Chapter 33
My feet pound the uneven streets of Sleepy Hollow. I’ve changed my mind about the running club. I never want to run again. Ever.
The world around me is a blur of tears and twisting shadows, and I swear the moon has come out early only to mock me, telling me I’m out of time.
My heart is slamming against my ribs, every muscle in my body screaming at me to stop.
But I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know how much time Ichabod and Brom can buy me. If they’re even still...
Focus.
The edge of the box is cutting into my chest where I’m grasping it so tightly, as if it will disappear if I relax my grip for even a second.
I sprint through the abandoned streets, past dark houses. The Halloween decorations are oddly appropriate, but at the same time, they only serve as a reminder that these streets should be filled with happy people, celebrating. It reminds me of what is at stake.
At long last, I make my way up the twisty, tree-lined road, and the gates to Van Tassel Manor start to appear through the haze. I almost sag with relief, but I mustn’t slow down now. I risk a backwards glance. The Horseman isn’t coming for me. For now.
My fingers fumble to open the gates one-handed, tucking the box securely under the other arm. I nearly trip over my own feet as I stumble through and up the long, winding driveway. I push forward, my energy almost giving out.
The front door is mercifully unlocked, and the ground floor is empty. Toby and Meredith must still be upstairs. Thank god, I don’t think I could face them right now. Don’t have the time to explain what’s happening.
I don’t stop. Through the entryway, past the grand staircase, through the house I once thought I would never call my home. Now I’m racing to save it, what’s left of it, and the rest of the town of Sleepy Hollow too.
The quickest route into the garden from here is through the ruined ballroom. Glass still litters the floor, the curtains billow in the wind, the smell of burned candle wax and blood lingering in the air. I keep my eyes on the broken French doors and the patio beyond. I can’t look around.
I burst through the patio doors, back out into the icy air once more. Crossing the cool paving slabs, I weave my way through the flower beds, and then into the vast garden beyond. From the corner of my eye, I notice a crow, its beady eyes watching me intently.
I push forward, down overgrown and tangled paths, past towering stone statues, past a dry fountain I didn’t even know existed and under ivy-cloaked archways.
The ground slopes downward, leading to the first line of trees from the forest. But just before that, the family mausoleum stands.
It waits for me, probably in more ways than one.
It’s a low, one-story building made of white stone, a solemn structure bathed in moonlight. This is it. My namesake is in there somewhere. And hopefully with her is the secret to ridding Sleepy Hollow of the Horseman for good.
I slow as I get near, keenly listening out, but I can’t hear anything approach. The Van Tassel crest is etched into the heavy stone doors, the final resting place of all my ancestors.
I look down at the wooden box in my hands. I’ve made it.
But I know the Horseman is coming. I can feel it. He won’t let this end so easily.
The mausoleum doors don’t just look heavy, they are heavy.
My hands ache as I push against the stone with everything that I have.
The ancient hinges groan and protest, resisting me, as if the dead inside know what I have with me and are desperate to keep it out.
My breath fogs in the cold air from my exertion.
Finally, with a deep, rumbling creak, the doors part just enough for me to squeeze through. I step inside, taking the box with me.
The air feels thick and stale, with the scent of dust and damp stone.
The chamber is bigger than I expected from the outside, with a high, arched ceiling.
Weeping angels, carved into stone relief, look down on me.
Thankfully, there are windows high up in the walls, and thin light streams through, enough to see by.
Stone tombs rest in neat rows, set back into the walls and covering the floor in front of me.
Each one bears the name of a long-gone Van Tassel.
The original Katrina Van Tassel would have died a few hundred years ago. My boots echo on the stone floor in the cavernous space, as I make my way towards the back, where the oldest graves must surely rest.
I reach a row, a few from the very back, whose inscriptions mark them as being from the early 1800s. Making a quick calculation, I reckon I’m looking for more of the mid-1800s. I walk slowly along the row, searching.
There. A stone sarcophagus, the name deeply engraved.
Katrina Van Tassel.
My fingers reach out and trace the name. It’s an odd feeling, seeing my own name inscribed on a tomb, but this is her. My throat tightens. My ancestor. The woman who I had grown close to through reading her diary. I felt joy when she fell in love, and pain when he was so cruelly snatched away.
Their love, damning them both. And the whole town.
I bow my head, taking a moment.
Before this week, I’d never thought I would be desecrating a grave. How my life has changed.
Behind me, the mausoleum doors fly open, banging back against the walls. Rubble cascades down, and a sharp, cold gust of air sweeps through the space.
I am no longer alone.
Turning, I see him silhouetted by the moonlight.
The Headless Horseman.
The Hessian soldier.
Katrina’s lover.
His massive figure fills the doorway. His broad shoulders rise and fall heavily. The sword is tucked into its scabbard at his hip. He swings one leg over the horse, dismounting and landing forcefully on the cold stone floor.
