Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones

by Richard Gleaves

“What?”

  She slapped the water with both hands. “Brom! Brom! The water’s bleeding in!”

  It was not Kate’s voice. It was Agathe’s, harsh and chilling.

  “I have made my sacrifices. Take him, my Horseman! The last child of William Crane!” Her fingernails darted up and scratched Jason’s cheek. Kate fell to the ground, convulsing.

  A sea of ghostly faces stared at Jason from the shadows. Old faces, mostly. Spirits who had left bodies wracked by long illnesses—by wasting diseases and heart attacks—by strokes and cancers. Death had not glorified their forms. These were the same specters that, when living, haunt the halls of nursing homes and geriatric wards. One old woman was bald, the shadow of some desperate chemotherapy.

  “Kate. I need you.”

  “Ja—Jason? I feel sad…”

  “They want to keep us here. Don’t give in to it.”

  The ghosts parted, standing on either side of the brook, their eyes downcast, subservient. Splashes of red appeared in the brook. Glowing raindrops. They gathered. The brook became a red carpet stretching into the night. And at the end of it…

  Jason and Kate backed away, splashing across the water.

  He rode no horse. He wore no cape.

  He stepped onto the surface of the Gory Brook and strode down the red carpet of blood. He stopped at the tree of the hanged man. The tree shivered. The last of its leaves fell—some became black hands on the glowing water, some hung in the air like a swarm of bats: spinning, clinging together. Bushes stripped themselves of twigs and thorns. A horse began to coalesce from the cloud. Two branches and a stone made a kicking foreleg. A toadstool became an eye. A strip of bark shredded itself into a tail. The hanging corpse convulsed and jumped from the branch but did not strike the ground. It caught in air, inverted.

  And deboned itself.

  The clothes tore. The naked body opened from sternum to groin. The body split at the navel, breaking into sections. The skin peeled off. The joints broke apart. Kate buried her face in Jason’s shoulder. Jason couldn’t look away.

  Does a man have a wishbone?

  The broken pieces of skeleton joined the leaves and thorns and grasses to become the body of the Horseman’s steed. The corpse’s skin flattened and twisted to form His saddle—a folded blanket of crude leather. The clothes sewed themselves into His cape. The belt became His bridle. He took it in hand. The horse came to life, chomping and panting. The meat of the corpse spilled as a fountain of gore to redden the Gory Brook. Only one yellow sneaker remained. It circled in the air forlornly and fell to the ground, coming to rest alongside its mate.

  Slowly, as if showing off, the Headless Horseman mounted his steed. Jason felt powerless to run, terrified yet morbidly fascinated.

  “Wh—what do you want from me?” he whispered.

  The Horseman raised a hand and the darkness vomited a hatchet from somewhere deep in the woods—from the armory of Hell.

  The Horseman was gloating. They were on foot. He had all the time in the world.

  “Kate. I need to tell you something.” Jason held her face in his hands.

  “No.”

  “It’s my last chance.”

  “Shut up.” She wiped a tear from his cheek. “Just shut up.”

  “I—”

  A familiar whinny cut off the sentence. The Horseman’s glee twisted into dismay.

  “Gunsmoke!” cried Kate.

  They dashed for the horse, hope replacing hopelessness. The ghosts clutched but were powerless to hold them. The Horseman charged. Kate gained the saddle in one fluid leap. Jason barely managed to get a foot in a stirrup and throw himself over Kate’s knees, holding tight.

  “Hah!” she cried and Gunsmoke rocketed into the woods.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “The Stables”

  Gunsmoke galloped through the forest. Jason tried not to cry out. The pommel of the saddle punched him in the kidneys with every bounce. The pain was terrible. He felt Kate’s hand on his back, trying to keep him on the horse.

  “Almost there! Almost there!” she shouted.

  “Is he following?”

  “Can you see him?”

  “No!” Jason couldn’t see anything but a blur of branches. The world leapt and fell, leapt and fell, punching him in the stomach over and over. He felt as if he were testing bulletproof vests. He would be bruised tomorrow.

  But I’ll have a head…

  They crossed a carriage road. A thorny branch scratched at them. He winced. They tore through a clutch of bushes. The dark ground became smooth. They galloped onto grass and gravel and—

  “Where are we?”

