“I don’t know,” I said, using the shovel to move some of the dirt around the questionable area.
Brom moved over to my hole, offering me his hand. “Let me.” I took his hand, and he helped me up and out, dropping himself in. I leaned over, watching him work.
My stomach was in knots. This could either be Kat’s saving grace, or we could be dooming the entire town to hell. It might’ve been selfish, but for Kat I would do anything. I would do anything for that woman; I hoped we got to her in time.
Brom let out a few grunts, and I was just about to ask if he had it when he reached out of the hole, pushing something out. It was still covered in flecks of dirt, but its top was smooth and ivory-colored in the moonlight.
The skull. We found it.
As I grabbed the skull and dusted it off, Brom heaved himself out of the hole, dusting off his pants. “Now what?” he asked, looking at me. “How do we…how do we get it to him?”
I stared at the skull for only a moment. It was sort of funny how normal it looked. Granted, I hadn’t seen many bones in my day, but it didn’t look like the skull of a spirit. Just a man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. A man who was now dead, a man who had died so violently, he became something more, cursed to roam the otherworld in constant search of his head.
He wouldn’t roam it in search for much longer.
“We go the bridge,” I said, “and hope it isn’t past midnight.”
Brom checked his phone. “It’s eleven thirty-nine. We can make it if we hurry.” We left the shovels, sprinting back to his car. The roads of Sleepy Hollow were mostly empty. This part of Tarry was ridiculously superstitious, all for good reason.
I held the skull against my chest as Brom drove like a maniac, speeding and breaking quite a few traffic laws. My fingers dusted out the eye sockets, and as I stared down at the head, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how perfect it was. Not a single crack in the skull, even with me slamming my shovel against it. Not a single missing tooth. It was almost like the skull had been preserved, like it was waiting for this night for centuries.
In a few minutes, we arrived at the base of the old wooden bridge that no one in town dared cross at midnight. No one recently but Kat. I was the first out of the car, before Brom even had the chance to park it, and I hurried to the center of the bridge, setting the skull down carefully. The night air whipped up a breeze, and I refused to remain on the bridge as the clock struck midnight.
I turned, meeting Brom by his car. He’d pulled off the side of the road and onto the sidewalk and grass, semi out of his car, semi still in, as if he was waiting to hightail it out of here. Too late to change his mind now.
Brom leaned on his open door, glancing at his phone again. “Eleven fifty-eight,” he muttered, meeting my stare as I moved to stand beside him. There were no cars nearby, no lights other than the headlights from his vehicle. We were alone here, and never had I felt so out of sorts. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “but it’s the only chance we have.” The only way we can find where Kat was.
I should never have let her storm downstairs by herself. I should’ve—
All of my thoughts trailed off when a different kind of breeze blew by. This was a breeze that chilled me to my core, made me want to be sick. This was a breeze full of ominous foreboding, and I knew, staring at the skull thirty feet away, this might be the worst mistake I’d ever made.
Brom was slow to look at his phone once again, his eyes lingering on its flat screen. “Midnight,” he said. He needn’t have said it though, for the moment midnight struck, the air cooled at least twenty degrees.
The skull on the bridge moved of its own accord, lifting into the air. Brom and I watched in silence as it continued to rise, almost like an invisible hand held onto it, moving slowly to place it where it belonged—onto the Horseman’s shoulders.
The skull’s back was to us, meaning the Horseman faced the other direction. Which was fine, especially because once the skull reached the precipice of his stature, once it sat between his invisible shoulders, he did not remain invisible any longer.
The Horseman’s tall, wide body appeared, tangible and here, no longer in the otherworld. The skull resting on top of his shoulders ignited into bright blue flames, so hot and bright it was near blinding. I squinted, but I could not look away. This was my first time seeing him, witnessing how terrifying he was.
He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, taller than me, and even wider than Brom. A soldier, definitely.
“Holy shit,” Brom muttered, reaching for his hip, for his gun, but he wasn’t wearing his police belt, and his gun was not on his person. Besides, I didn’t think a gun would do much against the creature before us.
