Wake the Hollow

by Gaby Triana

  Dane’s chest swells with pride. “I’ve always wanted to see where Washington Irving wrote ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’”

  I recoil, scoffing. “Mr. Boracich,” I say in my most ladylike voice, “as a literature student of Harvard, you should know that Irving actually wrote ‘The Legend’ while living in London, not here in Sleepy Hollow.” I honestly can’t believe he didn’t know that one.

  He eyes me sideways. “You really know your stuff, girl.”

  “Don’t mess with the best,” I say, and he laughs.

  We clomp down the curved path toward the white tent where the month-long literary festival and puppet show are taking place. Families are buying books, making colorful crafts, learning about the famous resident author of long ago. Dane lets go of my arm to pull open the wooden door to the gift shop, and I’m smacked with scents of cinnamon and apple, candle wax, and old paper—an immediate trip back in time.

  “Welcome to Sunnyside,” a familiar voice says. Behind the counter, someone is crouched over a box of books. “Next tour starts at ten.” A small face with thin-rimmed glasses and a wary expression peers over the counter.

  “Hi, Ellen.” I give the woman a small wave, praying she’s not mad at me, too.

  She stands, a short, thin woman wearing a white sweater hugging her petite frame. More gray than I last saw her. She takes one look at me and smiles. “Nooo. Micaela? Lord, look at you!”

  “Yay, you remember me.” I smile.

  “Of course I do. I’m so sorry to hear about your mother, dear. I was very fond of her.”

  “That makes one of us,” another voice mutters from the storage room. My smile disappears. Janice Foltz appears, tall and burly with thick brown hair that looks like tumbleweeds. “Oh, look who finally made it back!” she says, totally facetious.

  “Give her a break, Jan,” Ellen says.

  “Don’t let her into the house alone.” Janice returns to the storage room. “She’ll only take things, like her mother did.”

  “What am I going to do, steal the fake gelatin?” I do everything in my power not to spew expletives. I feel like I’ve been dragged through snow that’s been pissed on. Dane squeezes my arm. I fight back the trembling in my voice. “I loved my mother,” I tell Ellen, pressing my fingertips against my eyes. “She made things difficult at times, but I loved her.”

  “Of course you did, Mica. Don’t listen to her,” she whispers. Ellen reaches under the counter and comes back up with a tissue for me. “Here you go.” She cranes her neck back to peer into the storage room.

  “Not even for one minute?” I press my palms together in prayer.

  Ellen checks to see if Janice is looking. “The guard’s on break, but he’ll be back in time for the next tour,” she says dramatically. Then she reaches behind her and pulls a big key ring off a giant nail on the wall. “So you may as well come back later.” She winks and shoos me away with a flick of her hand.

  “Okay, then I guess we’ll do that,” I stage-whisper, taking the key and sliding it into my pocket. “Thanks, Ellen. It was nice to see you. Only you,” I say loud enough for Janice to hear.

  Outside the gift shop, Dane draws in a fist. “Yes! Perfect comeback, Mica. Witty and well-deserved. But uh…fake gelatin?”

  “You’ll see. It’s a prop dessert in the dining room. Bram and I used to take turns hiding it in the house. It used to drive Janice insane.”

  “So, you and Bram have known each other quite some time, huh?”

  “Since before Pre-K.” I lead him down the footpath to the front of the little romantic cottage. “We were best friends, but then I left, and things got weird. People talked about my mom and my dad…I don’t really want to rehash it all right now.” Not knowing Dane that well, I feel strange telling him that my mother was considered the town crazy. Then what would he think of me?

  “It’s okay. I understand.” He stops and looks up at the house, snapping a few pics on his phone. The vines on the outer walls of the house have grown more expansive since the last time I was here, but everything else is still the same—green shutters, wrought iron benches outside, green front door… “So this is where Irving called home once he finally settled back in the States.”