  “The stables!”

  Kate brought Gunsmoke around. Jason caught a glimpse of electric lights, wood buildings, and rows of windows. The punches to his stomach slowed and stopped. He slipped off, dropping onto the gravel. He rose to all fours and retched. He felt seasick.

  The horse heaved and foamed, blowing gusts of fog, overheated from the panicked charge. Kate jumped down, trying to soothe him. She ran to a gabled barn, flung the doors wide, and drew Gunsmoke in, slapping his rump. She ran back to Jason and dragged him onto his feet. They limped together down the row of buildings. Jason kept an eye on the line of trees. They rounded a corner and he raised one hand against the sudden glare of a motion-detecting floodlight.

  “Where to?” he said.

  “I’ve got wheels.”

  “Your bike?” Jason asked.

  “Um… no.”

  Kate fished keys from her pocket, clicked something and—

  The chirp of a car alarm answered from the parking lot.

  Jason’s jaw dropped. She’d led him to a gorgeous red Porsche. It was brand new, with a dealer’s sticker still in the window.

  “Don’t say anything,” said Kate.

  “I didn’t.”

  “My dad feels guilty for being away.”

  “No comment. As long as it’s fast.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Kate slipped behind the wheel. Jason fell into a soft leather seat.

  New car scent.

  “I like my old car better,” she said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Yeah, bullshit.”

  She turned on the headlights. She started the engine and pulled out, looking over her shoulder. The parking lot fell behind. He started to relax. But as they reached the tree line the road dropped away. Jason felt himself being pressed into his seat. The car was rising. They were being lifted.

  “Kill the headlights!” he shouted. “Do it!”

  She did. His eyes adjusted to darkness again. A flood of spirits had poured from the woods and surrounded the car. Kate shifted gears. She hit the horn. The Porsche rocked. Ghostly hands gripped the frame. Jason’s door opened. Fingers clutched for him. He pulled it shut again with difficulty. He felt the waves of despair, the closing trap of fear and panic. Ghosts appeared above them, pulling at the car. Kate pulled a lever and popped the hood. The ghosts held tight until the weight of the car broke the latch. The hood flew upward, waving off the circle of spirits. The car fell again and bounced. The flapping hood blocked their forward view. Kate threw the Porsche into reverse and gassed it, eyes on the mirror. They left the road, lurching backwards across the field.

  “Slow down!”

  “I can’t see! I can’t see!”

  They hit something. Hard. Glass broke. A branch stabbed through the car. The front wheels jackknifed. The Porsche lurched to the right, tipping into a ravine. Kate’s hand flew out to hold Jason in his seat. The branch pulled back. The car tipped onto its side. Her elbow hit Jason in the cheekbone and the weight of her body cracked his forehead into the passenger side glass. The horn blared. The car rolled. Kate’s feet hit the front windshield. The roof of the car pressed in to crush them. The safety glass frosted and bent. The car rocked and stopped.

  “Kate?” Jason called, weakly.

  “What did I hit?” She looked dazed.

  Jason smelled gas. “
Out of the car!” He disentangled himself from her. His foot found the steering column and he pushed off from it, forcing the door open against the slope of the ditch. He pulled himself up by the Porsche’s tire. Kate gripped his forearm.

  The Horseman rose from the opposite side of the wreck. The hatchet came down. Jason dodged. The hatchet pierced the tire. The tire screamed and went flat. The hatchet came down again, went through metal, and stuck there. Jason and Kate scrambled up the slope, hand in hand. The Horseman wrenched the hatchet from the Porsche’s body and brought it down a third time. Its blade scraped metal and sparks flew.

  The car exploded, hitting Jason’s back with heat and light. Across the field, horses wailed. Square heads protruded from every window, like cannons on a ghost ship. Kate pulled Jason to his feet. Their long shadows ran ahead of them through the weeds. To the barn. To shelter. Their shadows were quicker than they were. They beat their owners to the barn by seconds, waiting on the door, shrinking as Jason and Kate caught up. The pair limped inside and shut the double doors behind. Gunsmoke met them and nuzzled Kate’s shoulder. Kate opened “F” stall and they crouched in hay.

