Just the Facts:
The Legend of the Sleepy Hollow is a short story by Washington Irving. It is among the earliest examples of American fiction still read today.
The late-afternoon sun began to set along the horizon, as a black haze began to fix itself behind the hills. Heavy steps echoed along the boulders, and the hillside of the Valley. Wood peckers peck at the trees, but other-wise, the valley is quiet, and only the sound of the wind rustling in the trees fills the valley with sound. It looked pretty deserted that late October afternoon, and you probably wouldn't see much except for a few boulders, a long path, offering a hard and exhausting trek up to the peaks of the hills, some animals, and one person, in a hooded cloak riding a horse. A lean, sage, lanky, irascible and extremely ignorant school master from Connecticut, making his way to the Van Tassel’s home.
A fog layer began to reach the edge of the forest, covering everything in sight. Creatures seemed to be dancing underneath the layer, filling the evening with eerie shadows, and low murmurs.
The man trots on. The horse trots, until it brakes into a gallop. The travelers bundle bounces along his back, and his walking stick flys from his right hand. He doesn’t turn back to go get it. Instead he gallops off even faster. The fog is coming closer, and the shadows become more bizarre. He gallops and gallops. The land scape begins to change. The hills seem to straighten out to become more flat. The pine trees seem to shrink and turn into bushes and shrubs. Farm land stretches to the left and to the right as far as you can see, and in the middle stands a large family home.
The man gets off the horse, and ties the it to a pole, and walks to the door
Desperately he knocks on the door, bawling his hands into fists, and knockes harder.
¨Mr. Van Tassel!¨ he squeals desperately. ¨Open up!¨
Minutes pass. No answer. The man slumps down against the wall, and pulls his cloak up to his chin.
The door squeaks, and a old man steps out. A half burnt candle in his hand, flickers and aluminates his face with ghostly shadows. His old, frightening eyes watch the man get up slowly. He leads the other man inside. His face has been hidden almost entirely by his glasses, but the visitor can almost feel his cold breath as he steps closer to the man. Slowly, he follows the man inside. When his leader glances back, the visitor smiles politely, lowering his hood, revealing dark brown hair, neatly combed, but wet from the fog and sweat. The old man smiles back. His smile reeks of wickedness, and something inside tells the visitor he held many secrets behind this house. His cold, almost grey eyes, keep watching him, as he pats his hair down neatly again. Then he heads farther into the hallway.
Voices echo out of the big salon in the front of the gangway, and music drifts towards the two men, filling the corridor with warmth and happiness. The visitor takes off his cloak, and hands it to the old man. He straightens the tuxedo he is wearing underneath it one last time, smooths his hair, and then makes his grand entrance.
A cigarette burns in the ash tray next to the door, leaving the air thick and full of smoke. Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of Baltus Van Tassel, (the host of the party), is dancing swiftly along the side of the room, her arms around her partner, her eyes lost in his.
The visitors fists clench as he sees them together. She doesn't notice the man in the doorway, and dances on.
She is a very affable young lady. She's has long, straight blond hair that she usually wears pulled back, but now it hangs loosely around her face, swaying with the music. Her warm brown skin has a thin layer of makeup on, and her eyes glisten in the hazy room. Her body is not skinny and not heavy; it's especially not rounded or especially not muscular. I guess petite is the best word. But the best part is her face. She has this elegant, strong bone structure; you could slice bread on her cheekbones. Her face has this sharp, alert look, like a hunter, and her nose is large and just a little crooked - the small flaw that makes it perfect, makes her look like a real person that you could talk to and know and love, rather than an airbrushed model. Her skin is smooth, but you can see where she's going to have laugh lines when she's older, and even when she's still and concentrating on something there's always the ghost of a smile on her lips.
Cakes, Pastries and other sweets, line the right wall, and men in black and white outfits stand around them, offering them to people passing by. The man stumbles to the tables, and gracefully picks up a slice of cake and a glass of champagne that one of the men offers him.
