\u201cDidn\u2019t you see them?\u201d I said. \u201cSomething\u2019s happened. That\u2019s not a hunting party.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo?\u201d Sander said, looking up at the sky. \u201cIt\u2019s nearly dinnertime. We should go back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I could tell that now that his chance to play Brom Bones had been ruined, he was thinking about his midday meal and didn\u2019t give a fig for what might be happening in the woods. I, on the other hand, was deeply curious about what might set a party of men off in such a hurry. It wasn\u2019t as if exciting things happened in the Hollow every day. Most days the town was just as sleepy as its name. Despite this\u2014or perhaps because of it\u2014I was always curious about everything, and Katrina often reminded me that it wasn\u2019t a virtue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet\u2019s just follow for a bit,\u201d I said. \u201cIf they go too far we can turn back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sander sighed. He really didn\u2019t want to go, but I was his only friend the same as he was mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFine,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll go a short way with you. But I\u2019m getting hungry, and if nothing interesting happens soon I\u2019m going home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cVery well,\u201d I said, knowing that he wouldn\u2019t go home until I did, and I didn\u2019t plan on turning around until I\u2019d discovered what the party of horsemen was chasing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We stayed close to the stream, keeping our ears pricked for the sounds of men or horses. Whatever the adults were about, they surely wouldn\u2019t want children nearby\u2014it was always that way whenever anything interesting occurred\u2014and so we\u2019d have to keep our presence a secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf you hear anyone approaching, just hide behind a tree,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know,\u201d Sander said. He had mud all down the front of his jacket, too, and he hadn\u2019t noticed it yet. His mother would tell him off over it for hours. Her temper was the stuff of legends in the Hollow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We had only walked for about fifteen minutes when we heard the horses. They were snorting and whinnying low, and their hooves clopped on the ground like they were pawing and trying to get away from their masters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe horses are upset,\u201d I whispered to Sander. We couldn\u2019t see anything yet. I wondered what had bothered the animals so much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShh,\u201d Sander said. \u201cThey\u2019ll hear us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t hear us over that noise,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI thought you wanted to sneak up on them so they wouldn\u2019t send us away?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I pressed my lips together and didn\u2019t respond, which was what I always did when Sander was right about something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The trees were huddled close together, chestnut and sugar maple and ash, their leaves just starting to curl at the edges and shift from their summer green to their autumn colors. The sky was covered in a patchwork of clouds shifting over the sun, casting strange shadows. Sander and I crept side by side, our shoulders touching, staying close to the tree trunks so we could hide behind them if we saw anyone ahead. Our steps were silent from long practice at sneaking about where we were not supposed to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I heard the murmur of men\u2019s voices before I saw them, followed immediately by a smell that was something like a butchered deer, only worse. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand, breathing in the scent of earth instead of whatever half-rotten thing the men had discovered. My palms were covered in drying mud from the riverbank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The men were standing on the track in a half circle, their backs to us. Brom was taller than any of them, and even though he was the oldest, his shoulders were the broadest, too. He still wore his hair in a queue like he had when he was young, and the only way to tell he wasn\u2019t a young man were the streaks of gray in the black. I couldn\u2019t make out the other five men with their faces turned away from us\u2014they all wore green or brown wool coats and breeches and high leather boots, the same style as twenty years before. There were miniatures and sketches of Katrina and Brom in the house from when they were younger, and while their faces had changed, their fashions had not. Many things never changed in the Hollow, and clothing was one of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want to see what they\u2019re looking at,\u00a0\u201d I whispered close to Sander\u2019s ear and he batted at me like I was an annoying fly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His nose was crumpled and he looked a little green. \u201cI don\u2019t. It smells terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFine,\u201d I said, annoyed. Sander was my only friend but sometimes he lacked a sense of adventure. \u201cYou stay here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWait,\u201d he said in low whisper as I crept ahead of him. \u201cDon\u2019t go so close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned back and flapped my hand at him, indicating he should stay. Then I pointed up at one of the maples nearby. It was a big one, with a broad base and long branches that protruded almost over the track. I hooked my legs around the trunk and shimmied up until I could grab a nearby branch, then quickly climbed until I could see the tops of the men\u2019s heads through the leaves. I still couldn\u2019t quite see what they were looking at, though, so I draped over one of the branches and scooted along until I had a better look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As soon as I saw it, I wished I\u2019d stayed on the ground with Sander.