  “That’s right. Good job, you.” I laugh, and he elbows me with a playful, sour face. Below me, I hear a meow. A big orange tabby who, eight years ago, gave birth to Coconut looks up at me with one green eye, one blue eye. “Pumpkin! Getting big, old girl!” I squat to pet her, and her body yields to my hand. Her awesome purring begins. “Wow, she’s getting old.” Standing, I push in the key like I’ve done a million times and pop open the front door to reveal checkered tile in the front patio.

  Like coming home.

  The house is simple and clean. Irving’s study to the right, dining room to the left. “See? There’s the fake amber gelatin, still on the dining table.”

  “That”—Dane laughs—“is just awful.”

  “It really is. So unappetizing, isn’t it?” I laugh, leading him farther inside. The white lace curtains still hang in the windows. Years ago, one could walk a certain distance into each of the rooms, but now a velvet rope is set at the doorway. “Wow, this is different.”

  “What is?”

  “Security has gotten tighter around here.” I think about how much I want to tell Dane about the papers my mother left me. Yes, his theory about a missing journal from Historic Hudson was interesting, but it was also way out there, and I don’t know that I can trust him. Trust anybody.

  “I’m sure it has to do with the recent theft,” he says, not pushing and questioning about my mom, and I’m grateful.

  Dane peers into Irving’s office. “Whoa.” Leather-bound books on the back shelf, desk, lamp, little bench where he slept…it’s all still there.

  “He used to take naps right here,” I say, pointing to the bench.

  “This is completely fascinating.” His fingers lightly brush the stair handrail, the walls, the solid wooden furniture.

  I smile. “I remember a run-in with a tourist one time in this very hallway when I was about seven. I was wearing the old-fashioned period dress my mother made for all us tour guides. ‘Aw, are you Washington Irving’s daughter?’ some guy said. ‘Can I take your picture?’ I looked at him and said, ‘He didn’t have a daughter,’ in this totally flat voice.”

  Dane chuckles. “He must’ve been scared of you.”

  “You should’ve seen his wife. She looked at me like I was pure evil, took her snapshot, and walked away.” I never minded the photos. I kind of liked my mom and I in matching old-fashioned dresses, lace collars, and coifs on our heads.

  “You are anything but, Micaela.” Dane follows me through the kitchen into the courtyard. I smile to myself.

  By the old apple tree, a flurry of movement on the lawn catches my eye. Dane tosses me an apple at the same time I look away, and it hits my shoulder then falls to the floor.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “I thought I saw someone.”

  The wind swirls long blades of grass into big, circular patterns, but otherwise the grounds are empty. A bird chases another off the power lines and into a tree. Just past the apple tree, on a little bench under a maple, sits an older man, smoking a cigarette.

  “Must’ve been that guy over there,” Dane says.

  “It wasn’t. It was something else.” I scan the landscape again. “Dane…sometimes I hear voices, see people out of the corner of my eye. People who aren’t there.” I look at him warily. Most people think I’m crazy once they know this about me, but for some reason, I think Dane will react differently. We’ve had so many other things in common.

  “Ghosts? Visions?” His face doesn’t reflect any accusations or mockery. God, I hope I’m right about him.

  “I think so, yes.”

  “That used to happen to me when I was younger.”

  I exhale, parting with a tired smile. “It did? But not anymore?”

  He shakes his hea
d, staring out toward the river. “No. I think I’ve seen too much. My brain’s closed off to it now. It’s awesome that you can still do it.”

  “It’s not awesome, trust me. Most of the time, I wish it would never happen.” I walk toward the big grassy area and plop down in the long blades, taking in the landscape. If I blur my vision against the power lines, train tracks, and Tappan Zee Bridge, I can see why Irving chose this cozy spot as his permanent residence.

  Dane sits next to me, elbows over his knees, plucking blades of grass. “What’s that over there?” I see he’s pointing across the grass toward the flowery fields.

  “The English garden and shed,” I tell him. “Irving was fond of gardens.”

  There...

  I squint, shading my eyes from the morning sun. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Someone said ‘there.’” My heart pounds. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I didn’t hear it.” He doesn’t give me doubtful looks the way Bram used to. He only cocks his head, as if trying to hear the voices, too. “You don’t know who’s talking to you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Though I could probably guess.

