The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow

by Mark Latham

  Irving stopped to ponder these words a while, as the good reverend left the church and made his way home. Perhaps, Irving thought, Baltus Van Tassel was not so innocent after all. If he had known of Crane’s reputation, he would surely have opposed any suggestion that Katrina and Crane marry. How strongly had he and his wife disagreed on that subject, Irving mused? With his mind full of conspiracies, and nightfall now completely upon him, Irving mounted his horse and made for his home across the south side of the stream, shuddering when he remembered he would have to pass through Wiley Swamp, where Ichabod Crane had supposedly met a sticky end.

  By the time his horse had plodded to the fringe of the dense grove, the sky had drawn black with cloud, barely allowing a sliver of moon to light the uneven trail. Irving hoped to meet a watchman en route, but there was no sound of another living soul to be heard, just the dull echo of his mount’s hooves on the forest floor. Irving knew he had lingered too long in Sleepy Hollow, and urged the horse on faster, though he could barely see his way. Presently, he caught sight of a silvery light off to his right, which at first he took to be a marsh-light – a phenomenon he had heard of but never seen. Though he was wary of the tales of restless spirits he had heard since his arrival, Irving was a man of sound constitution and rational mind, and thus stopped to peer at the strange light. Through its luminescence, he realized that he was close to the site of an extraordinarily large, gnarled tulip tree, known locally as the “Tree of the Dead” or sometimes “the Hanging Tree,” on account of the legend of Major André. The British major’s execution was often mistakenly attributed to this part of Sleepy Hollow, where the ghost apparently still lingered. And with that thought in his mind, Irving gasped as the silvery light coalesced into a human form. Wisping through the trees was a man, in clothes long out of fashion, translucent and shimmering, with the twisted black outline of the hanging tree silhouetted behind him.

  BROM BONES

  Brom Bones was the hero of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.

  Abraham Van Brunt, called Brom Bones, was a strong, broad-shouldered man – a rowdy and local hero. Famed for his horsemanship, his physical strength, and his love of tricks and merriment, Brom was “always ready for a fight or a frolic.” He was the leader of a small band of men who looked up to him and with whom he rode throughout the countryside playing pranks and getting into brawls.

  Ichabod Crane, in his journal, noted that Brom was ill-dispositioned towards him, resorting to insults and cheap tricks to remove the schoolmaster from Katrina Van Tassel’s affections. The later disappearance of Crane was widely thought to have been at the hands of Brom, rather than the Horseman, though none could prove as much and Brom certainly would not admit to the crime.

  Irving trembled at the thought of seeing a real ghost, but with grim fascination he leaned forward in the saddle and squinted to get a better look. As he did so, the floating figure changed direction, moving closer, and then gaining in speed. A loud moan filled Irving’s ears, and the ghost of Major André rushed upon him like a rolling fog bank, ghastly face torn in an expression of pain, mouth gaping open impossibly widely. At this, Irving’s horse reared and threw him, before galloping off into the night. Uninjured, Irving stood at once, full of terror, though he was quite alone – the spirit had dissipated like morning mist.

  However, that was not the end of Irving’s predicament. His heart had barely stopped racing when he heard another sound from behind him; the slow, steady clomp of hooves, accompanied by the deep, guttural breaths of a horse that has labored hard. Irving turned slowly, his hackles up. He saw nothing but darkness at first, but then small pinpricks of dancing yellow light moved about from further down the trail. They drew nearer, until soon Irving made out a faint orange glow of a jack o’lantern, shimmering off a sweat-slick horse. Hoof scraped stone, the horse snorted. Irving saw a dark outline of a black-clad horseman picking its way through the glade, and knew at once what followed him. The Headless Horseman was abroad!

  Irving had no desire to wait and see if this was another prank of some local rowdy. He turned on his heels and, half-blind with the darkness, ran as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction of the log bridge that marked the edge of the Horseman’s hunting grounds.

  Irving was in the grip of terror. His heart pounded and his legs pumped to carry him away from danger, and yet he heard the gallop of the horse behind him, and ducked instinctively as a sword-blade swept through the air, aimed for the space where his neck had been a second earlier. Irving plunged into the undergrowth, hoping to slow the Horseman in the tangle of the forest, if indeed the Hessian was a substantial being at all. The snap of branches and the tearing of brambles came from behind, and Irving knew the Horseman came on still. He had only his walking cane to help him through the terrain, and it felt most inadequate. The scholar’s feet slipped into marshy ground, water lapping over the collars of his shoes, and he feared he might inadvertently wade into the swamp and do the Horseman’s grim work for him, when suddenly a silvered light appeared up ahead.

  Irving cared no longer if the light was Major André’s mournful spirit – he followed it, with the Horseman behind him all the way, until at last he plunged out onto the trail and, by the pale light of the moon that had so miraculously emerged from the thick clouds, Irving saw his own horse upon the path.

  Abraham Van Brunt, a rowdy and local hero, long held as a suspect in the disappearance of Ichabod Crane.