He takes in his surrounding. Female Farmers and male farmers dance around him arm in arm, and the band is playing a slow waltz. Katrina and Brom are in the back of the room, dancing so swiftly, they look like they are not even touching the ground. What a princess, the visitor thinks as he takes another long drag at the cigarette he had just rolled. It seems like Katrina and the guy had been dancing interminably to the visitor.
In the back of the room lies the music stand. It reminds the man of the many hours he had spent teaching Katrina, his 18-year-old student, how to sing clear tunes of psalmody. How many hours he had spent thinking about how beautiful she was. How many hours he had longed to be with her.
¨Ichabod¨ Brom pulls the man away from his thoughts. ¨I have been waiting for you.¨
Brom is a big tall man, with short curly hair. His shoulders are big and wide, and it seems like his muscles might just pop out from underneath his shirt. He is really the opposite of Ichabod. Ichabod used to be a real recluse. In the past few years, he has matured a little, and now he really gets around with women quite well.
¨Brom¨ Ichabod responds. His face pale and angry. ¨So have I.¨
Brom studies him with a blank expression, his arm around Katrina.
¨You have to give me one more chance!¨ the man entreats, his eyes sad and hopeless.
Brom shrugs, and turns his away. Ichabod’s eyes are fixed on Katrina.
Her eyes are chocolate brown with tones of amber in them that seem to dance in the candle-light. At sunset, they'd have golden flecks in them that would fade as night settled in. Long, brown eyelashes frame her eyes and give them the perfect shape. They have a certain tinge of sadness in them that is apparent when she looks away, but they are beautiful nevertheless. These eyes are lovely and strong, the kind of eyes you'd see in an angel. They have the power to captivate with attention, and he always found himself gazing at them for longer than he probably should have. They hold warmth and knowledge in them, but secrets as well. They spark a curiosity in Ichabod to get to know her more. To unlock the secrets and take away the sadness from those stunningly mesmerizing eyes.
She looked at Ichabod with those exact eyes, as she twirls from Brom’s arms into his. Ichabod held her tightly, and dreamed of staying with her forever. They danced across the floor, Ichabod, totally letting his mind drift away. With Katrina in his arms, he danced, grinding his hips against hers, holding her tightly with both hands, and nuzzling her hair. They waltz down the dance floor from one end to another, and suddenly all eyes turn on them. Katrina plants a kiss onto Ichabod’s cheek just as the music ends, and then she drifts away again into the crowd of people.
Ichabod feeling warm inside, walks back to where some of the older men are smoking, and telling war stories. Brom’s jealousy, must have been really hard to hide, because he looked at Ichabod with that hateful smile, only a jealous person can give.
Ichabod flunks down onto one of the chair, stories about war- all of which are far enough in the past to be safely exaggerated- fill the room, as Karina continues to dance with Brom again. They move to ghost stories, covering many of the local legends and then they return to the most famous, and favorite of all: the tales of the Headless Horseman. Brom Bones comes back from the dance floor, and tells a story of the time he encountered the Headless Horseman and offered to race him for a bowl of punch. Ichabod listens closely to all the stories and adds a few of his own. The conversation drifts long into the night. Brom and Ichabod keep giving each other hateful looks Both thinking how much they abhor the other..
¨The Headless Horseman haunts every real man¨Brom states.
Ichabod tries to think of a profound answer, but he ends up with just ¨ye...yea...yeah well¨
Laughter reverberates around the room, echoing off the walls. Nervous giggles and whispers bounce around the room filling everybody with unease.
The revel began to break up, and farmers started to gather with their families, they get into their horse drawn carriages, and bolted off, rattling over the hills, and back to their farms, or who knows where.
Ichabod lingers behind, wanting to spend some more time with his girlfriend. He was not officially convinced that she loved him back. He was convinced they could spend the rest of their life's together on the farm. To live the life of luxury, to give up the school, and to kick Brom Bones out of his life.
Ichabod took another drag on his cigarette, breathing the smoke in threw his lungs, and letting it out threw his nose.
