Wake the Hollow

by Gaby Triana

  “I just picked my favorites to display.” She shuffles down the hall, voice disappearing into the distance. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  I stare at the line-up, as Betty Anne returns time after time with roughly forty more dolls. My plan is to open up all my evil stepsisters, retrieve the pages, and read through them. So I do, way into the night, occasionally crying over more of Mami’s words. Each doll contains four to five typed pages, enough to cover the undocumented year of Washington Irving’s life.

  Betty Anne reads one of the pages, palm to her chest. “Oh, my.”

  Around the thirty-fifth doll—a ghastly life-size thing with a crooked grin that would frighten any little girl—I find the journal’s original leather covers, back and front, and the strips of rawhide to bind it all together. I go on this way for a few hours, meticulously decimating each and every doll, laying out her contents, then piling the empty corpses on the couch, until finally, around three in the morning, with eyes burned from exhaustion and fiberglass entrails everywhere, it’s done.

  And there, on the floor of Betty Anne’s little house on Maple Street, in glory so haunted and justified, it deserves to be seen by all the literary world, lies the whispered, the forgotten, the real legend of Sleepy Hollow.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “…his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains.”

  In the late morning, sunlight slivers through the shutters, forcing my eyes open. Not only to the sound of the front door opening and shutting, but to the realization that I’m wide awake. That my life suddenly means something. What will I do with the journal, I don’t know yet, but I succeeded in helping my mother with the last request of her life, and that’s all I care about.

  But there’s more. Mami said there was. Rolling toward the nightstand, I pick up the note that was inside Sofia:

  Did you dream of what lies beneath the lavender? I think the rest is there.

  Stay protected. I love you.

  “Yes, Mami. I did dream of lavender. Was it a garden near a little house?” I whisper. “Is it far away or nearby?”

  Her reply doesn’t come. But something else does. A knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  In walks Betty Anne, still dressed in pajamas, brandishing…a gift? “What is that?” I sit up in bed.

  She places a medium-sized box in my arms, cold and slightly humid. “This was on the porch for you. Doesn’t look like it was mailed or anything.”

  My name is written in orange and black alternating markers flanked by bad drawings of a jack-o-lantern on one side and a bat that looks more like a chicken on the other. “Must be from Bram. Thanks.”

  “Hmm.” Betty Anne turns to leave. “If you want breakfast, I’ll have it ready in five minutes, or lunch instead, considering the time.”

  “What does that hmm mean, huh?” I smile at her. It’s been a while since I even mustered up a smile, and it feels foreign on my face.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Hmm just means hmm.” She leans against the wall and rests her head. Then she leaves me alone with my curiosity and some serious clear tape to start peeling.

  I finally get it open, tugging the tape off, and find a little white envelope sitting on top of brown shredded paper. I open it and slide out a printed HollowEve entrance ticket and a note card with Jack Skellington on it, arms raised against a full moon. It reads:

  The Pumpkin King reigns tonight.

  Be my Sally?

  I’m not sure if I can ever be Bram’s Sally, but once this is all over, maybe we could start again. I toss out the paper. Lifting it up and over the edge of the bed where I can release it is the most beautifully rich, gothic-inspired, floor-length gown I’ve ever seen. Dark amethyst and black with beadwork, scrolls, and a fitted bodice that would put even the wench version of Katrina Van Tassel costumes to shame. I can almost hear Bram’s wicked laugh.

  I’ve always told myself that no man could buy me with bribes and gifts, but this, this is an excellent attempt. Though I’m not in the mood for HollowEve, this dress is too beautiful not to show off. And I could use a night away from the stress. But I won’t tell Bram I’m coming. I’ll just show up and surprise him.

  ...

  Gathering the folds of my dress, I stride up to the entrance of HollowEve at Philipsburg Manor, a long and stunning walkway perfectly lined on both sides with massive oak trees and lit jack-o-lanterns hanging from their branches.