  He knew that if he hesitated the beast would bolt at the sight of the Horseman, and so he at once mounted his horse, turning it about and sending it into a gallop as the Hessian burst from the undergrowth, flaming pumpkin-head blazing in one hand and long sword held in the other. Irving threw caution to the wind, hurtling along the twisting trail with the Horseman close on his heels. Twice more he felt the swish of air as the Horseman slashed at him with his blade, and yet he escaped, and soon he saw the log bridge up ahead, which spurred him on doubly.

  The Horseman gained on Irving, and began to draw alongside – his infernal steed was imbued with some preternatural vigor. But Irving was not done; he reached to his saddle and pulled out the heavy pistol that he often carried on his journeys north. The Horseman flailed at Irving again, but the scholar ducked beneath the sweeping blade, turned and fired.

  The shot struck the Horseman square in the chest, striking him from the horse, which veered into the undergrowth with a whinny. Irving chanced a look back – suddenly fearful that he had slain a prankster from the village – only to see the black-clad Hessian sit bolt upright, and then stand, holding the jack o’lantern high to light his way as he began to follow on foot. No matter how fast Irving rode, the Hessian always seemed to be a few steps behind, walking with menace, sword slicing the air with the promise of violence. Yet, finally, Irving saw the log bridge ahead, and hurtled across it just as Ichabod Crane had done on that fateful night. Safely across at last, he pulled up his mount and turned to see the Headless Horseman, seemingly unable to set foot on the bridge. The Hessian paced back and forth, pointing his blade at Irving, until finally his horse cantered to his side, misty breath snorting from its nostrils. The Horseman mounted his devilish steed, and turned once more, holding the jack o’lantern aloft and hurling it at Irving with uncanny force.

  Irving, being cut from a bolder cloth than his predecessor, had expected this. He already had his walking cane in hand, and batted away the pumpkin with all his might. Still, the force of the impact rattled him, and almost unseated him; his cane burst into flames and instantly became so hot that Irving was forced to drop it. But he remained in the saddle, and nodded defiantly to his pursuer. At that, the Hessian reared up on his horse, and vanished into the
night like shadows before the dawn.

  Summoning and Vanquishing the Horseman

  So it was that Washington Irving came to realize without a doubt that the Headless Horseman was being controlled by mortals for their own nefarious purposes. What’s more, now he was almost certain who was to blame.

  Irving woke after a fitful sleep of nightmares and fever-dreams. He was shaken, but alive. Irving refused to be chased from Sleepy Hollow before his work was done, and turned once more to Crane’s books. Within them, Irving discovered a variety of charms to ward off evil spirits, and to summon them. The former were employed at once, to provide a safe haven for Irving’s investigation. The latter were studied closely, for ideas as to his next recourse.

  According to Crane’s notes, whoever controlled the Horseman must possess the head, and it would have to be kept somewhere warded against the Horseman’s powers. The church was certainly the most obvious place, although it was small, possessing no crypt, and Irving could not see such a grisly trophy being hidden from the pious eyes of the Reverend Steenwyck. No, Irving recalled an earlier conversation regarding Katrina and Maria Van Tassel, in which they’d been accused of superstition and the making of “heathen charms”; witchcraft, perhaps, ran in the family. It was to the Van Tassel estate that Irving would go, and he must do so in broad daylight, when the creatures of the night held no power over the mortal realm. Crane’s notes suggested that to end the Horseman’s reign the head must be returned to the Hessian, or else buried with his body. Irving had only guesswork to tell him where the body might be, and did not much fancy the prospect of facing the Horseman again – thus he told himself he must take one step at a time. Firstly, he must find the head – then he could decide what to do with it.

  The surrogate head carried by the Horseman appeared to be a jack o’lantern, though Irving believed it to be imbued with the very fires of hell.

  “His terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound.”

  – The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

  It took some time before Irving had sufficiently calmed his nerves to return along the trail through Wiley Swamp. The area was ill-aspected even by day, but with no sign of ghostly activity Irving was able to reach Sleepy Hollow unmolested.

  Irving ensconced himself within the hayloft of an old barn on the Van Tassel estate, within view of the house and outlying buildings, and kept watch. Many hours passed, with Baltus rarely leaving the house except to send some servant or other running to his duties. Eventually, however, as Irving had lost all feeling in his limbs and had almost dozed off, he saw Baltus leaving the house, acting in a most furtive manner. Alarmingly, the old patriarch headed straight for the barn, which Irving had presumed disused, and entered.

  Through the cracks in the floorboards, Irving spied on Baltus, who set about moving several sacks and crates, uncovering at last a large trapdoor. Irving held his breath as he watched Baltus take up a lantern and move down into the concealed cellar. He was gone perhaps half an hour before returning, carefully replacing every item before extinguishing the lantern and leaving the barn.

  A woodsman’s axe, like the one purportedly used by the Hessian to decapitate Dirk Van Garrett.