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just beyond the circle of men was a boy\u2014or rather, what was left of a boy. He lay on his side, like a rag doll that\u2019s been tossed in a corner by a careless child, one leg half-folded. A deep sadness welled up in me at the sight of him lying there, forgotten rubbish instead of a boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Something about this sight sent a shadow flitting through the back of my mind, the ghost of a thought, almost a memory. Then it disappeared before I could catch it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was dressed in simple homespun pants and shirt, a brown wool jacket much like my own over it. On his feet were leather moccasins, and that was how I knew it was Cristoffel van den Berg, because his family was too poor to afford shoe leather and cobbled soles, and all of the Van<\/a> den Bergs wore soft hide shoes like the Lenape people. If it weren\u2019t for the moccasins I wouldn\u2019t have known him at all, because his head was missing. So were his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Both the head and hands seemed to have been removed inexpertly. There were ragged bits of flesh and muscle at the wrist, and I saw a protruding bit of broken spine dangling where Cristoffel\u2019s head used to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hadn\u2019t liked Cristoffel very much. He was poor, and Katrina always said we should be compassionate to those in need, but Cristoffel had been quite the bully, always looking for a chance to take out his pique on someone. He ran in a little gang with Justus Smit and a few other boys who had no personality to speak of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cristoffel had tried it out on me once and I\u2019d bloodied his nose for him, which earned me a lecture from Katrina on proper behavior (I was subjected to these endlessly, so I never bothered to listen) and a clap on the shoulder from Brom, which had warmed my heart despite Katrina\u2019s shouting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hadn\u2019t like Cristoffel, but he didn\u2019t deserve to die. He didn\u2019t deserve to die in such an awful way. I was glad Sander couldn\u2019t see. He had a delicate stomach and he\u2019d have given us away by getting sick on top of the group below.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were splashes of blood all around on the track. The men didn\u2019t seem to want to get any closer to the body, though whether this was out of respect or fear I could not tell. They were murmuring softly, too softly for me to make out the words at first. All of the horses pulled on their reins except for Brom\u2019s horse, Donar, a great black stallion three hands taller than all the others. He stood still, the wide flare of his nostrils the only indication that he was troubled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally Brom gave a great sigh and said, loud enough for me to hear, \u201cWe\u2019ll have to take him back to his mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat are we supposed to tell her?\u201d I recognized this voice as Sem Bakker, the town justice. His shoulders were curled forward, as if he were trying to hide from what he was seeing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t have much use for Sem Bakker, who was always too hearty when he saw me and thought it was a fine thing to pinch my cheeks and comment on how much I\u2019d grown. He had no children of his own and clearly had no notion of how children like to be treated. I did not like to have my cheeks pinched by anyone, much less the town magistrate with his dirty fingernails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brom didn\u2019t have much use for Sem Bakker either, whom he considered as lacking in basic common sense, something that ought to have been a requirement to be a justice. But then most people who lived in the Hollow were farmers or tradesmen, and had no desire to meddle in affairs of the law. Not that there were so many crimes in the Hollow, really\u2014it generally amounted to little more than breaking up fights at the tavern and sending the offending parties home to have their ears burned by their angry wives\u2014though now and then something more serious occurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n All in all, though, the Hollow was a peaceful place to live, and was lived in by the descendants of the same people who\u2019d founded the village. Strangers rarely visited, and almost never stayed. The Hollow was, in many ways, like a diorama in a box\u2014never changing and eternal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll tell his mother what we know,\u201d Brom said, and I recognized the trace of impatience in his voice. \u201cWe found him in the woods like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s got no head, Brom,\u201d Sem Bakker said. \u201cHow do we explain about the lack of head?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe Horseman,\u201d one of the other men said, and I recognized the gruff tones of Abbe de Jong, the butcher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTch, don\u2019t start with the Horseman nonsense,\u201d Brom said. \u201cYou know it isn\u2019t real.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSomething killed that boy and took his head,\u201d Abbe said, pointing at the corpse. \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t it be the Horseman?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCould be the damned natives,\u201d said another man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t see his face because of his hat, and couldn\u2019t pinpoint his voice, either, though I knew everybody in the Hollow just as they all knew me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t start with that nonsense, either,\u201d Brom said, and there was a hard warning in his tone that would have made any man with sense back down. Brom was friends with some of the native people who lived nearby, though no one else in the village dared. Mostly we left them alone and they left us alone, and that seemed to be the best plan for everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy not? They lurk around in these woods, taking any animals they want\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe animals are wild, Smit, anyone can have them,\u201d Brom said, and now I knew who Brom was arguing with\u2014Diederick Smit, the blacksmith.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c\u2014and we all know they\u2019ve stolen sheep\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s no proof of that, and since you\u2019re not a sheep farmer, I hardly see what it has to do with you,\u201d Brom said. \u201cI\u2019m the only sheep farmer for miles around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to hear your defense of those savages,\u201d Smit said. \u201cThe proof is right here, before our eyes. One of them killed this poor boy and took away his head and his hands for one of their pagan rituals.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNow you listen here,\u201d Brom said, and I could see him swelling with anger, his shoulders seeming to grow broader, his fists curling. \u201cI won\u2019t have you spreading any of that around the Hollow, you hear me? Those people have done nothing to us and you have no proof.