Splinter

Sleepy Hollow 1781

Death was in the air tonight. It came upon the residents of Sleepy Hollow at the sound of thundering hooves. Tucked tightly in their beds, all they could do was wait. Yet, beyond their doors, there was one resident who didn’t heed the warnings. The clock tower tolled midnight and on to the dirt streets of the town, a person rode through the streets of the town. In the moonlight, if one was curious enough to peek outside would see the blue tattered coat of a colonial soldier.

The manifestation of their dread would have been witnessed by the curious onlooker if they had stayed for a moment longer - a huge man riding a ghostly white horse, with an axe that gleamed with malice.

Luckily, the majority of inhabitants were oblivious to the danger that swiftly passed by their homes.

To reach safety, the colonial soldier could only ride and hope. They tightly held the reins, urging their horse to go faster as their pursuer closed in on them.

The soldier and the horseman rode across the gristmill, then past the brick and white painted steeple of the old Dutch church, the Pocantico River, and finally out into the forest. Only a little further. The soldiers muttered, their legs pressing hard against the horse and gratefully the horse obeyed and increased its pace. Sadly, the soldier knew they couldn’t maintain this speed for long. 

The soldier noticed the horseman in their peripheral vision, but the sound of their own heart pounding drowned out the horses' hooves as they rushed across the crimson-colored bridge.

Come on, the soldier muttered under his breath. We are going to make it. It wasn’t just their life on the line, but thousands of slaves whose freedom depended on their success.

Failure was not an option.

Their horse reared up, a shrill sound coming from it and then the soldier was being thrown off the horse and onto the ground. The next thing the soldier could see was an axe protruding from his horse. The soldier looked up and there the horseman was getting off his steed and heading towards them. 

The soldier didn’t know how they got the strength but they managed to get up on their feet. Blood trickled into their eyes, and their legs screamed with pain. Their long curly hair spilled around their face further hampering their view but they knew their death was swift in coming. The soldier got stiffly on their feet and ran into the forest. 

The forest was eerily quiet and still as the soldier ran but they knew the horseman wasn’t far behind. Branches snagged into their hair, slicing across the soldier’s brown vulnerable skin as they ran. The soldier was no stranger to pain and they would rather suffer these injuries than be caught. If they were caught it would be the end for not only them but the colonies.

They had to survive, they had to make it to safety. 

The soldier darted out from the corpse of trees into a clearing and waiting for them was a group of figures in dark robes. The soldier slowed to a stop, their eyes going wide, and then suddenly they were being lifted off the ground by the throat. Their eyes went wide as they turned to see the Horseman's hands around his neck. 

Heat rushed through the soldier’s body so hot that it felt that could scorch their very bones. Furche,  The soldier managed to squeeze through the tight vice around their throat and then the soldier was suddenly released and slumped to the ground. 

The soldier coughed, their bodies shuttering as they desperately gasped for air. The solider turned and jumped as they saw the head of the Horseman lying beside them. They cried out and scrabbled away from it. A hand grabbed their shoulder and jerked away and there standing in front of the soldier was a robed figure. 

Come, we don’t have much time, said a rough masculine voice. 

The soldier hurried to follow their savior noticing the robed figures had formed a half circle around the horseman. The robed individuals chanted as they formed an invisible shield with a glowing light emanating from their fingertips. The soldier managed to pass it easily, but the Horseman’s headless body rose to chase and slammed against it.

With the soldier and his savior now part of the group, they faced the Horseman. The soldiers' pain dissipated as they chanted in unison, fueled by the fire in their veins:

delme bierme elementse stende plon avna , 

te e aide bierme horseman s oso ,

suande atme , nuf , plin e frue , 

bierme nu s voin does cuin falter bierme angique slides mue , 

bierme freunde is sprunge , 

suande these uordse uepre ien crin

The horseman's body was slashed, resembling a shattered pane of glass. His wounds glowed in a brilliant vermilion color, and the body fell apart piece by piece onto the ground. The pieces astonishingly burst into flame and dissolved into ash.

For hours under the full moon, they chanted, but the head of the horseman remained intact. Its eyes gazed at them, devoid of life. The soldier thought they would fold under the strain of the spell as time stretched on and on.

Then they finally stopped, and the soldier collapsed on the ground. 

"Mathilde." 

They slowly cracked open their eyes and their kneeling above them was a familiar and dear face. A man who had dark brown skin, short kinky hair, a trimmed beard, and kind almond-shaped dark eyes looked at Mathilde with concern.

Pieter.

Mathilde reached out, their fingers caressed the face of their beloved. Out of nowhere, a fog descended upon them and they felt detached from their body, as if they were observing from a distance. Mathilde could only stare in amazement as they opened their mouth and spoke. 

 "A whitewood tree grown in chains,

will wither and dwindle,

a branch will fall and split in two. 