  Jason forced his breathing to slow. “Do you have a cell on you?”

  She shook her head. “It was in the car.”

  “Me neither.”

  “There’s a phone in the office.”

  “Then we go to the office. Joey’ll come get us.”

  “You’ll just get Joey killed too.”

  “Something helpful, Kate! This is your world, isn’t it? Don’t you have a spell or something?”

  Kate pulled away, angered. Jason slipped into a pile that smelled of ammonia and manure. He rose and balled his fists, thinking. He leaned through the breezeway, looking in each direction. The stable was a long cracker-box of wood lined with stalls. It reminded him of Noah’s Ark in a movie he’d seen. A vivid spotlight speared through slats at the other end, above double doors like the ones they’d entered. Horses kicked and whinnied and chewed the wood. A bird flew upwards and roosted in the gables. Jason looked for weapons. He saw a chalkboard and a coffee maker, a denim jacket on a hook, a red tub, hanging buckets and bridles. Nothing.

  “He’s a manifest,” said Kate.

  Jason turned. “A what?”

  She stood at the window. The moon hung over her head.

  “A manifest. A manifestation. A ghost with substance. The ash and grass and stuff—that’s not him. He’s a spirit, like the others. They can lift things—like the car—if they work together. But he’s strong. He can make a body. He can manifest.”

  “So how do we stop him from… manifesting?”

  She smiled. Her fingers trailed across the lid of one of the feed bins.

  “Salt,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Salt!” She seized the lid and threw it open, reaching in. She pulled out a handful of oats and threw them aside. She moved on to the next bin. “We give minerals to the horses. There’s got to be salt here. Look.”

  “What do you need salt for?”

  She came up empty again. She turned to him, her voice sharp. “He’s a manifest! Don’t you get it?”

  “No, I don’t, Kate. Not everybody went to wizard school!”

  She spoke slowly, as to an infant. “A manifest can’t cross a salted threshold.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t give you science, damn it!” She took him by the shoulders. “Trust me.”

  “Okay. Okay. We’ll find salt.”

  “We use it as a supplement. Look in all the stalls.”

  They split up. Jason checked “G” stall and “E” stall. They were empty. The bins were bare. He nervously sidestepped the brown pony that occupied “C” stall. It looked at him with baleful black eyes, its breath a rising fog. The bristle of its snout parted and it bared teeth. Jason kept one eye on it, mistook a bucket for a bin and plunged his arm into freezing water.

  “Anything?” Kate called.

  Jason tucked his cold hand into his armpit. “No.”

  “Keep looking.”

  A shape passed the windows. The Horseman?

  Not yet. Please not yet.

  A fearsome black stallion occupied “A” stall. A wooden sign above the breezeway read DAREDEVIL. The horse terrified Jason. It kicked the air, frothed, and lurched from side to side. Fortunately, he didn’t have to enter. The bins were open. Only oats. He reached the far door. Two slabs of concrete made alcoves to his left and right. On one side hung hoses and power washing tools. On the other side he found a blacksmith’s anvil perched on a cut stump. Hammers hung on loops around its base.

  “Where’s the damn salt!?” said Kate.

  “It was a good idea.”

  She joined him and sighed. “Your turn, I guess.”

  “I stopped him with fire, once. How about—”

  Kate gasped and pointed. The stable doors were opening. A dark figure blocked the light. Jason seized a small sledge from the row of hammers. He raised the sledge, ready to bring it down on the figure’s head.

  Wait. Its head?

  “Miss Usher! Thank God!”

  “Carlos!” Kate threw her arms around the man’s waist.

  Jason had met Carlos before. Kate’s overseer, a cherub-faced man of about fifty. Kate released him and Carlos flapped his arms in embarrassment, tucking his chin into his chest.

  “Are you okay?” he said breathlessly. “I saw the car. I’m so glad you weren’t—”

  “Never mind,” said Kate. “Where’s the salt?”

  “Salt? What salt?” Carlos looked at her as if she were crazy.

  “The salt for the horses! Tell me where it is!”

  Carlos frowned. “Don’t mind my saying, Miss Usher, but I know my job. It’s only November and—”

  “I’m not angry. Where is it?”

