in violation of God's law? From what I hear, it takes two to make an affair. It is things like this that will change in the coming century, as women will rise to an equal status to men.

  I looked over to see Mary watching from the top of the stairs again, and I gave her a smile and cocked my head. She gave a shy smile back then again removed herself from the stairs to retreat back to the second floor.

  I saw so much of the four-year-old I remembered from so long ago in that smile and was glad she could still smile after the trauma of learning of the circumstances of her mother's death coupled with her father passing, wondering who had shared it with her. It would be trying on anyone's soul. I absently wondered what kind of woman she had become, but no doubt quite capable one, with a sister like Dot.

  I started to the kitchen with my dishes when Abigail stepped out, she was the same smiling girl who Hank had fawned over, just a few more years and a little more weight that looked quite flattering and healthy on her. She smiled widely at me as she looked at me and how I was dressed. “Imelda, you grew up.”

  I chuckled. “Hello Abbey, you're only a couple years my senior. You're looking well.”

  She took my dishes from my hands, making me think they may have been watching me from the kitchen. She blushed a little and said, “Oh hush, I've let myself go in married life. I just had to say hello since Hank said you had become a Hunter like Ichabod. You look the part, dangerous with a feminine flair.”

  I held my hands away from my sides. “It's a calling. You're well?”

  She nodded and blew an errant curl from her face in mock exhaustion. “As well as can be expected helping the troublesome twosome run the Jefferson, and corral the rug rats.”

  My eyes widened at that, and I felt my smile do the same as I asked in earnest, “You've children?”

  She nodded with the pride of a mother on her face as she said, “Yes, the twins, Heather and...” She paused and said in a reflective tone, “Laura.”

  I closed my eyes a moment in reflection. They had named the girl for Hank's mother. I nodded and smiled. “How old?”

  She blew that errant curl again for effect and said, “Seven just this September. They're a handful. Hellions like you and Dotty were back in the day.”

  I chuckled and said, “Again, you're only two years my elder.”

  She countered, “Give me this, a mother's prerogative and such.”

  I nodded. “Aye. I'd like to catch up later, right now I have pressing matters to attend to with the Vicar. Maybe on the morrow, I can dine with the family and Dot?”

  She grinned and nodded as she shared, “Only you can get away with calling her Dot. She hasn't given us a moment's peace since you returned. It is all Imelda this and Im that. Breakfast with us then? Most of the rest of day and night we're running this place, except Sundays of course, that's God's day.”

  I smiled at her and pulled my cape tight around me, preparing for the frigid temperatures that awaited me outside. I inclined my head. “It's good seeing you again Abigail. I'll see you soon.”

  She nodded then with a smirk called over her shoulder, “She's leaving Dotty.” Then she winked at me and turned to the kitchen door and almost got hit by it as it swung outward, Dorothy stepping out wiping her hands on her apron.

  With a smug look on her face, Abbey shook her head at her sister in law and stepped through the door. Dot gave her a scrunched nose retort to the silent teasing. It was good to see they got on well.

  Dorothy pushed her auburn hair over her shoulder and gave me a smile as she walked me to the door. “Abbey says we'll breakfast together. We can talk some more. I... I really missed you.”

  She chuckled under her breath as s
he cocked her head and took one of my hands between hers. “You've said that, Im.”

  I blushed, feeling every bit the young girl she had kissed so very long ago.

  She gave me mercy and leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Go, do your business so we can have some time together without specters, murder, and black arts getting in the way.”

  I just nodded, not trusting my voice. I wonder how Dot would react if I were ever to reveal my true feelings for her? Was she ready for such and admission? Was the world ready? It had to be, as I have pointed out before, it is almost a new century, and everything is changing, there is a world of possibilities just around the corner.

  I opened the door, steeling myself against the biting and frigid wind, and then asked as I stepped out, “See you soon?”

  She held onto the edge of the door with both hands, poking her head out and saying, “You better.” Then she smirked teasingly as I heard the door shut behind me. I finally exhaled, I hadn't been too much the fool had I?