Creature. Was he a man? Or was he a spirit? He had physical form, but any spirit could if they were possessing someone. He…he wasn’t. This was his body, and he looked so alarmingly real.
The flaming skull head tilted to the side, as if he was cracking his neck. His gloved hands curled into fists, and slowly veins started to form between his shoulder. Cartilage, muscles, and lastly skin and hair. Hair that was black as the night sky above us, as dark as the uniform he wore.
The Headless Horseman was officially headless no more.
Swallowing my nerves, I moved away from the car, stopping before I set a single foot on the bridge. No more fire surrounded his head; he looked like any other man, old uniform aside, at least from the back. It was now or never.
“We found your head,” I called out to him, watching as his wide shoulders rose and fell once. Though he was still a good ways away, I swore I could hear him breathe. His breaths were like growls, menacing and rough. “We helped you, but now you have to help us.”
The Horseman said nothing; he didn’t even turn to face me. He kept breathing, his shoulders moving slowly, deliberately.
“Not us,” Brom called out. “Her.”
Yes, the Horseman was connected to her; he’d be helping her, and us. Mostly her.
I glanced at Brom for a split-second before returning my gaze to the Horseman, who still hadn’t moved an inch. “Kat was taken. We don’t know where she is. Help us find her.” I closed my eyes, my voice softening, “Help us save her.”
Pleading with the Headless Horseman to help us save Kat? I never would’ve guessed it was where today would end. Or begin, technically, since it was after midnight. Today was a new day. I only hoped Kat was still alive.
A metal ax appeared in his right hand, and his fingers gripped its shaft hard. The ax, though it had appeared out of nothing, seemed to be just as real as he was. It was a large, two-sided ax, one of its blades shimmering in redness, the other wielded a blue edge.
The Horseman turned his head, his chin nearly touching his shoulder as he looked back at us, glaring with eyes as dark as the night sky, blacker than his soul—if he even had a soul. He did not wear the expression of a man who wanted to help.
I stood my ground, even though I really wanted to turn and run. I was a Crane, but I would not run from this, from him. Tonight, I’d face down the Headless Horseman. If I said I wasn’t afraid, I’d be a liar—but love made even the most intelligent men into fools. Right now, I had the feeling I was the worst fool of them all.
I just brought a killer into Sleepy Hollow. Any deaths the Horseman dealt from here on out were on me. I might’ve made a mistake, but I did it for Kat.
I just hoped it was enough.
Chapter Twenty-One – Kat
Nausea crept inside me, threatening to make me upchuck right here and now, on the stone floor. Around me, a windowless crypt stood, blocking out the world outside. The only reason I was able to see was because of the crack in its top stone roof. It was an old crypt, built for someone who had money.
A large stone coffin sat in the center of the crypt, which was no bigger than my bedroom back home. Maybe eight feet by fifteen feet. The door to it was shut, and though a name was ca
rved into the stone behind the coffin, I could only stare at the figure hunching on top of it.
My dad.
But it wasn’t my dad.
It was a spirit that wore my dad’s face, and his naked body, straight from the hospital morgue. I saw parts of my dad I never wanted to see, along with how the whites of his eyes were yellowed and covered in film. His cheeks were pale and gaunt, his chest caved in. He looked twenty pounds lighter, and when he turned his head, I saw a stitched mark and a bit of shaved hair. A scar lined his chest, and I came to the startling realization that they’d already taken out his organs.
This thing before me wasn’t even my dad. It was just a skin suit that was halfway down the road to rot town.
The thing that wore my dad’s face cocked its head. It perched on top of the stonework, its knees spread and its hands jittery. “Awake,” he said, “finally.” His voice sounded like my dad’s, but robotic and cold. Still, it was too similar. I had to close my eyes to stop myself from breaking down.
Coming face to face with a spirit wearing your dead dad’s body? Not something anyone should have to go through.