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou can\u2019t stop me from speaking,\u201d Smit said, and though his words were brave and his arms were nearly as muscled as Brom\u2019s, I heard a little quaver in his voice. \u201cJust because you\u2019re the biggest landowner in the Hollow doesn\u2019t give you the right to run everyone\u2019s lives.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf I hear one word accusing the natives of this murder I\u2019ll know who started the rumor,\u201d Brom said, stepping closer to Smit. \u201cJust remember that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brom towered over the blacksmith, as he towered over every man in the Hollow. He was built on a scale almost inhuman. I saw Smit\u2019s shoulders move, as if he considered a retort and then decided better of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf it\u2019s not the natives that only leaves the Horseman,\u201d De Jong said. \u201cI know you don\u2019t like it, Brom, but it\u2019s true. And you know, too, that as soon as word gets out about the boy\u2019s circumstances, everyone else in the Hollow will think the same.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe Horseman,\u201d Brom muttered. \u201cWhy will none of you say what\u2019s probably true\u2014that someone from the Hollow did it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOne of us?\u201d De Jong said. \u201cPeople from the Hollow don\u2019t kill children and cut off their heads.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s a good deal more likely than the mythical Headless Horseman.\u201d Brom didn\u2019t believe in a lot of the things people in the Hollow believed in. It wasn\u2019t the first time I\u2019d heard him refer to someone else\u2019s ideas as nonsense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even though everyone in the village attended church on Sunday there was a good deal of what the pastor called \u201cfolk beliefs\u201d\u2014and he shared some of those beliefs himself, which was unusual for a man of God, or so Katrina told me. It was something about the Hollow itself that encouraged this, some sense that there was lingering magic in the air, or that the haunts in the far woods reached their hands out for us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once, a long time ago, I\u2019d stepped off the track close to the deep part of the forest. I remembered Sander going mad with anxiety, calling for me to come back, but I only wanted to know why nobody in the Hollow went any farther than that point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hadn\u2019t seen any witches, or goblins, or the Horseman. But I had heard someone, someone whispering my name, and I\u2019d felt a touch on my shoulder, something cold as the wind that came in autumn. I\u2019d wanted to run then, to sprint terrified back to the farm, but Sander was watching, so I\u2019d quietly turned and stepped back on the track and the cold touch moved away from me. If Brom had known about it he would have been proud of my bravery, I think\u2014that is, if he didn\u2019t box my ears for going where I wasn\u2019t supposed to. Not that he did that very often. Katrina was the one who meted out discipline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you don\u2019t think it\u2019s the Horseman then it\u2019s not someone from the Hollow,\u201d De Jong insisted. \u201cIt must have been some outsider.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo one\u2019s reported strangers passing through,\u201d Sem Bakker said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean they haven\u2019t passed through, only that no one was aware of them,\u201d Brom said, with that tone he always saved just for Sem\u2014the tone that said he thought the other man was an idiot. \u201cA man could cross these woods and none of us would ever know, unless a hunter happened upon him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sem flushed. He knew what Brom was doing, knew full well that Brom Bones thought he was a fool. He opened his mouth, ready to argue more, but one of the other men cut him off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s just return the boy to his mother,\u201d Henrik Janssen said. He was a farmer, like Brom, and his lands bordered ours. Some quality in Henrik Janssen always made me feel uneasy around him. \u201cThere isn\u2019t much that can be done right now. If it was the Horseman, then that is part of life here, isn\u2019t it? It\u2019s the risk we take by living so close to the edge of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a general murmur of assent. This would seem callous in other places, other villages, but in Sleepy Hollow strange things were true, and sometimes those strange things reached out their claws. It wasn\u2019t that people didn\u2019t care; it was that they accepted horror in exchange for wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe boy\u2019s father will be a problem,\u201d Sem Bakker said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was a sideways reference to Thijs van den Berg\u2019s habit of drinking until he\u2019d spent all his pay and left nothing for his family. He was the most volatile man in the village when he was in that state, and if he couldn\u2019t find a man to pick a fight with in the tavern, then he\u2019d go home and pick a fight with his wife\u2014a fight she always lost, being small and unable to stand up to his fists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every woman in Sleepy Hollow pitied his wife, but they never dared show it to her. A prouder woman than Alida van den Berg didn\u2019t exist in the village. I often heard Katrina and other ladies clucking over what they ought to do to help the family, before deciding that Alida wouldn\u2019t accept their help in any case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n These conversations always left Katrina with sad eyes, and me with an unaccountable need to comfort her\u2014unaccountable because we were at odds over every other thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIn the meantime, the family has a right to mourn and bury him,\u201d Janssen said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were nods all around the circle from everyone except Brom, who scrubbed his face with his hands, a gesture that meant he was irritated, and doubly irritated on top of it because he wasn\u2019t allowed to express that feeling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my grasp slipping and gasped before quickly recentering myself, pushing my knees into the branch to keep steady. I was worried that the men might have heard me, but at that moment Brom unbuckled