The Hollow

by Erik Schubach

  I would exhaust every other avenue before I pursued that line. I stood, and the vicar flinched back, I suppressed a grin, the man thought I would strike him. Well to be fair, I did hold a blade to his throat and cut it. Just a little mind you, the big baby.

  I asked, “Where are the town census records kept, and the land assayer records?” I would attempt to draw any links to Laura Jefferson with anyone else I could though the town's records. Leave no stone unturned.

  He creased his brow in confusion as he said, “In the town hall.”

  I nodded, of course, they'd be there. In this case town hall was a misnomer. The aforementioned town hall was a back room in the Post Office building, and it had an old closet converted into a holding cell to hold those who broke the laws in the Hollow until the Commonwealth's authorities could pick them up.

  He fished a key out of his Cossack and handed it to me. I nodded my head and just strode to the door, not wanting to give this supposed man of God any more of my time. I had to solve this before anyone else died... even him.

  All eyes were on me as I strode into the chilled air, my breath steaming as crystalized snow started falling, being blown around by the biting wind. The temperature was dropping not rising as the morning progressed, it was unnatural. The sun was but a bright patch in the dark storm clouds that seemed to swirl above the Hollow itself.

  I paused to look at the sky, then shot a glance at the river, skiffs of ice were extending a quarter of the way to the center of the Pocantico on either bank. Was this freak cold snap somehow related to the Horseman? If not and there was a God, what was he playing at? I still had no firm course of the investigation and my window was closing quickly.

  I shivered as a blast of wind swirled into the opening of my cape. I tightened it around me and stepped purposefully to the Post Office on the other side of the Jefferson, near the covered bridge, that crystallized snow starting to crunch under my feet as it started to rapidly gather on the ground.

  When I stepped inside and kicked the snow from my riding boots, I looked up, expecting to see Terry Henderson, the postmaster of Sleepy Hollow, but instead, a balding, portly man stood behind the counter by the little-slatted wall with envelopes stuffed into them here and there.

  I slowed as I headed through the lobby and he asked in a wheezy voice, “May I help you miss?”

  I shook my head. “No, but thank you, sir.” I held up the key and pointed it toward the back door. “Just here to look at the records in the town hall office, Mister...”

  He stood taller, his pot belly sticking out like grandma's prize goose on Christmas morning, ready for basting as he offered, “Jamison Porter.” He was eyeing my attire. I almost sighed, yes I was aware I wasn't in a dress.

  I instead inclined my head and reciprocated. “Imelda Crane.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Ahhh yes. The Hunter from the church. You do understand that...”

  I smirked and rolled my eyes at him in good nature as I unlocked the door and started through, calling back, “Yes, the Horseman. I assure you I am well capable Mister Porter.”

  He called back, “Very good then.”

  I exhaled and muttered under my breath so he couldn't hear, “Glad I have your approval.” I cringed at myself, I sounded petulant.

  Then I looked around at all of the papers stacked in neat bundles in a little shelving unit beside the long writing desk and sighed and started pulling the bundles out to go through them.

  I took notes as I went, trying to read the abysmal handwriting of the various people who cared for the records over the years since Sleepy Hollow's founding. By late afternoon, my head was aching, warning of an impending headache from squinting so much trying to decipher. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and was feeling it as my stomach rumbled, reminding me I needed to stay strong.

  I hadn't learned anything of any significance. There were some interesting land holdings I was going through, and I wondered if many knew just how many plots of land including the Church had been owned by the Watts family around the Hollow.

  I had an inkling they were trying to slowly take the entire Hollow. Well, that wouldn't happen now unless a relative shows up to claim the inheritance, all that land was going to revert back to the Commonwealth's stewardship.

  I also learned that Laura had a cousin who lived on the other end of town. The spinster Ahnalisa Griffith was going to be one of the first to interview after I got something to eat at the Jefferson. I smiled at the thought of seeing Dot again.