  Almost at once, Irving climbed down from the hayloft and embarked upon uncovering the cellar door. Taking up Baltus’ lantern, he moved down a set of rough-hewn steps and followed a tight corridor until he reached a small chamber. Irving imagined that this would have provided some safe haven during the war, although that was far from its purpose now. The walls and floor were painted with sigils and strange script, reminiscent of those from Crane’s journal. In the center of the room stood a small plinth, upon which was a filthy cloth bundle and a large, leather-bound book. Even before unwrapping the bundle, Irving knew what he would find, and he was quickly proved correct – a human skull, grinning and dark with age. The book was bound about with straps, and sealed with an iron lock, though Irving recognized it as a magical grimoire. How it had come into the possession of Baltus Van Tassel he knew not, though he supposed madness and wealth made it possible to procure any exotic item, should a man wish it. With little time remaining until dusk, Irving bundled the grimoire with the skull, and beat a hasty retreat.

  In his eagerness to leave the estate, however, Irving failed to notice a servant of the Van Tassels loading a wagon near to the barn. Stealing away in the waning light, he was sighted by the laborer and the alarm was quickly raised. As Irving reached his horse, he heard a commotion from the house behind him, as Baltus Van Tassel summoned his men to give chase. Whether or not he had been identified Irving did not know, but he had the head and the book – if he could only evade capture and return to his house before nightfall, he could yet lay the spirit of the Hessian to rest once and for all. With this in mind, he galloped away as fast as his horse was able.

  Irving was not the most accomplished horseman, and before long he heard the sound of Baltus’ men gaining on him. By the time he reached Wiley Swamp, they had almost drawn level, and Irving recognized some of the men as Brom Bones’ old gang – a posse not to be trifled with. When one of them drew a pistol and shouted for Irving to pull up, he had little choice but to oblige, but not before cantering to the clearing by the Tree of the Dead, for Irving had a notion that he could still wrest victory for the situation in that haunted place.

  When he came to a stop, however, in the darkening grove, the rowdies set upon him, dragging the young scholar from his horse and roughhousing him until he gave up the stolen bundle. They held him there for what seemed like an age, until the sound of a pony and trap could be heard coming to a halt on the path through the trees, and soon Baltus Van Tassel himself traipsed through the undergrowth and into the clearing. The old man’s eyes were afire with menace.

  “So,” said he, “another supposed ‘gentleman’ comes to take what is mine, like a thief in the night. Though I must say I am surprised to see you again, young Master Irving.”

  “Surprised?” said Irving, defiantly. “Because you thought your Hessian had ended me last night?”

  This brought nervous laughter from Van Tassel’s ruffians, who perhaps did not believe in ghosts and goblins. Van Tassel smirked, and held out a hand, into which one of his men pressed the bundle of rags.

  “It matters not what you believe, Mr Irving. All that matters is that I have my property back safe and sound, and your time in Sleepy Hollow is at an end. I trust I don’t have to warn you to go back to New York and never return?”

  Before anyone could reply, the snapping of a twig reverberated around the clearing, and the temperature dropped to a chilling degree. The leaves upon the forest floor scattered as a sudden breeze picked up, and before the eyes of the assembled men appeared a mist-like form – the silvery phantom of Major André – moaning and rushing to and fro. This was enough to break the nerve of the simple rowdies, who fled for their horses and raced away as the ghostly wails intensified. Irving seized his moment, snatching the Hessian’s skull from where he’d hidden it in his saddlebag. Baltus, realizing that the bundle he held did not contain the skull at all, fired his pistol, causing Irving’s horse to bolt. Now without a steed and with night drawing in, Irving dashed to the Tree of the Dead for cover as Baltus drew a second pistol and gave chase.

  A Final Confrontation

  The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost t
o the earth, and rising again into the air.

  It was only a matter of time before the patriarch caught up with Irving, and pointed the pistol at the young scholar.

  “Hand me the skull!” he snapped. “Or it will be the end of you.”

  Irving held the skull out towards the marsh. “Hold your fire, Baltus, or I’ll throw it into the marsh – perhaps you’ll find it before the Hessian comes, but more likely you will not. And what will happen then, I wonder?”

  “You’d be a fool to do it!” cried Baltus Van Tassel. “Without me to control the Horseman, who knows what he will do? You’ll damn us both.”

  “I will have a confession from you first, Van Tassel. Why did you do it? Why kill those poor people in such a way?”

  “Pah! Why else, foolish boy, but to secure my legacy. You would not understand. Everything I have done, I have done for my daughter, and the continued prosperity of my line. The Van Garretts deserved all they got – lording it over the good people of this village for years, when they had only bought their way to title and power. The old families of this district deserve to have their time again – the Van Tassels, Steenwycks, and Van Brunts. I secured the Van Garrett estate as my daughter’s dowry, though my wife insisted that Katrina set up home there with the odious Ichabod Crane. I could not allow such a thing, not after I learned what he was about. The Reverend Steenwyck hoped that I would let him buy the manor rather than see it in the hands of that philanderer, but I had a better plan. With Crane gone, Brom could wed Katrina, and two of the oldest families in Sleepy Hollow would be united. Yet my wife still opposed the match, and what’s more she discovered what I had done. She’d always had the touch of the witch about her, that one. Though I regret her death the most, when she threatened to expose my secret to Katrina in order to sabotage the engagement, I had to act quickly; a fine coincidence that it threw the suspicion away from my house.”