Sleepy Hollow 2

A fan-fiction based on the one done by Tim Burton.

BECAUSE I CAN

And I do realize that I spelled Icahbod's name wrong, I just like it without the H Ok? GREAT! Because it doesn't matter anyway you pronounce it the same.

By: Danbamina

Constable Icabod Crane traveled slowly back to where he'd met Katrina Van Tassel, love of his life, or so he had thought. It wasn't until he noticed her wandering off late at night about three times a week that he'd gone and followed her one night. Little did he know that this act would surely mean her death.

As it turns out Katrina had been seeing another by night, one who was very possessive of his love. Upon seeing Icabod the man pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it at Katrina's head. Icabod had tried to reason with the man, but the man was distraught upon being deceived by his love so, he pulled the trigger and killed her. Seeing his love dead, the man turned the gun upon himself and once again pulled the trigger. Icabod had watched, frozen with horror, as Katrina's limp form fell to the ground at his feet.

It was now his duty to go back to Sleepy Hollow to bury his beloved Katrina, as was written in her will. Everything that was hers was given to Icabod and she had bid him live in the house in Sleepy Hollow. Icabod found he could not deny her wishes, not yet, at least. So he had prepared to travel back to Sleepy Hollow once more, but only for as long as it took for him to forget Katrina and repair his broken heart.

***

Helen Williams sat on her great, black stallion, waiting for the coach to come into view. She felt her horse tense expectantly as the sound of the coach's rattling wheels and jingling harness reached their ears.

She reached down and patted the horse's silken shoulder, "Easy now Admiral, you know the rules. Let them get a good look at us and then we gallop off towards them with the sword raised and you looking ever so ferocious." She told the horse gently before straightening up and pulling her cloak tighter about herself, "That's a good boy." She calmed the stallion and herself, tying the knot that would keep her face and upper body hidden from view, effectively creating the guise of the Headless Horseman.

It was a sort of game now-a-days that she played with the few rare coaches, a warning that if they upset someone, the Headless Horseman would rise and hunt them down to retrieve his own head from their bodies. She snickered to herself as the coach came into view around the bend, still well within woods.

"All right boy, out onto the path." She gently nudged the horse forward, he obeyed, eagerly tossing his head and rearing as they reached the center of the well-worn road. Helen looked at the coach and watched calmly as it came closer and closer.

"Dear Lord! The Headless Horseman!" The coach-driver called out, his unfamiliar voice reverberating around the trees. Helen gasped, this one was new! He didn't know it was joke.

An attractive man stuck his head from the window and stared at Helen. She shook herself mentally and spurred Admiral forward without warning, raising her sword as she did so and swinging it in a circle by her side; she raced forwards, and passed the coach, cutting at the sides above the man's head, missing him by less than an inch. She kept going, she'd turn around later and come back into the village through the back and the coach and its passenger wouldn't be any the wiser for it. Such was the game she loved to play, cruel though it may seem.

***

Icabod looked up to see a sword passing over his head, and promptly fainted.

When he awoke next he was in his old room back in the Van Tassel home. The door opened and he shrank back against his headboard as a figure emerged from the gloom surrounding the doorway. How he had hated that gloom before and now he hated it even more.

A young girl, around what Katrina's age had been by the looks of her, approached him, her ebony black hair swept gracefully into a bun at the nape of her neck and with eyes the color of starlight filled with concern as she set a tray laden with delicious smelling food on the table at the foot of his bed.

"Feeling better are we sir?" She asked him, leaning over and feeling his forehead carefully with cool hands.

"Was I sick?" Icabod asked a bit confused at her actions.

"You had a slight fever and you slept for a good three days. I swear, you look about six times better than you did when they brought you here." The girl picked up a glass of milk and offered it to him, "You really should eat something. The doctor says that you must be suffering from grief."

"Suffering?" Icabod asked, taking a sip of the cold milk and feeling something freezing bump against his upper lip he withdrew quickly, "What's in this glass besides milk?"

"Just a bit of ice. Warm milk doesn't taste so good so last night I set out a bucket of clean water to freeze and this morning I chipped some of it off and put it in that glass. Makes the milk taste better if you drink it before the ice melts."

"Oh." Icabod looked down to see three chips of ice floating on the top of the white liquid, looking slightly forlorn, but to be polite he began to drink it and it was indeed, rather good.

"Now you asked me what I meant by suffering. Allow me to explain. Suffering from grief is when you refuse to eat, sleep, or drink anything because you feel your entire world has crashed down around you. Am I correct in assuming that's how you feel at the moment?"

"Y-yes." Icabod stuttered, surprised by this girl's intuition.

"Of course it is. I went through the same thing not too long ago when…well when that dreadful Hessian came back and lopped off my Dear John's head and stole it away. Lucky for me my Dear John left me Admiral to look after. And you can't let a horse like him go unattended for too long, else that kind of horse will go back to his wild ways quicker than you can blink an eye." The girl started chatting easily about how to keep a horse as grand as hers in top condition all the while taking perfectly good care of Icabod.

"Now then, how about you try some of this bacon?" The girl took away Icabod's now empty milk-glass and held out a small plate with two strips of bacon on it.

"No thank you." Icabod tried to get up but the girl placed a hand on his chest and pushed him firmly back onto the bed.

"Not until you eat some real food Mr. Crane. I won't allow you to leave this house or this bed until then." She leaned down and proffered the plate again, "Now how about that bacon, hmm?"

An hour of useless arguing later Icabod emerged from his home with a full belly and a clean suit of clothes on, the girl guiding him to the cemetery where the funeral would be held in a little while.

"How long is 'a little while' exactly?" Icabod asked her, disliking the way she had looped her arm through his and how she refused to let him walk by himself, it was like he was going to faint any minute.

"Oh about two hours but by the time we get there it's only going to be fifteen minutes!"

"It takes us fifteen minutes to walk there."

"Well then. Aren't we the smart one now?" The girl removed her arm and stopped his by grabbing his bicep in a strong grip, "And I'm being so rude! Here I am knowing your name and you don't even have the slightest idea as to who I am."

"S-sorry?"

"I'm Helen Williams. Katrina's best friend! Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Crane." The girl curtsied and continued walking, continuing to talk about horses. Icabod followed her, glad that she had removed her arm from his and was walking ahead of him, leading instead of guiding.

The funeral was a lovely affair; someone had decided to go into the woods and pick a large bouquet of Katrina's favorite flowers and place them on her already closed grave. And the Reverend said all of the rights again, just for Icabod's sake.

"Why is she already buried?" Icabod whispered to Helen, staring at the mound of earth that was now his love.

"Oh. You see sir, we waited as long as we could but the smell…well it was enough to make the strongest man vomit. Took us forever just to bury her." Helen replied, dabbing at her eyes with a light blue handkerchief, "Poor dear."

"Yes. Poor dear." Icabod repeated dryly, refusing to allow the tears gathering behind his eyes spill down his cheeks.

***

AUTHORS NOTE: YAAAAY! I wrote a chapter in about five minutes AND a new OC! WHEE! Anyway, I thought I would let you all know that is based upon the MOVIE version (did I say that before? no matter I said it again). Ummmm, yeah. Review it. Read it. Enjoy it (as much as you can) aaand I'll update it soon Ok? COOL! Go you people who actually read this!