  I started to put the last stack of papers back on the shelves when I noticed something. I paused and looked at the listing then unrolled the plot map of the Hollow again and located plot F-3 and tapped it with my finger. It seemed that the Inn was not the only land that Gusterson had owned in the Hollow. He also owned a small half plot behind it, just a hundred by one hundred foot square half plot of forest.

  I closed my eyes tight. Reminding myself that owning land didn't mean anything. Old Gus probably just wanted to expand the Inn and add more rooms as more and more travelers passed through the Hollow. I'd give it a quick once over then get with Dorothy before my stomach ate itself.

  In response, my stomach grumbled again. I smirked down at it. “Oh shush you.” I replaced the papers then stuffed the notes I had scribbled into a pocket in my cape and headed out. The day had almost played itself out since daylight hours were getting shorter and shorter.

  I wondered about Benjamin Franklin's idea of saving daylight hours and candle wicks by moving the clocks ahead one hour in the fall. He was a visionary, and I think a little... eccentric. But people complained that they would lose one hour of their lives if that happened. I chuckled for the whole uneducated lot.

  I had the pleasure of meeting the man five years back when he and father had a closed door meeting about something he had been investigating. I felt he was either always thinking or perhaps a touch mad. The man had died just last year, and I was better for having known him.

  I stepped out to find Mister Porter preparing to close down for the night. I gave him a wave and a smile, and he called out as I left, “Have a good night Miss Crane.”

  I looked to the sky, it was hard to gauge where the sun was, the clouds had darkened the sky even more as the driving snow obscured my vision, but the horizon was still light grey with no noticeable orange tint, so I had at least two hours before the Horseman awoke.

  I hustled behind the Jefferson and strode across the snow that was ankle deep now and piling in drifts at the treeline. I stepped into the shelter of the oak and aspens. The wind wasn't quite as bad there, and I looked around. Tucked in beside the rise of the hill at the back of the Hollow was a small woodshed.

  I hadn't known that was here whenever Dot and I would go exploring. I looked at the ground, but there were no signs that anyone had come this way since the snow started. I approached the structure, not knowing what I was expecting, but the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were standing on end.

  I swallowed, knowing what my subconscious was screaming at me but I refused to believe it. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears, and I swallowed painfully as I drew my father's sword and exhaled, steeling myself as I reached the rickety and dilapidated shed. Something was bubbling up inside me. I recognized it as the anticipation of battle.

  I whispered to myself, “Oh please be wrong.” I reached for the rope handle of the shed and then tensed, my blade at the ready and I yanked the door open to see... there was about a half cord of old split wood stacked haphazardly in the shed, and I exhaled and deflated as I chuckled at myself. “Brilliant Imelda. That firewood was really threatening.

  I couldn't believe the relief that flowed through me as I shut the shed door and started to turn as I stow my blade. I paused when the blade was half way sheathed when I caught site of a huge stump from some ancient felled oak.

  It wouldn't have caught my eye if it hadn't been so blackened with rot. It was unnatural, wood didn't do that. I stepped over slowly pulling my
blade free again and poked at the wood. It was so rotted that chunks fell off of it at the touch of my steel.

  I walked around it to find it was hollow. There were bird skeletons scattered around which weren't entirely covered in the lighter snow under cover of the forest. I examined the hollow space, the wood inside was completely blackened. There was an indentation in the base of the interior where something had sat for a long period of time. It was the right size and shape for a melon, or... a head.

  I glanced at the debris. It looked as if something had torn out this side of the stump recently and whatever had been in there was killing the wildlife who came to feed on the bugs that were in the rotted wood. I would have been able to tell more if the snow hadn't obscured the evidence.

  Though I didn't need any more evidence, I could feel and smell the stink of black magics. That telltale sign of meddling with the dark arts that corrupted the soul of man.

  I exhaled as I just stared into the stump, shaking my head and muttering to myself, “Oh Hank, what have you done?”

