Chapter 5
When they’d settled back into the interminable trudge of the road, Esmie turned to look at Chad, forgetting again that he had no facial expression to judge until she saw no face. Grunting, she slumped and faced forward.
“Okay, hit me with it, professor. What did the Goth chick’s diary say?”
He chuckled, his arms still all but wrapped around her, though she knew good and well he didn’t need to keep both hands on Thunder’s reins the whole time. Maybe it was his version of Aaron’s nervous fidgeting.
“Alright, but I’m working with one hell of a time gap, here, so don’t hold it against me if I misremember.”
“C’mon, c’mon.”
“Best I can remember, it went a little something like this.” He cleared his throat, and she was again grateful to be facing forward.
No one needed to see that. In a suddenly serious voice, he intoned, “In the woods, there is a haunted church. It used to be a perfectly average church, but it has fallen into disrepair, and the graves have all been moved from the churchyard—all save one. The grave of the Hessian. The fiercest soldier to face our brave men, the Hessian could not be felled, be it by bullet nor by cannon fire.”
She let the horse’s gentle walking motion lull her and leaned back a little against his strong chest. She was tired. It was hours and hours past midnight by now, and if this wasn’t a bedtime story, she didn’t know what was.
“He looked like an angel, but he fought like the devil himself sat upon his shoulder. On his fearsome black warhorse, he charged into battle without tremor, without dread of death. So many of our men fell upon his sword that we called upon the garrison in the city for aid. They sent not a deadly new war machine but a priest, who blessed our cannonballs and bullets and swords.”
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. Of course they would fall back on religion to defeat anything they assumed was supernatural. She wanted to grumble about the Church and all its dangers and false accusations and failings, but she somehow didn’t think now was the right time and held her tongue. For now.
“The next skirmish, he told the men to aim not for the man but for his steed. The man may have the devil’s own luck, but a horse has no such protection.
Sure enough, the great beast took so many bullets that its body was shredded, and it fell, snorting and screaming, to the ground.
It trapped the Hessian beneath its weight as it plunged and tried to rise.
Hurrying now, the priest led them onto the blood-soaked battlefield, heeding not the still-raging battle, and with his crucifix raised, prayed to God above to save them from this demon unleashed upon them.
The lieutenant lifted his blessed sword, its blade gleaming in the first light of daybreak, and swept away the Hessian’s head. ”
She sighed again, though not in annoyance this time. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was falling asleep, her head leaning back against Chad’s collarbone, nodding gently with each plodding, clopping step of Thunder’s hooves.
“After the battle, they buried the Hessian in the distant churchyard, hoping God’s peace would keep the demon in his grave.
Instead, he rose, searching for his head and taking the heads of unwary travelers in its place, haunting our woods and byways.
We all know the tales and watch our step after dark in Sleepy Hollow.
Still, all was well enough until the church fell into disrepair and was abandoned, the churchyard moved.
When those graves were disturbed, the hallowed ground lost its blessing.
The Horseman rides more frequently now. He is restless. He is angry.”
Her eyes blinked open at the renewed urgency in his tone. No sleep for her, dammit. This wasn’t a bedtime story, after all.
“He rides for all so unlucky as to be in his wake. Ware, all ye who walk the wood at night in Sleepy Hollow. Ware!”
“Mwahahahah!” Jerome erupted suddenly, lifting his arms and making spooky fingers at her.
Unimpressed, she rolled her head that direction and gave him the stank eye. “Really?”
He snorted. “I’ll choose my moment better next time.”
She rolled her eyes. “So that accounts for the origin of the Headless Horseman and how you found his grave. I’m guessing you searched old maps until you found the derelict church?”
“Got it in one,” Chad said, his voice mellow now that he wasn’t telling creepy tales, both hands still on the reins.
“But no head.” She frowned. “Where would it be, then? Why wouldn’t they bury it with the body? If they were so god-fearing, they wouldn’t risk a curse by not burying the body complete. So where’s the damn head?”
“You’ll figure it out, Esmie.” Aaron sounded far more sure than she felt. “You’re way smarter than Della was. She couldn’t even read cursive.”
“Admittedly, it was pretty old-fashioned cursive.” Chad chuckled. “But yeah, that should’ve been our first clue that she wasn’t as interested in history as she was in being witchy.”
Esmie grunted. “I got nothing against witches. Tavia is a Wiccan priestess, and she’s one of the best people I know. But she would never demand someone’s head. What did Della want it for, anyway?”
“Power,” Jerome said, shrugging. “Never asked over what. She just said it would make her powerful.”
“I asked.” Aaron dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “She said that, if she had his head, she could command the Horseman to ride out and take victims she chose. She’d have the power of life and death over anyone who got in her way.”
Esmie burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
Three sets of shoulders turned her way. Well, two sets. Chad’s stayed put so they didn’t dislodge her from where she lay comfortably back against his chest.
“Guys, that’s literally the plot of that movie I was telling you about. The bad lady in that flick used the Horseman’s head to kill all the people she wanted out of her way so she could inherit a bunch of money and property and get revenge.”
“Unbelievable,” Jerome said, sounding annoyed.
“Unoriginal,” she said, still amused. “Give a little person a little power….”
Chad made a low hmming sound in his chest that vibrated against her back in an interesting way.
“And yet, you’re after the head, too. Except you’re after it to free us all. I find that interesting, Esmie. What you’d do with power versus what she wanted to do with it.”
She… didn’t know what to say to that. So, since she didn’t know how to not sound like an idiot, she kept her mouth shut and let the moment fall behind them on the road. The horses moved on, and, thankfully, so did the conversation.
But the thought remained with her for a good, long while.