  Suddenly, Ellen is standing near us, making us crane our necks back to see her. Against the sky, she looks bigger than her usual self. “Time to go, kids,” she says, holding out her hand for the key. I give it to her and she turns and walks off over a grassy knoll. “Come on. Before the big bad wolf sees you here.”

  “Thanks for letting us in. We’ll go now.” I scramble to my feet, but something catches my attention again. A flash in the far left recesses of my vision. I try focusing on the area between us and the garden. Something’s there.

  Dane tries following my gaze. “Micaela?” His voice sounds far away, like he’s talking through a tunnel.

  A figure. Standing in the field, and yet…it could be anything. Like the walk in the woods a week ago, when I thought I saw someone, but then…no one. Is it a mirage on the water’s reflection? A stray cobweb floating on the river’s breeze?

  Suddenly, feathery wisps of light coalesce to slowly form an image, and the same paralysis that grips me in my sleep seizes me. I recognize her—the woman from my dreams, from Mami’s photo. Standing in the field.

  “Mica?” Dane’s voice sounds miles away.

  I want to scream, but I can only watch as her eyes slowly appear—urgent, wounded, framed by dark, sloping eyebrows. That’s her. Her hand lifts slowly then points in the direction of the garden house.

  I’m imagining this. She can’t hurt you, Mica. I push my body forward to break free of the paralysis’s lock on me, but it’s like my own aura has formed a straitjacket around me. I push again, until finally, I surge forward, barreling into Dane’s arms.

  He catches me, his pale blue eyes full of concern.

  “Get me out of here, please.” I fight for each breath. When I glance back, the woman is gone. “They’re appearing in real life now. I can’t take this.”

  “Real life? As opposed to…” Poor Dane is trying so hard to understand, and great, I just showed him a glimpse of the unstable girl everyone expects me to be.

  “My dreams,” I try explaining. “That’s where I usually see her. Now she’s here.”

  “I see,” he says, but it’s not condescending. He just doesn’t know what to do. “Why don’t we get you home? Come on, I’ll help you.” Dane tugs me by the hand. I let him lead me toward the gift shop, past the worried faces of tourists who think I’ve fallen sick and Ellen, and up the winding path into the parking lot.

  I succumb to his movements like a rag doll as he works me into his car. When he closes the door, I drop my head into my hands. I’m losing it so bad…

  Dane gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Then he looks at me helplessly. Quiet. Suspended breath. “It’s okay, Micaela. How can I help you? What can I do?”

  “Just get me home, please. Back to Bram’s, I mean.” I sob into my hands.

  Driving back onto Route 9, I try to thrust the mental image from my mind—the woman’s horrible look of desperation. She pointed to the garden, the shed, or Lyndhurst, the castle adjacent to the property, I’m not sure which.

  What does she want with me, Mami?

  “I have to figure out what she wants,” I whisper, staring at the blur of trees flying by my window. “So I can help her. So she’ll leave me alone. I think my mother sent her.”

  “What if you talk to them?” Dane suggests. “I know that’s easier said than done, but maybe they want to tell you more.”

  I nod, pressing my hands against my eyes. Yes, I have to try to be more receptive to the ghosts from now on. I was hoping not to, but now it appears I have no choice. Great. Any sense of normalcy I might’ve started feeling since I came to town suddenly crashed out on that field. I was actually beginning to settle into the valley again, like a lost child in her mother’s arms. But Sleepy Hollow excels at casting spells like that. It pulls you, draws you in, it lulls you.

  But now I either need to wake up from the valley’s charms…

  Or give in to them completely.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “It was the very witching time of night.”

  At Bram’s, I stumble in just as he’s stumbling out again with more decorations piled in his arms. He spots the blue Eclipse driving out of the parking lot and makes a series of sarcastic expressions. “Nice.”

  “What do you mean by ‘nice’?” I’m not in the mood for an argument or any immature comments.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I throw my purse down on the couch and face him.