I heard a disgusting sound, bare skin moving, and when he asked me “What’s the matter?” I had to open my eyes. He knelt before me, a sick, twisted smile gracing his face. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Fuck off,” I said, not feeling very spunky right now. I kind of wanted to curl into a ball and cry, because this was just messed up. An epic sort of twisted.
The spirit grabbed me with hands that were as cold as the chilly, stale air around us. Fingers digging into my cheeks, it made me meet his yellowed eyes, eyes that I should never have had to see again. “You’re mine now, sad girl,” he said, no breath escaping his mouth. “You won’t get away this time.”
“Then just do it already,” I said, spitting on him. The fingers gripping my face held on harder, and I winced as his other hand grabbed my neck. The spirit was a lot stronger than my dad was, and a hell of a lot stronger than the body he wore would suggest. “Open the veil. Do it. End the suspense.” It was hard to get out the words, but I managed.
I also saw stars, so there was that.
“Open the veil?” He laughed, releasing me. “Is that what you think this is about? You have it all wrong. We can’t open the veil, even with you. That is something only you can do, witch.”
I blinked, meeting my dad’s dead eyes. “What?” My voice came out raspy. Being choked wasn’t too fun.
“It’s a witch’s spell, silly,” he said, grinning a smile full of yellowed teeth. “A spirit can possess a witch, but that does not give the spirit the ability to cast. That comes from your heart, your soul…” He paused, staring at me like he was getting ready to eat me. “Sad, sad girl. Wrong, wrong girl. Do you know why spirits possess?”
I shook my head, even though I didn’t want to. Admitting my ignorance to this thing was not something I wanted to do, but then again, neither was being locked in a crypt with it.
“They hunger.” He lunged for me, running his hands all over me, too strong for me to fight. “They desire. They want to feel human. But mostly, sad, sad girl, they want a feast. A soul whose body is possessed doesn’t make it out of this world. No afterlife, no white light for you.” He frowned dramatically, and I responded by lifting a foot and kicking his lower stomach, sending him flying back. Maybe it was because the body was decaying, but the spine cracked on the stone coffin.
So the spirits couldn’t use me to open the veil. That was good to know; Crane’ll be relieved to hear that, assuming this spirit knew what it was talking about. What was not so good was learning that they were just ravenous fucks who wanted to feast on human souls. Oh, and the afterlife—apparently that was a thing. My mind reeled.
As the spirit tried righting itself, I darted for the door to the crypt, but a cold hand grabbed me, pulling me back. This time it was the spirit who used its strength to throw me across the crypt. I sailed through the air, as if I weighed nothing, my back landing on the opposite wall, the one with the etched inscriptions.
Abraham Van Brunt, along with an epitaph that was longer than was necessary.
Of course it was his grave. Whose else would it be? Murphy’s fucking Law.
Pain shot down my spine, and I found I could hardly move. My back wasn’t broken, just really, really fucking sore. I didn’t want to get up. But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to. The spirit wearing my dad’s body moved towards me, wearing a slick, disgusting smile.
“You do look like her,” he said. “I thought you’d be stronger, sad girl. Pathetic girl.”
The way it spoke of the original Katrina…made me start to wonder if Katrina was more than she was in the old stories. Just a woman caught between two men—or was she something more? A witch?
That book of shadows…was it hers? Everything was more convoluted than I thought, and it was already pretty fucking complicated.
“Why me?” I asked, not really asking the spirit in front of me; it was more of a general question. A why me, God? sort of thing.
It shot a hand out, gripping my neck once again, choking off whatever air I hoped to breathe. “Because, even if you’re not as strong as her, you’ll still feed me until the day your body gives out.” The spirit touched its forearm with its free hand, digging a nail into the flesh of the arm holding me back. When the flesh broke apart, there was no blood, only the sounds of skin separating.
I watched even though I shouldn’t. I watched even though I knew it would make me sick.
It was digging out a bone, and when it had one in its fingers, it tore it out, a sickening crack reverberating through the crypt, the worst sound I’d ever heard. Still, its hand gripped my neck, my vision fading fast, as if the missing bone in its arm meant nothing. The laws of physics? The laws of nature? Didn’t apply to the thing in front of me, I guess.