  I took a deep breath and steeled myself and reigned in my emotions, centering myself, reminding myself that this was all just circumstantial. I stood and turned to start walking back toward the Jefferson, and saw a figure not five feet away, “Jesus!” My blade flicked up between us, and then Dot staggered back, and I could just make out her face creased with fear as she stared at the blade in the darkening twilight.

  I instantly lowered my blade and took a step toward her. “Dot, I'm sorry. You startled me, what are you doing out here?”

  Worry started knotting in my gut that I had everything all wrong. She said, her voice wavering a bit as she looked down at the sword in my hand, “I was out back to get wood for the fire, and heard someone rummaging about out here in the woods, then heard your voice so came to check.” Oh, thank the Lord.

  I quickly sheathed the blade and hid it under my cape before I took one more step and placed my hands on her arms, giving them a little squeeze as I gave her a reassuring smile. She gave a sheepish smile and a silly bobble of her head. Then I chanced giving her a hug. She held for just a moment longer than me, and it had me blushing. The heat of it chasing away the ache in my cheeks from the cold.

  When she released me, she looked over at the shed with furrowed brows. “I didn't know that was back here. Who's is it?”

  I smiled and shrugged, saying apparently yours, Hank's, and Mary's. Your father owned this land. She seemed surprised at that then looked over to the stump and started to step toward it. I held her back. “Don't. Something vile was there. It's killed all the birds.”

  She narrowed her eyes at it, then turned back to me, and her eyes narrowed further, sorting things out, and she almost accused, “What did you mean, what did Hank do, earlier?”

  I shook my head and started steering her toward the Jefferson when she shivered at a freezing gust of wind. I evaded. “Nothing, just wild speculation. I'm just not thinking straight, I haven't eaten since this morning.”

  She murmured a warning as she looped her arm in mine much like she did when we were younger, “Hank isn't involved with anything untoward Im, you can just push that out of your mind.”

  I nodded. “You're right of course, Dot.”

  She studied me a moment then offered a half forced a smile. “Of course I am, and I'll prove it to you. Stay for supper, and I'll show you, Hank will be working as hard as ever when the Horseman starts to prowl.”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “Of course. I don't know what I was thinking.” This got a smile from her even though my mind was putting all the pieces together and I was almost terrified that they were all fitting nicely. I prayed I was wrong, that Hank held the Hessian soldier's head.

  Chapter 6 – Battle of the Hollow

  We gathered some wood from the overhang behind the Inn and made our way to the kitchen door in the back. We paused at the door, and she looked over at me and said, “Hey Imelda?”

  I tilted my head and wondered what the look she was giving me was all about, it was almost coy and shy, two things Dorothy Jefferson was not. “Yes?” I swallowed.

  She shrugged looking down, her hand still on the peg for the plank barring the door as she asked, “Do you remember the promise?”

  I nodded, remembering that day, we had made a pinky promise when she... she kissed me, and the joy of the memory slammed into me. Only now, with her lips on mine, there was so much more going on as my body reacted instinctively. I was suddenly overheating in the winter-like air.

  She pulled back with a satisfied smirk on her face, I was too stunned and, aroused, to come up with a witty jab at her smugness. I just stood there with my lips slightly parted, blinking as she turned and slid the peg back and stepped into the Inn with a chuckle.

  I was grinning like a fool as I realized I should follow. The weight of the door cause it to swing back and closed in my face on the slated hinges, and I almost dropped my load of wood. I heard more laughter from inside.

  My smile grew, why that little wretch. I sighed. Dot had kissed me again. I pushed the door open and followed her through the kitchen. I gave Abbey and the two adorable girls helping her knead bread dough a smile.

  Then I hesitated as Hank said, “Hello Imelda, Dotty's putting you to work I see.” I just nodded and followed the beguiling auburn haired beauty into the public space. Casting one last glance back toward the kitchen where he was.

  We placed the wood in the rack, the pub was already filling with the die-hards who weren't going to hide themselves away in their homes when the sun set. Dot threw a couple logs on the fire and then turned to me with that self-satisfied grin.