  I acknowledge the looks of admiration I get from men as I walk in and smile at the women, too, some in fanciful dresses, some without costume, to let them all know they look their best as well. It’s Sleepy Hollow’s shining moment. Having curled my hair to form wavy golden tresses and swept the sides up into elegant swags, I feel like the princess Bram always calls me. Somewhere in this living nightmare of ghoulish faces and literary characters come to life, Bram thinks I’ve ignored him.

  Heart beating with anticipation, I show my complimentary ticket at the door. Things have changed quite a bit since I was a kid. In six years, the event has gone from a plantation museum decorated with typical Halloween decorations to a morose wonderland of the macabre. A thick layer of dreamlike fog covers the ground, breaking into slow-moving curls as visitors walk through. Ghastly masks, fangs, blood the color of rubies, and capes abound, but the most amazing spectacle of all is the hillside. Sloping toward the river, facing the armada of boats that have come to see it, is the Blaze with thousands of glowing jack-o-lanterns the likes of which nobody has ever seen.

  Carved by hundreds of artisans, they dot the landscape for a mile, pumpkins of all different contours and silhouettes shimmering in ethereal resplendence.

  “Micaela?”

  I turn around. Natalee Torino touches my arm with long black nails, deep red lips, and eyes wide with an expression torn between admiration and envy. She wears a black fitted dress with open slits at the thighs, fluted sleeves, and a thick choker studded with black beads. Easily the prettiest I have ever seen her. “Hey, you look beautiful!” I say.

  “Me? Look at you, oh my gosh! Where did you get that dress, it’s incredible!”

  “A friend got it for me.”

  “Nice friend!” She pulls in close to me as a couple of friends wait nearby. “Hey, is it true that things went down between you, Bram, and Mr. Boracich? I mean, none of you have been in school for a while. Bram, I figured because of HollowEve prep, but why did you leave?”

  He hasn’t been in school? “I’ve been dealing with my mom’s stuff. You know…”

  “Oh, right,” Natalee whispers. “So it didn’t have to do with Mr. Boracich? ’Cause like, we all miss him.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. I haven’t seen him, either,” I say. Why add fuel to the fire? “Everything’s cool.”

  “Oh.” Natalee deflates, like she was hoping there was more drama to it. “Well, you know about that diary, right? The one Mr. Boracich mentioned in class? Well, supposedly, it’s real! Everyone’s talking about how he was only in town to find it and keep half a mil all for himself. Do you believe that? I think he already found it, which is why he hasn’t been back.”

  No one’s seen him around? I really drove him away.

  I cross my arms, satisfied I know the journal’s whereabouts. It’s safely put away in a deposit box at Betty Anne’s bank. We went together this afternoon and used an alphanumeric password no one will ever guess. I’m still not sure what I’ll do with it. “Seems likely. I mean, it makes a great story. But don’t believe everything you hear.” I pat Natalee’s arm. “I have to find Bram. I’ll see you later.”

  “I saw him a while ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere in there.” She points to the hillside. “Beware of Lacy, though.” She makes a creepy face with claws.

  I laugh. “Thanks for the warning.” I keep my eyes peeled, hoping I don’t run into her, and head for the staging area. Regardless of what role Bram was given, he’ll be there getting things ready
for the night’s main event—the Headless Horseman’s annual appearance.

  When I whirl around, I’m momentarily taken aback to see a man behind the crowd of people, shrouded in darkness under the trees, wearing a long black coat and demon mask. His eyes glow with actual red lights, and under normal circumstances, it might seem like a cool costume, but considering he’s intently focused on me only, it makes me shudder.

  Is he my follower from the cemetery and the birch tree shortcut, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch me? More than ever, I need Dane and his protection. For a moment, I think I catch a glimpse of him, or someone who looks like him, sitting on the manor house steps underneath the very chandelier I painted last week. But when I look again, he’s gone.

  So is the demon-faced man.

  I hurry through the fiery jack-o-lantern field, swishing and shifting my dress around to keep it from brushing against the pumpkins, and head straight toward the north side of the manor. Gentlemen hosts in knickers and waistcoats stop to offer themselves as escorts, seeing that I’m a lovely maiden alone on a diabolical night such as this, but I refuse them each with a coy smile. As much as I know Bram will love it when he sees me in my dolled-up glory, I find myself wishing Dane could see me in it, too.