Suddenly Katrina, standing in the middle of the crowd of people still remaining speaks up: ¨Ichabod!¨ she says smoothing her hair, and straightening her dress ¨Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. (The legend of sleepy hollow Chapter 10)
Ichabod’s face turns pale, his hands clench into fists, his jaw tightens, and his heart shatters to a million little pieces all at the same. He gazes at Katrina one more time. Her amber eyes look sad, and mysterious, her cheeks are flushed with red, and her blond hair falls over her, covering her left eye.
Brom next to her has a arm around her, and his eyes are full of pride and pleasure.
¨You impelled me to do this,¨ he sighs, plastering a real hurtful and sad expression onto his face.
Ichabod takes a shaky breath, and strides across the floor back to the door, out past the old man with his wicked smile still pasted to his face. He passes the tall elm tree, that covers almost the whole house with its long strong branches. He walks to the barn, his long arms dangling by his side, his feet heavy and dirty from the mud that the pigs were playing with to his right. Luckily he had not forgotten to take his coat from the rack before leaving. He raps it around himself, and pulls the hood over his head again, with a sigh. Hot tears had begun to trickle down his face, combining with the mud on his shoes, causing the mud turn into brown muck, and then to flow off his shoes, and back into the dirt.
In the distance, the water of a small brook passing by, crash onto stones, with little splashes, filling the night with the sound of rushing water. The man buries his head in the horses fur. The horse had lost one of his pupils during a fight with one of the town rowdies. His mane was burnt from fires they had escaped together. It’s body was thin, and the it had lost weight in the past few days.
The heartbroken man stroked the horse softly, and it whimpered into the darkness. A dog began to bark from the other side of the creek, filling the darkness with its shrill bark.
The night seemed to become darker and darker, the stars sinking into the blackness of the sky, and the clouds seemed to take over the world with their gray evilness.
He speaks quietly into the horses ear: ¨He’s so unfair.¨ he sobs ¨she was going to be mine. I was going to marry her. Now she’s his.¨ he cries. ¨Don’t take me amiss though.¨ he says to the horse. ¨I want her to be happy, and if it means her marrying that bastard, I want that.¨ the despondent man sighs.
He gets up onto the horse, holds his head high, grabs his whip with his right hand, slaps the it on the side once, and then gallops off into the night.
More fog had begins to cover the area, swallowing trees, bushes, and houses as Ichabod rides on threw the darkness. The horse begins to breath heavily, as it gallops on. Crickets chirp, filling the night full with their song. Once in a while a woodpecker would knock against the trees but otherwise the night seems dormant.
Soon he would reach the area where most of all the ghost stories took place. Images swirled around him, blurring his memory.
Tears stream down the riders cheeks, staining his only tuxedo with wet stains. Suddenly a cold wind begins to blow from underneath the fog blanket, seeming to grab the rider with it’s bare hands, and squeezing him to death. Ichabod’s heart begins to pound, and he wraps his coat around him more, but it seems like the wind is already underneath his coat, squeezing, and staring at him. Yells and murmurs suddenly begin to fill the night as he gallops on faster and faster. The horse’s tremulous legs carry the rider on, until it almost collapses. Large shadows dance along the pine trees. The rocks seem to get up, and come charging at the man, in slow but steady movements. The water from the creek the flew beside them, began to erupt, splashing the freezing water onto the rider. Pine needles, seem to fly at the rider, causing the horse to loose track of where they are going, it runs in circles, almost throwing Ichabod off. He had reached reached the bridge where all the ghost stories took place. Two logs lay across the river bank, serving as bridge.
Ichabod slaps his horse Gunpowder with his whips three times quickly, and then tells him to dash off. But instead of heading for the bridge, the horse runs, and topples over into the bushes on the side of the road. They finally made it to the bridge, unharmed except for a few scratches. The cold air had become worse, squeezing the teachers heart, and curling icy fingers around his sole.
