In the legends that were told around roaring fires on cold autumn nights, the horsemen never showed himself until nightfall. These days, people walking past the churchyard could hear the pounding of phantom hooves on the packed earth of the road as the horizon darkened the first segment of the disk of the falling sun. Some of the travelers claimed to see the figure on horseback out of the corner of their eye. Those that were brave enough to turn their head and look at the shadow saw nothing. Just an entanglement of bare branches against an orange sky littered with cold cobalt clouds.
Sightings of the horseman always took place on the road through the forest, well outside of town. Now, people living on the back streets of the village claimed to hear him stalking the cobblestone lanes in the early hours of moonless nights. They would wake from their sleep to hear the unearthly high-pitched neigh of a horse outside. But when they parted the heavy winter curtains of the bedroom window they only saw whispers of fog floating in the road. The ethereal vapor swirling about as if someone had just ran through it.
Of course there were those in Sleepy Hollow that felt these stories were completely absurd. Tales of the horseman had been told since the first time a war cannon was fired near the Hudson. And in the twenty some odd years since that time, the tales of the horseman were very clear about the specter’s habits, none of which bared any resemblance to the whispers that circulated today. Around every sewing circle there were those who vehemently denied the current rumors, citing past stories such as the one involving the old schoolmaster as corroboration. Others insisted that the ghoul was growing frustrated after years of looking for his missing piece.
Finally, one November evening a story emerged that some would say proved the rumors.
Alison Van Houten lived on her family’s farm at the edge of the forest, just outside of town. The Van Houten family was one of the most well respected families in Sleepy Hollow, despite their lack of wealth. When the Eikenboom family lost their home to a fire several years earlier, the Van Houten’s were the first come to their aid with more than enough food from their humble pantry and the best clothes in their closets. And in the rare case that Van Houten family would ask for a small loan as a last resort, their creditor would be paid back more than he was owed over time.
At the age of seventeen, Alison was the oldest of the Van Houten children and was known to help care for her younger siblings. Although quiet at times, she was valiant and steadfast and above all else honest.
Imagine the shock of the townspeople when Alison burst into the Inn that November evening. She was without a coat despite the early winter wind and her clothes were torn and dirty as if she had fallen badly. As everyone in the Inn crowded around to help her she began to tell the tale that no one could forget.
She had been walking along the road to the north of town, near the old church. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon as the air began to turn frigid. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, Alison had seen a shadow like many Sleepy Hollow residents before her. She apprehensively turned, hoping there would be nothing there like in the rest of the stories. Instead she saw a large cloaked figure sitting upon a massive black stallion. The horse was covered in grime and the remnants of dried up vines clung to his coat. The figure was draped in black rags that danced in the wind. Alison would say that the fabric was tattered and scorched as if from riding through the fires of Hell. A hood covered the creature’s head. But as the last rays of sunlight hung in the cool air, Alison could see without a doubt that there was no head beneath the hood. The horse breathed heavy and began to stomp the earth.
Alison turned and ran. The horseman waited, almost as if to give her a head start, but within seconds he was right behind her. The horse began to overtake her and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the horseman’s reaching hand. Before she had a chance to make a move an icy, gnarled hand grasped the back of her coat and began to drag her alongside the horse. Thinking quickly, Alison lifted her arms over her head and out of the coat and hit the earth with a thud. She expected to feel a deathly grip on her neck, but nothing. Looking up she saw the road was empty except for a rolling mist up ahead. Alison got up and ran to town as fast as she was able, stopping at the first building she encountered, the old Inn.
Alison Van Houten would recover from her experience after several weeks, but would later move south to what was once known as New Amsterdam to avoid being a constant topic of conversation in the sleepy village. Of course there were those that doubted her story completely, using past legends to support their argument that this could not have taken place. But those in the river valley that held the legend as sacred believed her. When they told the story around roaring fires on cold autumn nights they would say that having not been able to find a suitable head, the horseman now came searching for souls.
More pictures here. I owe a lot of credit to
PumpkinRot for the huge amount of inspiration he provides daily. Particularly, the witch jars and some of the pumpkin designs are heavily influenced by his work.