  Far off to the right, on one end of the back porch, I see the demon-masked man again. Yes, it’s an ordinary mask, and there could be more like them, but he stands behind everyone watching me with glowing red eyes. He averts my stare after I’ve noticed him twice already. I break into a hurried walk, bumping shoulders with someone.

  “Again? I guess you’re here to stay.”

  I’m face-to-face with Lacy wearing a Katrina Van Tassel outfit, the slut corset, boobs-popping-out kind. Ugh. Figures. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

  She gives a short scoff. “You think you can just come back to town and take whatever you want like you own the place, you know that? Even though other people have put in the time and effort.”

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t come back for…” My voice trails off. She’s not talking about Bram, is she? Behind her, I see the demon man is getting closer. “I’m sorry, Lacy. We’ll talk about it later.” I rush away through the crowd. Where did he go?

  “Not if I can help it,” she calls out, her voice swallowed by the din of the guests.

  He’s watching me. It’s him. Some of the voices pop out from the background, behind the sound loop of ghostly moans and rattling chains. “That’s Micaela. Right there. See her?” People from school, familiar faces. A man dressed as Ichabod Crane in knickers and a long braid makes me look twice. I think it’s Dane, but I know that’s just wishful thinking.

  Run, Lela.

  “Mami…” Biting my lip, I push straight through the end of the Blaze, casting a glance to my right again to notice the demon man keeping up with me. Not running but advancing as I do.

  Dig it up, Micaela. Dig up the rest.

  Mary?

  The image of an old shovel barrels into my consciousness. My dead mother, buried two months ago, and my spirit guide, departed a hundred and fifty years now, are taking turns speaking to me about digging. They want me to run, to dig someone up from right out of the hallowed ground, but who? “It, Mary? What is the rest?”

  The double creation.

  I scan the landscape for the demon again. Is it worse to keep glimpsing him, or to not know where he is at all? The staging area is behind a wooden fence flanking a row of trees, and there’s a no admittance sign on the open gate. Familiar volunteers slip in and out. I reach the gate, out of breath, where a small woman with a walkie-talkie, who should look less menacing than she does, blocks my way.

  For a moment I think I see Bram somewhere behind her. “Bram!”

  “Sorry, no one’s allowed.”

  “I’m looking for Bram Derant. I’m his best friend.”

  The woman shakes her sour head at me. “I said no.”

  Her blunt bangs and glasses pushed hard down against her nose remind me of Edna Mode from The Incredibles, except with zero charm whatsoever. Who is she to tell me no? “Excuse me.” I push past the woman, who begins to offer a few choice expletives.

  Sorry, but I need to see Bram. Need to know where I stand with him. Need his help digging up whatever is under the lavender bush. Assuming that’s the right location. But it’s his big night, so I doubt he’ll be able to help, even though there’s no better time to exhume a dead baby’s bones than when the entire town is captive at the spookiest event of the year, if you ask me.

  Without warning, a hunchbacked lab assistant blocks my path, taking in every inch of my being with his oversize, weird eyeballs. “Hey, Mica. Looking for something?” Fake-stained, crooked smile. Ugh.

  “Jonathan?” I shrink back. “Nice costume. Hey, uh…where’s Bram?”

  “Bram…not available,” he says in a hunchback voice. “Maybe I can hel-lp you instead?”

  “No, I need him. Just tell me where he is.” I try moving past him, but he hops in my way again. “Don’t make me shove you like I did the lady back there. Move, it’s urgent.”

  “How urgent is it?” His voice deepens, his face conveying something I can’t quite grasp. Is he serious, or just playing a part? “Urgent enough that you’ll risk your life? Is it really that important to you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what it is…” His hand shoots out to grab my wrist tightly. “…I am talking about.”

  “Don’t touch me, you freak.” I twist my hand out of his clutch.

