5. Iris
FIVE
Iris
In my room, I pour over the texts and notes as I try to make sense of the tales and legends. It all comes back to the Van Tassel family. As I do more research, I find that the closest, truest account is, in fact, the journal.
Abraham “Brom” Van Brunt was a former soldier charged with protecting the town.
Until an illicit affair with Jacob Van Tassel’s daughter resulted in an uprising.
Van Tassel called for Van Brunt’s execution.
On the full moon, Brom was beheaded wearing a talisman and cursed the family.
He swore he would rise again and seek his revenge.
Paying no mind to his words, Van Tassel swung his sword and off went Brom’s head.
His body was buried in the local cemetery, but his head was not, and the trail of where it’s located runs cold.
The missing pages?
I feel strongly that the journal not only once told of the curse, but recounted the burying of Brom’s head. Reading on informs me that the Horseman rides through the night, looking for his head. Anyone he encounters suffers his fate.
But I wasn’t beheaded and neither was the assailant that attacked me.
Returning the Horseman’s head and talisman breaks his curse to stalk the night. It’s simple in theory—but where to start? I make a note to check obituaries for headless deaths and cross-check them with feuds amongst the townspeople.
The Horseman was never a villain; he was just in love. He wasn’t a rampaging monster the town had to kill. He wanted to marry above his station. Was that truly a punishment befitting the crime? He was an honorable soldier, by all the accounts I’ve read. Sounds like corruption to me.
Darkness falls and I waste no time running down to the bridge.
I’ll get my truth from the only source left.
I’m not sure if he appears every night, but I take my chances and stalk across the wooden planks.
My steps are quiet, but the wood creaks and echoes surround me.
I look at my watch as the church bells toll nine.
Fog rolls in, and he materializes at the end of the bridge. I don’t stop walking. I’m not afraid of him. I respect him, but I don’t fear him like the townspeople do. There’s more to the Horseman than this terrifying monster who terrorizes the town of Sleepy Hollow.
The jack-o'-lantern face glows in the mist, and I continue my approach.
“We’ve met before,” I start. “I’m Iris Crane.
” Nerves fill my voice and I can’t help them.
He’s magnificent and fearsome, but I believe he’s magnanimous, too.
He rears back on his horse, like he understands what I’m saying to him.
Nothing comes back in response. “I have some questions, and I was hoping you could answer them for me?”
He dismounts and walks toward me. He’s tall, towering even, and he moves with a soldier's grace. He reaches out and touches down my arm. He’s solid, not a mere apparition or a figment of my imagination. I reach out too, placing my hand softly on his chest. I run my fingers down his torso.
“You’re not as scary as they make you out to be,” I say, but the jack-o'-lantern is unmoving and no ghostly voice follows. The breeze picks up and my hair swirls around us. “Is there a way you can talk to me? Please.”
His hands run over my arms again before circling my wrists. I look down. His hold doesn’t hurt; it’s gentle, as though he were simply holding me. I could easily free myself of his grasp if I wanted. The turning fire in my belly tells me I don’t want that at all.
I raise my hands and he lets me, but he doesn’t let go. “Yes or no questions,” I say. I gesture with my left hand. “This one is yes .” And with my right. “This one is no .” I put them back at my sides. “Do you understand?”
He raises my left hand.
“Are you Abraham Van Brunt?” Yes, he answers. “Can I call you Brom?” Yes. “The Van Tassel family, they killed you, didn’t they?” Yes. “Over love?” Yes. He pulls me flush to him and my thighs squeeze together at the contact.
“Did you once protect Sleepy Hollow?” He doesn’t answer yes or no, just remains still.
“Do you still protect Sleepy Hollow?” Yes.
“From outsiders?” No. I think over his answer and the long history of his being.
It was never an outsider issue, or at least it wasn’t anymore.
On a guess and a whim, I ask, “From the Van Tassels?” Yes.
I look into the glowing face of the jack-o’-lantern. It beckons me closer.
“Can I touch you?” He raises my left hand to his pumpkin head, using my fingers to caress it.
He’s so tall that I’m brought to my tiptoes, but his arm wraps around my waist and he holds me steady.
“Can I kiss you, Brom?” The intrusive thought is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
But I don’t want to. The pull I feel is impossible to ignore, and I’m curious to know his answer.
He squeezes my left wrist and bends down slightly.
Softly and cautiously, I lean forward and gently kiss the jagged cut of the jack-o'-lantern mouth.
I move down his neck. His hands are tight around my waist and he pulls me closer.
He wants more. His body moves against mine as I kiss up and down his neck.
His skin is salty, like a living man. His scent is woodsy and pumpkin spice, a mixture of autumn. This elevates my need for more of him.
The church bells toll, ten in total, and I break away from him. I don’t move out of his hold. I like his hands on me, his arms around me.
“Can I see you again?” He rests his pumpkin head against my forehead and squeezes my ass with his right hand. He’s cheeky and playful, nothing like the murderous fiend of the night from the tales.
“I have to go . . .” I step back even though it pains me to do so. I’m slick and wet, wanting nothing more than to climb on his lap and take what he wants to give me. He lets me leave, and it comforts me that he wants to see me again.
As I make my way back, there’s no question about hiding this from Kurt and the other townspeople. I can’t rely on Kurt to be honest, and I can’t trust him with my truth either. He’s a playing card that I haven’t quite figured out yet.
My room is dark when I return, only the faint glow of a desk lamp helping me navigate my way to the bed.
I look out the window and see him there as he gazes upon me.
He always watches, I remind myself. And tonight, I’m thankful to know that his time here isn’t determined by the bells.
He rears back on his horse and takes off into the pitch-black woods.
The fog disappears and the night returns to what it was before.