  First I scanned the river bank, seeing the fingers of ice extending into the slow moving Pocantico. If this cold snap didn't recede, I had two, perhaps three days before the river froze over.

  I turned and refocussed myself as I stared at the steeple of the church at the end of the lane. Vicar Jackson had some explaining to do.

  Chapter 5 – Suspicion

  The Hollow was awake then, the familiar hustle and bustle of the three hundred or so people going about their business. I noted a couple families packing their belongings into wagons. I sighed but understood. They were going to leave this cursed village during the daylight hours and not look back before the wraith came and ended them all in the middle of the night.

  As I walked the length of the small township, I paused as I passed Chandler's cottage. Had he involved himself in the dark arts, embraced Satan to punish those who had wronged a dead lover? It fit to a certain extent, except why the fifteen-year delay before summoning the Horseman to ride again.

  Had it taken that long to find the body downstream and pull it from moving water, freeing the foul creature to ride again? Surely the river released the specter itself when it was but the trickle of a creek in the scorching heat of mid-summer.

  Father and I have expected to be called back to the Sleepy Hollow the following year to finish the job, but we never heard back from them until now.

  I shook my head, there had to be more to it than that. I turned back to the church and wasn't surprised to see the Vicar standing in the doorway, wrapped in a thick winter cossack, waiting for me.

  I could already see the shame in his eyes when he saw me approaching. He knew what I would find that father hadn't. I wondered absently if old man Jasper had had a word with him when he sobered.

  I put a hand under my cape and stepped up to him. Before he could say anything, I had my Wampanoag dagger at his throat, pushing him back through the door with my arm across his breastbone.

  His eyes were wide in fear as I kicked the door shut behind me as I continued moving him into the nave, then shoved him down into a pew. I growled out, “You knew! You knew and didn't tell father! All the deaths since we first arrived in the Hollow are at your feet!”

  He didn't even try to deny it. I raised my blade and wanted so badly to strike the pummel of the dagger across his face, but I restrained myself. All those lives lost. I muttered, “And you call yourself a man of God.”

  He looked up at me and weakly nodded. “Ichabod was a hunter, he was supposed to rid us of the evil, and he did.”

  I stared at the man in incredulity, the lowered my blade as I shook my head and sighed. “Well, he's back. Finishing what he started. And now there is only one left,” I said between my teeth the last past with a wicked grin.

  Then I sighed in resignation when he said no more. I wondered how many in the town had known or even suspected but never stepped forward with the information. It didn't matter now. I knew the motivation of the summoner, I just had to find them and destroy their talismans that tied the Horseman to them, I had the suspicion it was the Hessian soldier's head.

  I muttered, “You're a fool.”

  He was still silent, rubbing his neck where there was a thin line of blood left from the razor sharp edge of my blade. I sheathed it and paced up and down the nave as I laid it all out. “The men of the town took it upon themselves to shame a woman for her part in an affair, but not the man.”

  I narrowed my eyes accusingly at him. “The humiliation of it all drove the poor woman to take her own life, much to the shame of the quorum who excommunicated her from the church. Then a specter of evil appeared in the woods beyond the Hollow. Killing all who dared cross the bridge at night before the witching hour.”

  This time I sneered as I said the next part, “Beheading those who participated in the quorum.”

  I said sardonically, “Please Mister Jackson, stop me if I'm in err. That is probably when you and those in the know had pieced it together that the two were connected and you sent for a hunter, my father, to clean up your mess.”

  I sat in a pew across the aisle from him and went on, “The problem was that he didn't have anything to go on, and no pattern he could discern to find the black arts practitioner. So there were more deaths which could have been prevented.”

  I paused and looked into his dark eyes. “Tell me, did it ever once occur to you to just come forward with the truth.” I held up a hand to stop him when he opened his mouth, still rubbing his neck. “No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Your ego and shame overrode your common sense, and you allowed this to happen. The Cardinal will have words for you. I'm sure you will be defrocked.”