  “You already found it, haven’t you? You’re holding out. You little bitch. Same way you always have.” He reaches out and slides his nasty hand along my arm, pursing his putrid lips.

  I shove him hard, and he takes a few steps to regain his balance. “Don’t…touch me. Screw you. You have no right to judge me. None of you do. I haven’t found anything, but even if I have, I have plenty of ways to prove it belongs to me. Look at me like that one more time, and you’re going to have more than just your back hunched.”

  As I huff off, Jonathan calls out, “You’re nothing, and you’ll always be nothing! Especially now that Daddy’s world has fallen down!”

  He may as well have punched me in the gut. I wish I could whip around and tell him to go to hell, but I don’t feel like giving him the satisfaction. Even though I wonder… Between Nina leaving, Jonathan saying my dad owed people in town a visit, and the only trips he makes are business ones, my mom’s house being up for sale, his dozens of trips to Bogotá, and my debit card declining, I have to wonder…is my father still okay financially?

  Can’t stop to think about it now. I have an atrocity to commit.

  Nearby, a horse neighs, which can only mean one thing. I follow the sound around a path leading to a stable and find two people gearing up a massive black horse with a saddle.

  “Is Bram here?” I ask, and one of them, a woman helping to fit the saddle, points toward the stalls. I can’t tell which stall she means, so I go one by one, checking each.

  At one stall I pause to stare at something bathed in the darkness, a hulking massive shadow. As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I see a man standing feet apart in a wide stance, boots planted firmly on the ground. In one hand, he holds a long blade. In the other, a small dagger he’s using to sharpen his sword. His head is missing.

  My skin prickles with fiery heat. “Bram?”

  He gives no reply.

  Drawing back, I tear my stare away from the towering shape and move to the next stall. Empty. Another stall. Empty. “Hello, Bram?”

  “In here, Mica,” he finally replies from another stall.

  So, if that horseman wasn’t Bram, was that…?

  I find Bram and a man with long gray hair helping him into a costume. Bram wears black pants, a black-and-silver vest, and they’re fitting him into a riding jacket with a wire frame that rises over the top of his head.

  Wait, so…he did get the horseman part?<
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  Bram spots me and his eyes widen. “Wow, you are without a doubt the finest thing I have ever seen, Micaela Burgos. That dress is sweet perfection on you. Isn’t it, Russ?”

  Russ glances at me with a knowing grin. Bram extends a hand to me. I take it and rise on my toes to kiss his cheek. “What’s wrong?” He zeroes in on my face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Who’s the horseman?” I ask, glancing back at the other stall. No one comes out of it. No one goes in.

  He laughs. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re looking at him.”

  “No, I mean, who’s the other horseman?”

  “There is no other horseman. I’m your one and only, baby.” Bram does a rascally chuckle, then goes back to Russ and the fitting of the structured jacket.

  Under normal circumstances, say, a year ago, I might’ve thought that four stalls away was another man in a horseman costume, waiting for the show to start, no big deal. But I know better now. Life has completely changed.

  I have protector spirits here in the Hollow.

  They’re everywhere.

  And this one, I never got to thank when he ran the biker out of the cemetery. I hold up a finger. “Be right back.” Lifting the hem of my dress off the dusty ground, I inch my way back to the first stall, pulse beating in my throat, every cell of my body terrified of what I’ll see again, but I do it anyway. I can’t be afraid of ghosts anymore. They’re just ghosts.

  When I reach the edge of the stall, I slowly crane my neck and peer into the shadows again.

  Gone.

  Nobody.

  Empty.

  Like he was never there in the first place.

  “What’s wrong?” Bram steps out of the stall in full headless costume, tattered cape fluttering in the breeze, talking to me through the small rectangular screen in the neck. His voice echoes inside the suit.

  “I—nothing.”

  Just then, another vision wracks my brain so hard, I grip my temples and bite my lip to keep from crying out. Mary Shelley, eyes intense, wringing her hands, stands in a field of flowers pointing to the garden, an English garden with lavender bushes, near a little gray house. Sunnyside.