His eyes examined the bridge carefully, under the moon light. Most of the moon had been swallowed by the fog too, but enough light remained to see the bridge. The forest seems to have closed in behind him, as he scans the trees one by one. Fireflies fly around the branches quietly, casting shadows on the floor with their fain lights. The crickets seem to be talking to Ichabod in slow murmurs as he looks around him some more. He remembers Brom’s words more clear than anything: ¨as soon as you pass the bridge you are safe. The powers of the headless horseman will die, and you will be safe.¨ he had said.
Owls hoot from the trees, and frogs croak from the pond. Ichabod jumps at every sound, remembering all the tales he herd that night.
Suddenly in the shadows of the trees, a figure begins to scurry. Just a dear, just a dear Ichabod begins to sooth himself.
¨Who’s there!¨ he yells after twigs begin to snap, and coughs echo out of the forest.
No answer.
Ichabod felt the ice fingers curl around his sole harder, causing his heart to ache, and his lungs to shrink.
Owls hoot, crickets chirp, the trees and bushes hum in harmony, turning the forest alive. Then he jumped. Out of the trees, and after the man. His cape flying behind him, a dust cloud forming underneath him. Ichabod’s jaw drops as he stares in awe at the...thing... standing in front of him.
¨Headless horseman¨ he manages to gargle, tremulously
He kicks Gunpowder in the ribs, and the horse takes off into the fog layer. His eyes are fixed on the tall tower in front of him. The church, the church he thinks franticly.
The horseman rides close after him. His black cape waves behind as he rides on full speed. His red plaid shirt, has a few blood stains and is a little crumpled, but other wise it looks new. His legs are stuck in tight black pants and high boots. His right hand holds the horses main tightly, in his right hand, he holds a pumpkin with an evil smile that seems to be alive carved into it.
The night seems to have dropped about 50 degrees as the black strongly build horse with the red glowing eyes runs after the small, weak Gunpowder. Gunpowder's knees seem to buckle as he races for the church.
Ichabod feels his heart burn, his soul freeze, and his heart being squeezed by the ice fingers. His hair blows to every side as Gunpowder gives his everything to carry his master to safety. As soon as you pass the bridge you are safe. The powers of the headless horseman will dye, and you will be safe. The words bounce his head. Tears running down his face mix with the sweat trickling from his forehead. Ichabod leans forward. grabbing Gunpowder around the neck.
¨I love you Gunpowder¨ he whispers ¨Thank you for everything.¨
The second riders horse picks up speed, and a larger dust cloud begins to for behind him.
¨Stop!¨the rider bellows. His voice was deep and high pitched, and it seemed to be comingfrom the pumpkin.
Ichabod didn't stop. He didn’t even turn around. He kept his eyes fixed on the tower reaching out of the fog. as soon as you pass the bridge you are safe. The powers of the headless horseman will dye, and you will be safe. He kicks Gunpowder in the side again, and the horse takes another sprint.
¨Stop!¨ the voice bellows again.
Ichabod hugs his horse tighter, and wraps his fingers into his mane. He lets his tears flow into the horses back.
The Headless horseman, begins to slice his sword threw the air, running after Ichabod. The air around him is warm, and full of dust.
Ichabod reaches the bridge right in front of the church, and the ice fingers begin to loosen their grip around his sole. Twenty more steps, nineteen, eighteen. His hands grip for Gunpowders main, as he gets closer and closer to the bridge.
The Headless horseman rides quick, and realizes that his powers are dying out. He grabs the Pumpkin with both hands, a light flickers inside of it once, twice and three times. The pumpkin set on fire, and the rider took aim and threw it straight ahead.
See this is where I come in. I make the ice fingers that Ichabod had been feeling stronger. Then I remove the soul gently, and place my hand over it. Shimmering dust evaporates, and a new star appears. Sometimes I leave the body, and sometimes I take it. This time I took it. I took them both. The horse and the man. They will be with me. Don’t worry. In this case, I leave the squashed pumpkin, the riders hat, and a few hoof imprints in the dirt for the mortals to see when they awaken tomorrow
Two new stars shine in the sky tonight, and they will appear every halloween night, to remind the world of the Headless Horse man.
Remember how I said that every death has a color in the book thief? Well these were definitely black and orange.