The first will be lost to the allure of milky petals

The second will be drenched in crimson, burning with poena’s song,

the obsidian pawn will rise again," 

"two and two and two again, 

one choice will have to be made, 

and a chosen will rise, 

will the branches will twist and warp, 

together as one, slaying the pawn, 

and a new age will be born?" 

"Or the branches will break and splinter, 

the yew with wither and die, 

the tendrils of chaos and death will rise and eclipse. 

all will be lost?"

 Then abruptly, reality snapped back in place and Mathilde gasped and looked up at Pieter and then over to where the head of the Horseman lay. They stood up and went over to the head.

This isn’t the end, isn’t it? 

No, Mathilde closed their eyes and shuttered. The others rushed towards Mathilde, pointing at the head and speaking in panicked voices.

"What about our deal with Benjamin Franklin? A member of the robed group inquired as Mathilde gazed at the coven that had put themselves in danger for this opportunity. Mathilde risked their life and the life of their coven to bait the trap and capture the Horseman.

He is…gone for now. Mathilde stood rigid, their chin stubbornly held high. We did what we could. 

Pieter came forward and took Mathilde’s hand. No one will be safe when The Horseman returns.

What should do?

The Great Mother has prophesized the coming of a chosen one, and we must trust Iurti's words, Mathilde insisted determinedly. 

And Pieter stood beside them, grasping Mathlide's hand and squeezing it as they looked at their companions. We must have faith.

Drusilla awoke to the sound of something crashing to the floor. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, Drusilla believed she was still standing in the forest clearing. She could almost feel the heaviness and comfort of Pieter’s hand in hers.

Drusilla pried her shaking fingers from the sheets and reached out to turn on the light. Her eyes immediately went to the shards of her father’s favorite antique porcelain vase on the floor. How in the hell did that break? Maybe she accidentally knocked it over in her sleep?

It had survived centuries, only to get destroyed. Drusilla got a lump in her throat and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Her father would have been at the waste.

I knew I should have put it downstairs.

Logically, Drusilla knew her father was dead and that he would storm into her room and he wouldn’t be giving her one of his long-winded lectures. I would do anything to have him back for just one more day, even if it meant breaking everything in this damn house. It had been five months since his passing, and everyone said it would get easier with time. But Drusilla was still waiting for the day she didn’t expect him to turn the corner, a smile on his face.

Enough of that, Drusilla thought to herself as she firmly shoved her grief and anguish down. With a sigh, she gathered a bucket, dustpan, and broom and started cleaning up the mess.

Drusilla hated this time of year. Sleepy Hollow seemed to lose itself to Halloween madness, and the Headless Horseman was the town’s favorite specter.

And even with all her logic, Drusilla couldn’t quite escape that madness, even her dreams. It seeped through the walls, haunting her. She’d tried medication, therapy–hell, working herself to exhaustion. But every night when Drusilla closed her eyes, she would be back on her horse being chased through the streets of Sleepy Hollow.

Drusilla was just sweeping up the last of the mess and reverently placing the shards in the bucket, hoping to repair it later, when her phone rang.

Van Tassel!

Doc. Sheriff Thornton’s voice was gruff. We got a body over in Tarrytown.

Drusilla rubbed her eyes and barely suppressed a sigh as the Sheriff gave her the address. She reassured him she would be there as soon as she could and hung up. Drusilla looked at the time on her phone screen. It was five-thirty a.m.

Well, it wasn’t like I was getting any more sleep, anyway. Drusilla shook her head. Besides, she would rather work than have to wait out the rest of the morning in the too eerie quiet of the manor.

Drusilla had fully expected to be called in earlier. She was on call today, and being on call during the graveyard shift meant they often woke her up in the middle of the night.

Drusilla quickly stripped and dressed in her usual uniform of simple blue hospital scrubs, her funky red and white argyle socks, and her black Chucks–her only minor rebellion against her boss’s strict dress code.

She took off her black bonnet, and her copper curls, done up in thick twists that fell to her shoulders. She didn’t have time to undo them and arrange them in her usual twist-out, so she just gave them a quick check in the mirror, then hurried out of her room and down the grand staircase into the living room.

Stopping at the mantle over the fireplace, Drusilla touched the carved cow horn that had been used in the Revolutionary War. It had been one of her father’s rare auction finds, and touching it made her feel closer to him.

Wish me luck, Dad, Drusilla thought to herself, shaking her head at her ridiculous superstition.

With a sigh, she hurried out into the darkness of the early morning. Drusilla could see Hobbs, the farm’s foreman, already out and about tending to the horses. She gave the elderly white man a wave before hurrying into the garage.

Drusilla slid behind the wheel of her sleek black Lincoln Continental and sped down the long drive and onto the narrow road that led into town.