  “Yes, nothing, oh, lover of literature. Don’t worry about it.”

  I let loose a sarcastic laugh. “Whatever. Don’t tell me how you really feel. It’s fine.”

  He sets down his box on the couch’s armrest. “Oh, you want to know how I really feel? Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little nauseous over your sentiments for a certain teaching assistant.”

  “Ugh, I knew you’d get like this. First of all, the word is nauseated, and no, I don’t have sentiments for him. I just think he’s fascinating.” He wants to be jealous? I’ll give him a reason to be jealous then.

  “Princess, not only do you have sentiments for him, but you drool down my neck during class, and not because of my charming good looks.”

  I can’t contain my laugh. “Wow. Keep going. You’re on a roll. Listen, if I like Dane, it’s in a kind of unattainable way.”

  “Aha, which means if you could attain him, you would. Am I right?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “All I want is the truth. Why can’t you just be honest with me, Mica?”

  “You know what?” I throw my hands up and head into his room. “I just had something disturbing happen to me, and the last thing I wanted was to come home to an inquisition.”

  “I haven’t asked you a single question about where you went with that guy.” He follows me into his bedroom, pulls me toward him, and spins me around. My mind reels from the roughness of his face and how close he suddenly is. “All I care about is you. Tell me what happened.”

  Gently, I push him away. “Bram…”

  His warm breath on my cheek sends shivers up my arm. “I haven’t stopped thinking about last night, after the meeting. Did you feel anything at all?”

  I nod. “I did. But I have a million things going on in my head right now, and I’m trying to sort them out.”

  “Like what? Just tell me.”

  I know he’ll mock me for telling him what happened out on that Sunnyside field, but what kind of friend would I be if I trusted Dane with my secrets but not Bram? Bram may not be perfect, but he’s my oldest friend. Sigh. “Fine, I saw the same ghost woman from my dreams. Except I saw her in front of me.”

  “Does Dane know you saw her?”

  “What difference does it make if he does or doesn’t?” I scoff. “I can’t believe that’s your question. After you told me to confide in you, too.”<
br />
  “I’m sorry, Mica.” He grips the sides of his head like he’s trying to banish all jealous thoughts from his brain. “I’m so, so sorry. What I meant to say is, holy crap, that’s scary. Maybe it wasn’t a ghost, though. You know? Like, maybe it’s your brain making pictures. Making you see whatever your subconscious wants you to see. Matrixing.” He snaps his fingers. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s called.”

  “I wasn’t imagining her,” I snap, cringing at how insane I sound just by saying that. “It was a person. The woman from my nightmares. I saw her,” I say through gritted teeth. “Not a shadow. Not the wind. I am not crazy.”

  I am definitely crazy!

  “I’m not saying you are!” He blows out a breath. “I’m just trying to help… Forget it.”

  Yes, I know people sometimes see faces and shapes in shadows and patterns, like seeing a pair of eyes, nose, and mouth on the face of the moon. But this is not matrixing, and if it is, then I’ve been matrixing all around town for the last week.

  By his silence, I realize I’m leaving Bram far behind in another reality. I feel myself shutting down, unable to share anymore. He wouldn’t understand anyway.

  “Look, let’s talk about it later tonight. They’re posting parts for the show in a few minutes, and I don’t want to be late. But when I come back, let’s sit down when we’re both calm. Okay?”

  I nod. “Sure,” I say, but I know that, unless Bram tries to understand what I’m going through, I won’t be telling him about the voices and visions again.

  ...

  I dial my dad’s number and wait. No fear. But he doesn’t pick up. 11:06 p.m. and busy in Bogotá? He must know I’m working to find answers to my mom’s issues. His voicemail picks up. “Dad, I need to talk to you about Mami. Call me.”

  To avoid falling asleep and seeing the ghost woman in period dress again, I pore over my mom’s papers for the hundredth time. I’ve created sticky notes of my own and a list of questions. On the bed, Coconut clings to my side. Poor thing is recuperating from years of neglect. I understand the feeling, Coco, I do. But, maybe…Mami had good reason.