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)
I go down the stairs, the light dancing on the stone walls, and I feel I must go on forever, but eventually, my feet touch a dirt-packed floor.
Ahead of me is another hall, but this one is short and rounds at the end. I don’t hear the body anymore, and the dirt is undisturbed.
But I do hear something else. A faint wail that puts the fear of God in me better than my father ever could. It’s an inhuman cry that’s suddenly swallowed up by silence, like the sound was cut in two, producing a strong silence so deafening that I can hear my own blood in my veins, the sticky sound of my cells turning over.
I press my fingers against my temple, trying to get it to stop. Tears run down my face, and I wipe them away to see bloodstained fingers. I want to tear my eyes right out of my head, press my thumbs straight into my sockets, and—
The silence stops. The air pressure in the hall adjusts, and I see light flicker where it curves around the corner.
I’m not alone here.
I never was.
I look down at my hands, and there isn’t a drop of blood to be found.
Hell.
I slowly walk down the hall toward the flickering light, unsure of what I’m about to see but knowing I’m unable to stop. I am compelled to discover what’s happening to me, compelled to find out the truth.
I round the bend and see that it ends with a large black iron door. The dirt at the foot of the door forms a right angle, meaning it must be opened and closed enough to pack down the dirt in front of it.
I press my hands against it and wince. The metal is hot to the touch.
Please. I hear a whisper, not out loud but in my head. Please, Professor Crane.
It belongs to a girl and a boy and so many different people. It’s raw and desperate, and I feel the fatalistic sorrow inside me as if it’s my own.
I see Marie’s face as she died, mouth stretched in an endless scream.
“Can I help you find something?” Leona Van Tassel’s voice comes through so loud that I yelp and jump around, the candle falling out of my hands and onto the dirt floor. It’s snuffed out, but not before I see Leona standing behind me, wearing a face without skin. Just round eggs for eyes and a row of sharp white teeth.
Then everything goes black, and I think I might die of a heart attack right here.
“Let me,” her voice rings through the darkness, and suddenly, there’s light again.
She’s holding the candle in her hands now, her fingertips black and dipped into the flame. Her face is normal again, and her expression is more bemused than angry.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, my teeth clacking together.
“Don’t be,” she says coolly, lifting her chin. “You’re only in a very private part of the school that’s off-limits to anyone who isn’t part of the coven.” She raises her brow, and I realize it’s one of the few times I’ve seen her without her cloak on her head. “Are you interested in joining our coven, Ichabod?”
I can barely swallow. “I was following someone.” Like hell I would want to be part of your coven.
“Yes,” she says dryly. “Sister Sophie told me about your situation. You mustn’t let the students get the best of you. You’re their professor, after all. You have the higher ground.”
I stare into her eyes, the darkness in them growing as if her irises are spreading. “I’ll try to remember that,” I manage to say. “Still, don’t you think it’s strange that the students would lead me down here? Where are we anyway?”
The corner of her lip twitches. “We are in the soul of the institute. 1710 was the year we first broke ground here and built this very building. But when we were digging, we discovered this place right here had already existed, deep underground. Like it was waiting for us.”
I stare at her for a moment, processing that, before looking around at the walls. They aren’t stone or wood but packed dirt like the floor, covered in a thin veil of what could be oil. “What was it?”
She shrugs. “We don’t know,” she muses. “The town of Sleepy Hollow only existed for seventy years prior to the construction of the school. This is an old place, older than New Netherland, older than America, older than the natives, perhaps even older than what you call God. But it sustains us, and it will sustain you. You can feel it, can’t you, Ichabod? The power here, how it moves like worms through the earth, feeding on your soul.”
“On my soul?” I ask.
“Ah, I forget. Sometimes you wonder if you have one. Well, I’m here to inform you that you do. And it is very, very sweet.” She grins. Once again, her teeth are a little sharper than they were before. She waves a hand in front of my face. “You will eeepsim see dorec fly fantasm, Mr. Crane. Let vorus vim alone.”