Prologue
If forced to choose between living in reality or suffering through a nightmare, sometimes it’s safer to pick the nightmare.
That’s true even in Sleepy Hollow, New York, a town steeped in folklore and rich in history. Part of a region that celebrates
its haunted heritage with a ferocity usually reserved for festivities focusing on life, not death.
Sitting on the east bank of the Hudson River, where charming homes and bucolic open spaces cover the landscape, the area vibrates
in moody fall welcome. Every resident can recite the famous story about a fictional headless horseman and provide detailed
descriptions of their own ghostly adventures to the onslaught of tourists that descend in abundance each fall.
The wailing woman of Raven Rock. A phantom ship haunting local waters. The spirits roaming through the nearby Octagon House.
Odd encounters in historic taverns.
All harmless stories for believers and nonbelievers alike.
But not everything is harmless. Ask any longtime resident about the scariest thing to ever happen here and they’d tell you the same thing—the shocking disappearance of the Tanner family fifteen years ago.
Father, mother, and two kids. Vanished. Gone without a trace.
At least that was the scariest event. Until today.
Until the dead refused to stay dead.