My heart sinks. What does this mean for Ichabod and Brom, if he is here?
Are they dead?
I can’t think about that now. If they are, I may be joining them shortly. I swallow down the panic rising in my throat.
He moves towards me stiffly, and it’s strange to see him walk. I’d never thought about whether he could leave his horse or not. Bizarrely, he seems less threatening now, and it helps my courage.
I lift my chin, standing my ground in front of Katrina’s tomb.
“I know who you are.” My voice is steady, despite the fear rolling in my stomach. “Who you really were. I think I know what you want.”
The Horseman stops.
The air between us feels charged. Even without a face, without eyes, I can feel him watching me.
“You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” I step to the side, placing one hand on the tomb. “Katrina Van Tassel. The woman you loved. The woman who loved you.”
His hand twitches at his side, and I feel a stab of panic that he’s reaching for his sword. But he doesn’t, not yet.
“You never got to move on. You stayed, trapped here, because you never got to find her again.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting. It’s not as if he can reply, but the silence is unnerving all the same. The space where his head should be seems to throb with energy.
“She kept a diary. I’ve read it. About your relationship, your plans for a life together. Until you were unfairly executed. I know you want revenge. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You were looking for her.”
Still the Horseman doesn’t move.
“There’s more.” My voice is thick with tears.
“I know she was pregnant, that you were going to have a child together. You’ve been looking for both of them.
” I pause. “I don’t know what happened to the baby, but I do know the Van Tassel line survived.
I’m living proof. I’m a descendant of Katrina Van Tassel, I even bear her name.
I’m your descendant. That means your child survived, and they had a life and love of their own. ”
I stare at him, breath frozen in my chest. Waiting.
He tremors ever so slightly, that I wonder if I’m imagining it.
The weight of my words hangs, tangible, between us.
Then he moves. He takes one slow step. Then another, faster, closing the distance between us. Fear seizes me. I’ve misjudged it. Again. This isn’t going to save me, or him, or the town. I was wrong.
Panic rises within me.
I’m still holding the wooden box containing his earthly remains, and I reach out, placing it down on top of the tomb.
The Horseman is running, quickly closing the distance, heading straight for me. I thought I could set him free. I thought this was the answer.
I lift my hands protectively, twisting to the side and bracing.
The Horseman reaches me, doesn’t slow down. He continues running. I don’t even have time to cry out.
He runs straight into me.
Through me.
I gasp as a sickly, icy feeling washes over me, chilling me to my core.
Then, he’s through me, to the other side. Into the tomb behind.
I turn and at the very last second, I see him disappear into the stone.
I wait, expecting something to happen. A flash of blinding light maybe, or smoke curling up from the place where he passed through. But nothing.
I look to the entrance. The horse is no longer there either. The mausoleum is still.
I release a long, exhausted breath, reaching out to Katrina’s tomb for support, steadying myself. I take a few deep gulps of air, but I know there’s one last thing I have to do. I brace myself against the solid stone lid. Little by little, I push it back, until I’ve created a small opening.
I’ll be honest, I’ve seen enough bones for one lifetime today, and so I don’t look inside the tomb.
But I gently lower the wooden box into the gap, until I feel it touch the bottom of the casket.
Reunited once more.
I move to the other side and push the lid back into place, sealing it off. So they can’t be separated again.
Time seems to have warped, or I was in the mausoleum far longer than I thought, because as I step back out into the cool air, the sky is beginning to lighten, as if with a new dawn.
My legs are weak, and I only make it a few paces before I collapse down on the grass. The ground is damp with dew, and I feel it seeping into my clothes, but I can’t find it in me to care.
It’s over.
The Horseman is gone.
I did it. I actually did it. My instincts had been right. I broke the curse. Love won in the end.
A sob escapes me.
Ichabod. Brom.
I’d left them behind.
I raise my head, eternally thankful that I still have one, and look towards Van Tassel Manor. Even from here, I can see it looks broken. The French windows, shattered during yesterday’s battle, gape like a toothless smile.
I can’t remember when I last slept. Maybe I’ll just stay here a while. I start to close my eyes.
But there’s voices, shouting. My eyelids flutter open just long enough to make out two blurry figures heading towards me. Ichabod is in the lead. I blink and see the relief flash across his face, quickly followed by worry. He moves as if he’s in pain, his clothes torn and bloodied. But he’s alive.
Brom is just a few paces behind him. I can tell he’s hanging back, letting Ichabod reach me first. He looks equally battered but alive.
Ichabod throws himself to the ground beside me, pulling me into his arms and cradling me.
“Kat? What happened? Are you hurt?”
So many questions.
I can only find the strength to smile and say, “He’s gone.” Then I close my eyes again and drift into a long, deep sleep.