  “It’s warm enough. They can still use the salt licks out in—”

  “—in the paddock!” Kate nodded.

  “The what?” said Jason.

  “The paddock,” said Carlos. He turned and pointed. “The corral. Right over—”

  A figure thundered past. A blade slashed through the night.

  And Carlos’ severed head fell at their feet.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Salt”

  Kate cried out and covered her face. Jason lurched backwards, avoiding the head that came rolling towards him. Carlos was still in there—looking through the eyes, puzzled and afraid. The head rolled off the slab into the dirt and stopped, face down. Jason nudged the head with his toe, like a soccer ball. It rolled into the night.

  Carlos’ body had fallen just outside. Jason had to roll the body away from the building before they could pull the doors shut. The stable went dark again. He was glad of that. He didn’t have to see the severed head anymore. He didn’t have to see the corpse. He didn’t have to know how much blood he was standing in.

  The Horseman circled the barn. A hatchet broke the wood of the door and withdrew. The Horseman laughed.

  Gunsmoke whinnied hysterically. Did he understand what had happened to his keeper?

  “Carlos…” Kate whispered, shaking.

  “Listen to me. We are not next. I’m going for the salt.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jason wished he believed it.

  “No. I’ll do it. I’ll take Gunsmoke.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes. You’re not a rider. And you can’t outrun him. Your ankle is shot.”

  “Kate—”

  “There’s no time to argue!” She was already climbing into the saddle. “That door splits halfway up. Open the top half. Watch for me. I’ll throw you the salt. Crush it and spread it across the doorway at each end. I’ll keep him busy until it’s done.”

  “Do I say anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like an incantation?”

  She shook her head, looking at him with astonishment. He had never loved her more than in that instant. “Yo
u are such a newbie,” she said. She grabbed a feedbag off a hook and shouldered it. Jason ran ahead, standing ready to open the doors at the opposite end. Kate scratched Gunsmoke’s ears. “Let’s ride, baby,” she said, and gave Jason a nod.

  “Good luck,” he said, and cracked the doors.

  “Yah!” She rode Gunsmoke into the night.

  Jason slammed the doors shut. He limped back to the other end as quickly as he could. He found a metal bar, disengaged it, and cautiously opened the top half of the left-hand door. Cold air assaulted him. Fog had descended. It haloed the lights and obscured the ground. He tried not to look at the body of Carlos. He didn’t see the man’s head.

  He couldn’t see Kate, either. But he could hear Gunsmoke’s hooves. The stabled horses had fallen into hushed, ghostly breathing and dismayed groans. The breeze shifted, stirring the fog and bringing the acrid scent of wet hay. There. The paddock. A dirt corral encircled by a rail fence.

  Kate appeared, her hair free and beating against the back of her neck. Gunsmoke streaked like a demon down the graveled drive. But he wasn’t the only demon. A black shape appeared like a sudden splash of ink, cutting a hole in the fog, gaining on them. Jason began to shout, but Kate had seen the Horseman coming. Gunsmoke reached the fence of the paddock and they leapt it gracefully. Jason saw her scanning the ground. His eyes found the salt lick at the same moment hers did. A bright lump in the grass. But how would she get it without dismounting?

  The Horseman reached the paddock. He didn’t jump the fence. His steed broke apart on impact, the leaves and bones hurtled through the slats, and the horse re-formed without missing a step.

  She grasped the pommel with one hand and slid her leg through the girth strap that ran across Gunsmoke’s stomach. She dangled from the side of the horse, reaching. The horse thundered on. The ghost gained ground. Her open palm pumped up and down. She strained towards the grass. Her fingers closed on the lump of salt but it was too heavy to grasp one-handed. She fumbled it and pulled herself up again. The Horseman swung at her. Gunsmoke reared and kicked. The two horses, black and grey, boxed with each other for a moment. Kate and Gunsmoke took off once more, circling the corral to try again. They leapt the paddock fence again and came around a tree. The Horseman followed. They jumped a sawhorse and crashed through the paddock gate. Gunsmoke stumbled and the Horseman gained ground. Jason’s breath caught. Gunsmoke’s back legs skipped and kicked backwards at the Horseman, unseating him, knocking him into the dirt.