  I felt the burn on my cheeks again as I looked down and tucked my dark hair behind my ear. She stepped past me offering a pinky. I roaring fire ignited inside me as I bit my lip and locked mine with hers. She let go then said, “I've never forgotten.” I swallowed then scurried after her like a lovesick girl. Had it truly meant to her what it had meant for me?

  She put me to work in the kitchen while Abbey prepared something for me to eat. I realized just how hungry I was as I ate with fervor while Dorothy tended the tables up front. Then we all talked about life in the Hollow, and I avoided speaking of my exploits around the girls. Innocents didn't need to hear of the darkness in the world. They were too adorable.

  I tried to act normal around Hank as I watched one of the candles burning, counting first one than another hour tick away. It was well dark now, and I caught myself sighing in relief, Dot giving me a “Told you so,” look.

  I was smiling at her when the first scream rang out. I was through the kitchen door, pulling my cape back over my shoulders and drawing a blade as I entered the public space, Hank and Dorothy following in my wake. I heard a commotion outside and I pushed my way through the men crowded at the door.

  I got outside, and two men were consoling a woman who was pointing at the bridge. I looked over to see a man without a coat walking across the bridge deck. The Horseman almost patiently waiting on the other side. His hands draped lazily over the pummel of his saddle, and the reins of his hell horse held loosely.

  I started running for the bridge. Half of me was elated that Hank was not the one summoning the apparition at sunset. The other terrified for this buffoon who was just blindly walking to the Horseman. I yelled back, “Who is that?”

  Someone offered, “The Chandler. He said something about wanting it to be over.”

  I heard footsteps behind me, and I spun on Hank and Dot and hissed out, “You two stay back!”

  They fell back slightly but still followed at a slower pace. Damn it. I didn't need to worry about them too. I skidded to a stop at the approach to the bridge when John Gooding stepped off the other side of the bridge, his hands held palm out at his sides in supplication. Almost faster than I could follow, the horseman's hand went to his sword and in one swift motion drew it and continued it's arc around.

  Between blinding gusts of swirling snow, I saw the man's body fell one way, hi
s head the other. He had... he had taken his head, not just killed him? So he was one of the targeted men, the Vicar wasn't the last one. But for the Chandler to have been among the men the wraith took vengeance, that brought the list of possible suspects full circle.

  I glanced back but then shook my head, I was forgetting Laura's cousin. The spinster. I was immediately relieved again and turned my frustration back on my true target.

  I reached into my cape and pulled the Horseman's axe from my belt and screamed out a challenge as I ran through the snow and onto the wood deck of the covered bridge, my boots clomping and echoing in the semi-enclosed space.

  The Hessian turned toward me, and I got the impression of rage as he dismounted and held his blade at the ready, bouncing in his hand.

  I thought I saw the shadow of someone in the darkness crouched by one of the timbers holding the roof as I passed. I shook it off, it was just a memory of when I had crouched in that very spot to watch father confront this very demon. If I can just force him back into the water again. And prevent the body from floating downstream, I could purify it with fire, send the wraith to its final rest. And this nightmare would be over.

  I heard a hissing screech as we clashed, I don't know how it could make a sound without a throat or mouth. The sound chilled me to my very soul, but I kept my wits about me as our steel clashed, sending sparks up in the night, lighting up the specter in quick snippets of time. The clang of steel against steel echoing in the darkness.

  We exchanged a flurry of blows that seemed similar to the furious and fog that were now swirling around us, obscuring my vision even more in the night. Was he commanding the elements like this? I showed him my right side again and again as I took blow after staggering blow on my steel, my father's steel. Steel that had already tasted the blood of this abhorrent apparition.

  He finally took the bait when I had finally moved my left side away from his watching stallion. If it were his eyes, it wouldn't even see this coming. He overextended in a thrust to my exposed ribcage, and I spun away, hid blade slicing into my cape and I felt the steel brush my shirt.