I was so dead.
The spirit jerked its free hand at the ground, breaking the bone into a sharp point, which it then hovered inches from my face. “Sad girl, are you ready to be mine? The sooner you let me in, the less it’ll hurt.”
Oh, yeah, sure. Like I was just going to throw open my arms and welcome this crazy bastard inside of me. Welcome, welcome. Here, would you like a finger sandwich? It contains a piece of my soul. Go on, I made it especially for you.
No fucking way.
“Do your worst,” I told it, not really prepared to be tortured, but what was I going to do? My back ached something fierce, and my neck was already bruising. I could hardly breathe; it was a miracle I was conscious through all the pain. Still, letting this spirit inside of me was the last thing I would do. It would have to cut me up a hell of a lot before I was weak enough to stop denying it.
I had no idea what made me so strong, why it couldn’t just pop into me like it’d done to Mike, but I wasn’t about to sit there and ponder it. I’d do my damnedest to make this spirit my bitch.
The spirit continued to smile with my dad’s rotting face, the stench of the putrid flesh making me gag. Of course, the smell was the least of my worries. My body hurt, and I was all but powerless when it took my left arm, tugged it taut, and then dragged the sharp, broken bone along my forearm.
Even more pain grew, spiraling inside of me, and I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out. My skin split, red oozing out with vigor. It wasn’t too deep of a cut, but it was six inches long and as ghastly as an injury could be. And since the spirit had done it on the outside of my arm, I probably wouldn’t bleed out. It wasn’t like it cut a wrist.
This thing…it wouldn’t hurt me too bad. It would keep me as intact as possible, otherwise there’d be no body to jump into. No soul to spend decades devouring slowly.
“Such nice blood,” the spirit spoke, its mechanical voice like razors to my ears. Couple that with the fact it sounded like my dad, and I was in hell. This was a painful, excruciating hell, and I was stuck here for the foreseeable future.
Crane and Bones wouldn’t be able to find me. I wa
sn’t even sure where I was. It was up to me to get out of this; tonight was not the night to rely on someone else to save me. Then again, I’d never been a huge fan of damsels in distress.
With my uninjured hand, I reached for the piece of broken bone on the ground. I nearly fell over, my spine in agony. The spirit was too enthralled with my blood to stop me. Before it could move, before it could defend itself, I slammed the bone fragment into its chest. The sharp ivory pierced the hollow chest cavity, with a sickening sound, but I should’ve remembered there was nothing inside the body to stab. No organs, no heart. Nothing inside it was living.
My dad was dead, and I’d just stabbed his body.
Suddenly, it was all too much for me. My eyes pricked with tears as I watched the spirit reach for the bone protruding from its chest, tearing it out. Not a single drop of blood came out, similar to its arm, which was still split wide open, moving as if it wasn’t missing a crucial bone.
“Go to hell,” I whispered, and it took everything in me to not look away as it grinned.
“Hell,” it echoed, dropping the bone to shoot a hand out to me. Its fingers dug into the wound on my arm, beneath the top layer of flesh, and I saw stars of bright suffering. I cried out even though I tried not to. “You’re already there, sad girl.”
I blinked, and the last thing I saw was the spirit, my dad’s shoulders rising and falling with hollow, empty chuckles. And then I was thrown into the one place I shouldn’t be, the one place that I couldn’t defend myself from the attacking spirit.
The otherworld.
In a flash, in a single blink, the spirit and my dad’s possessed body were gone from my sight, and I sat against the wall of the crypt in the hazy otherworld. Alone. Who knew what would be happening to my body on the other side? What if this was all the spirit needed to possess me? This was the absolute worst time to cross over.
This…I realized in horror, this just might be the last few moments of my life. My last conscious thoughts. Would I be self-aware as the spirit controlled me? Would it be like driving in a car as the passenger, unable to steer or do anything?
The Cursed Hollow (Return to Sleepy Hollow Book 1) Page 19