  I froze when I saw his eyes widen, and muttered, “Jesus Christ, that was it? You didn't want to be defrocked? Hubris? Pride? That's one of the seven deadly sins Mister Jackson.” He didn't deserve for me to use his title.

  He said in a small voice, “I'd put it to you to not use the Lord's name in vain.”

  “Of course.” I looked toward the altar, crossed myself and said, “Sorry Lord.” I absently wondered if I truly believed in God. I mean, blessed weapons and holy water seemed to work, but so did blessed blades from the natives. Prayer had never done me any good.

  I wonder if it is the intent put behind the blessings that give them power and not the actual deity or spirit that carries that blessing. It didn't hurt to hedge my bets, so I tried to be respectful, especially since most of my work came from the Cardinal.

  I exhaled and gathered my thoughts. “So the likely culprits are Gusterson Jefferson, but he is dead, so that rules him out, Chandler John since it was his love who was wronged.” I cocked my head and locked eyes with the Vicar, and I offered the last, so I could see his reaction. “And the only man from the quorum left alive. Tell me Mister Jackson, are you consorting with dark forces?”

  His face was red in consternation as he blurted out, spittle coming from his mouth, “Absolutely not, that thing is an abomination! An affront to God.”

  Good enough for me, I believed the man because I also saw and heard the fear which underpinned his voice. He knew his was the next head we would find at the bridge.

  I sighed and said, “The Chandler then.”

  He shook his head. “No... John Gooding was our first suspect, we held him in the cell in the town hall until we could figure out how he was summoning the Hessian. But the deaths continued. It couldn't have been old Gus either, he was at the Jefferson the night of every attack, serving drinks like every night since he and his bride set foot in Sleepy Hollow. There were dozens of witnesses.”

  Now he decides to help. I stifled a huff of derision then said, “Then I need to find out who else would have motive. Maybe we are looking at this all wrong, maybe there is a different motive altogether. Did the quorum ever make any other questionable judgments?”

  He shook his head. “The quorum doesn't work that way, they are never the same men standing witness. Lots are drawn whenever it is needed. That same group of men never served on a q
uorum together.”

  I exhaled long and slow in exasperation as I wracked my brains. It had something to do with Laura Jefferson. Who would have the motive to avenge her senseless death? It felt like I had a fist in my gut as I pondered two possible suspects which I didn't even want to think about. They had just been children, like me at the time.

  I couldn't voice Hank and Dorothy's names. I hadn't been around them while the Horseman was out, prowling the opposite bank, just waiting for an unsuspecting victim. I subconsciously turned my head in the direction of the Jefferson. Dot couldn't... My heart sped up when I realized that no, she actually couldn't.

  My eyes watered when I realized that all the children in the town had been locked away in the church for their safety each night. I had never been one of them because I was the Hunter's daughter, possibly the safest person in all of Sleepy Hollow. Yet I snuck out at night to follow father as he patrolled and investigated.

  I hated myself for verifying it with the disgraced vicar. “Was... was Dorothy sequestered in the church at night during that dark time?”

  I saw the man squint in confusion then he softened in realization of what I was asking, “Aye, your cohort in crime stayed with the others.”

  I exhaled a quick and choppy breath, hating myself for ever thinking it. Then I narrowed my eyes, Hank had been a fifteen-year-old boy then, on the cusp of manhood. “And Hank?” Again I hated myself.

  He thought about it for too long and then slowly shook his head. “Not that I remember. But he helped out his Pa at the pub a lot.” I swallowed, and my blood ran cold. “He was only a boy back then Imelda.”

  I nodded, sure I was wrong, but I couldn't dismiss it fully, or I would be just as remiss as the Vicar and the rest of his damned cronies who had paid the price. The fifteen-year gap still flummoxed me. If it had been Hank, why wait? Was it his father's death that prompted the resumption of the haunting? I couldn't continue that line of thinking. Hank was a good person, and he looked genuinely frightened as he recounted seeing the Horseman recently.