his saddlebag and pulled out a blanket for Cristoffel\u2019s remains. All the men\u2019s attention was focused there, and none of them looked around at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brom knelt beside Cristoffel and carefully rolled the boy\u2019s body onto the blanket before tucking the edges so that none of Cristoffel was actually visible. All that was left of him\u2014that boy who bullied other children and who was so poor that he couldn\u2019t afford shoes\u2014was a sad little lump wrapped in cloth. None of the other men spoke, or moved to help him, and I felt an unreasoning anger at that moment. Whatever Cristoffel\u2019s failings, he\u2019d been a person, and only Brom was bothering to treat him like one. Every other man only thought of Cristoffel as a problem to be solved or explained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wondered why most of them had bothered coming along. Then I wondered why the men had rushed out to this spot in the forest to begin with. Someone else must have discovered the body and reported it\u2014but who? I assumed it was one of the men in the party, who would have been on horseback. Why wouldn\u2019t that person have done just as Brom had and wrapped the body up to return to the Hollow? Why had that person left Cristoffel on the trail?<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few moments later Brom mounted his horse, Cristoffel\u2019s body cradled in one arm. The other men followed suit and they slowly filed away, their horses walking at a respectfully slow pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Only Diederick Smit lingered, his gaze fixed on the place where Cristoffel\u2019s body had lain. He stood staring so long that it seemed like he\u2019d fallen into a trance. Finally, he turned his horse and followed the others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands were cramped from holding on to the branch for so long and my back was covered in swea<\/a>t, even though I\u2019d been very still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBen!\u201d Sander said. He spoke in a whisper, as if he were still afraid of being heard by someone. His face was a pale blotch against the fallen leaves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m coming,\u201d I said, easing backward until I reached the trunk of the tree. Then I carefully swung down, my hands clinging to the branch, and grabbed the trunk with my knees so I could shimmy down. I dusted the bark off my breeches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCristoffel van den Berg was killed by the Horseman!\u201d Sander said, his eyes the size of Katrina\u2019s teacups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, he wasn\u2019t,\u201d I said, trying to summon up the same contempt that Brom had used on the other men. \u201cDidn\u2019t you hear what they were saying? Opa said it was nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sander gave me a doubtful look. \u201cJust because Mynheer Van Brunt says it doesn\u2019t mean it\u2019s true. I mean, everyone in the Hollow knows about the Headless Horseman, and what else could have killed that boy? It\u2019s not as if there are people roaming around taking heads for no particular reason. Only the Horseman does that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I would not admit to Sander that what he said made sense. It was the first thought that had occurred to me, too, when I saw Cristoffel\u2019s body without a head. But if Brom said it wasn\u2019t true, then it wasn\u2019t true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n HORSEMAN: A Tale of Sleepy Hollow is published by Berkley Books<\/a> in the United States<\/p>\n\n\n\n Add HORSEMAN to your Goodreads list here<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Grab the U.S. edition from your favorite bookseller or one of these retailers:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anderson’s Bookshops<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Barnes & Noble<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n The Book Cellar <\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Bookmarks<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Books-a-Million<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Bookshop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Bucket O’Blood Books and Records<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Indiebound<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Kobo<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Mysterious Galaxy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n RoscoeBooks<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Unabridged<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Volumes<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Women & Children First<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Audible<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Amazon<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n U.K. edition is published by Titan Books<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Signed hardcover edition available from Forbidden Planet<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Signed exclusive edition available from Waterstones<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n The Beckenham Bookshop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Big Green Bookshop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n The Book Shop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Five Leaves Bookshop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Forum Books<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Foyles<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Mr. B\u2019s Emporium<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Hive<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Literally Productions<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n The Mainstreet Trading Company<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Max Minerva\u2019s<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n The Portobello Bookshop<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Topping & Company Booksellers<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Transreal Fiction<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n WriteBlend<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" September has arrived, and that means that my latest book HORSEMAN: A TALE OF SLEEPY HOLLOW is nearly here! It will be out on September 28th, 2021, just in time for your spooky season reading. I’ve got a sneak peek … Continue reading ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.christinahenry.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/Horseman-cover-680x1024.jpg\")
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