Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Instead, the trail of blood continues past the staircase mezzanine and across to the women’s quarters, rounding the corner.
My stomach twists. There is no possible instance that the body moving at the speed it was could have made it to the women’s quarters so fast.
The blood is wet, smells real, I tell myself, trying to keep myself in stride. The way it catches the lanterns’ glow, like red oil, that’s real. But the speed in which it moved, that couldn’t be real, couldn’t be…human.
I’m not usually a cowardly man. I’ve seen and done things in my life that would land people in jail, that would make others run. But here, with the lantern swinging in my hand, on a quiet night in this old building, I feel fear like I’ve never felt it before.
Something is strange here. Strange in a way that could be very, very dangerous if I’m not careful.
Taking in a deep breath, I manage to find my courage. And I keep walking.
I go quietly, sneaking past the staircase and into the women’s wing. I try and keep that bravery with me as I turn the corner, expecting to see the body down the other hall.
But there’s nothing. There’s no blood either. I look down at my feet and see the floor is just faded wood. The house feels like it’s sleeping.
I let out a long exhale, running my hand down my face for a moment. None of it was real. Not the blood, not the body. It was all in my head. All the pressures of the job and this need to create a new life are building up inside me. Not to mention the last time I had any drugs or alcohol in me.
I stand there for a moment, then realize a teacher could come out of her room and see me loitering in the halls. So I get my wits together and walk back the way I came, marveling at how dry the floor is as I go. I know I touched blood, I smelled it, but what if it was all an illusion? What if none of this is real, like a dream?
That’s it, I think to myself. I’m overstimulated and exhausted and dreaming. Once I get back to my bed, it will all be over. I’ll wake up, and the day will start again, and all of this will fade away into memory.
I round the corner to my hallway.
I see the body.
Right outside my open door, long arms in a pale, bloodstained nightgown pulling themselves inside my room.
There is no blood this time, but the body is there, slender grey feet disappearing through my door until the hall is empty again.
I feel sick, the lantern shaking in my hand again, bad enough that the flame of the candle flickers, threatening to go out.
“Fuck,” I swear, managing to keep the lantern away from my breath.
This isn’t real, I tell myself. Remember, there’s no blood this time. This doesn’t follow the laws of physics, the laws of science.
Yes, but neither does magic, and that’s very much a tangible thing. It governs my life. How can I be so bold as to assume all of this is in my head?
And yet I find myself walking down the hall back to my bedroom as if being compelled by the thing that’s waiting for me there. One step in front of another, the lights wavering on the stone walls, the building so quiet that my heartbeat is the only thing I hear. Even the thump of the woman is gone; the dragging sound of her soiled nightgown has vanished. It’s just me.
It’s just me.
There’s only me.
I get to my door, and for one second, I fear the horror will kill me. The idea of what’s waiting for me inside.
They will eat your soul, Marie had said earlier.
Joke’s on them. I might not even have one.
I step inside my room, my lantern held out in front, casting the darkness into light.
There’s no one there.
Nothing except a row of candles all along the windowsill, the flames dancing as if there’s a breeze. What in God’s name? I didn’t light those. I know I didn’t.
I quickly walk in all the way and look around, including my bathroom and closet, making sure there’s no place for this thing to hide. Satisfied, I march over to my desk and the candles on the sill above it.
I suck in my breath.
On the desk is a black snake with several sewing needles stabbed through it, in the eye, the middle, and the end of the tail. Dead, except for a faint twitch of the tail.
And below it, there’s something written on a scrap of paper in very fine handwriting.
Written in blood.
Welcome to Sleepy Hollow. May you never leave.
Chapter 9
Crane
Suffice to say, I barely slept a wink last night. After I found the message, I quickly disposed of the snake in the forest. Mercifully, the creature was fully dead—it must have been a reflex that caused it to move. It was only then that I realized I needed to hold on to the sewing needles and the piece of paper. Sure, the blood I had seen in the hallway wasn’t real, and the woman that I saw dragging herself on the floor disappeared, but this was evidence that I had. The only problem was I didn’t know what it was evidence of.