Title: Ichabod
Character(s): Ichabod Crane/Brom Bones/the Headless Horseman
Folklore From: United States
Rating: G
Summary: Ichabod Crane gets help from Brom Bones, in executing a plan to escape Sleepy Hollow.



He hated everything about this ho-dunk town; the sights, the sounds, everything about them ... or should he say, all of the nothing about them. But especially, he hated the people of this sleepy, little town, with all of their sleepy, little minds. The only thing that made his life even remotely interesting was Kat Van Tassel. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he had loved her since they were children. Even when he had went away for school, the other girls could not turn his head, not the way she did. But she did not love him, and she never had. When he had told her how he had felt about her, things had gotten very awkward, as she tried to tell him (as gently as she could) that she only cared for him as a friend. He had begged her to give him a chance, but she said it wasn't possible, she just couldn't love him the way he wanted her to. He suspected it was because she loved Brom Bones, but he said nothing. He knew that he could never compete with Brom, not even at his best. Brom was everything that would turn a girl's head ... at least anyone who was attracted to muscular meat-heads, with absolutely no brains in their skulls.

It wasn't long before he regretted telling her his true feelings about her, because it wasn't long before the entire town knew about what had been said. He cursed himself for letting himself fall in love with her, and doubly for making the mistake of telling her anything about how he felt. And as far as the town that couldn’t seem to get over the supposed scandal of his moment of weakness, or Brom (who took this as a new opportunity to torment him), he cursed them continually.

More than anything, he wanted to get away from the constant torment that his admittance had caused. Torment from the constant whispers of the townspeople, and the loud, bragging swagger of Brom; but more than that it was the torment of knowing that she knew how he felt about her, that it hadn't done him any good in winning her, and now, she was awkward and uncomfortable around him.

If he could have one wish, it would be that he could rewind time, and take back the words that had changed his life for the worse. To make her never know he loved her so madly, to know what complete control she had over him. To take back the words that Brom now knew, and held over his head, because even Brom knew he didn't have a chance. To take back the words that had suddenly sent the entire town buzzing with half-hearted whispers, and full-hearted giggles.

It wasn’t long before he decided that something must be done. The thought of actually hurting anyone didn’t enter his mind, as he knew that the satisfaction would be short-lived (and the guilt would have lasted him a lifetime). And then, he thought of the Hessian.

The stories of the Hessian had filled this region for years. A soldier, a mercenary, hired by the British during the Revolution, in an attempt to pacify the Americans. He was vicious, blood-thirsty, enjoying the pain (wherever he could cause it). But somewhere during the war, somewhere during one of the battles, the Hessian had lost his head ... literally. And now, his ghost roamed the countryside, headless, and riding a black warhorse. They said that he was proficient in swordplay, that no one else could touch him when had a sword in his hand. The cannonball that took his head, however, he had absolutely no defense for it; a sword can't very well stop that sort of thing.

Not that Ichabod would have been able to defend himself against either a sword, or a cannonball. He was a teacher, and his whole life revolved around learning. Maybe that's why Kat didn't love him in return: because he loved his books so much, and she didn't want to have to compete. Or maybe it was because he was so awkwardly skinny, and Brom was so lovingly muscular. But it didn’t matter to Ichabod how many people believed that Brom was good-looking, he would always be a pumpkin-head.

And as far as pumpkin-heads went, he had always found it rather interesting, and slightly frightening that the Hessian seemed to be associated with Jack-o'-Lanterns. Every time he had seen one sitting outside someone's house, or in a window, he would always get a shock, and his first thought was that the Horseman (as the Hessian had also been called) had come for him. It was always such a fantastic thrill that he couldn’t say that he was sorry for having had it, once it had finished washing over him.

This time of year, they were everywhere, and it didn't matter how many times he saw them, the thrill still happened every time. It also didn't matter how many times he heard the stories about the Horseman, he was filled with a delicious fear with them, too. He didn't know why he kept listening to them, because he knew that he knew that he had an over-active imagination, and he would be hearing galloping hoof-beats coming after him the whole way home.

It was on one of those long rides home that he first got the idea. This time of year was filled with Horseman stories, and there were those people who truly believed that he roamed around their sleepy section of the country. There were those who claimed to have seen him ... or at least, to have known of someone who had seen him ... and had known of someone who had been beheaded by him. Of course, when they were asked, a name of the victim couldn't be provided, or in the very rare instance when a name could be provided, ti turned out to be no one they had actually met.

And the more than Ichabod thought about it, the more perfect the whole situation seemed. And the more perfect it looked, the more solid the idea became in his mind. An idea of how he could escape his embarrassment, and the ridicule.

One week, he let it be know that he was going to be "visiting his uncle," who lived in the country. Of course, there was no such uncle, and the following weekend, he traveled to the next town to buy a black horse, and black clothes (including a high-colored cape). He knew of nowhere where he could get the proper sword in a hurry (after all, who used a sword anymore), and he wondered if it would even matter. He hoped that anyone who saw him dressed thusly, would be much too alarmed to take a closer look at what was present (or what wasn't).

Coming home late on Sunday night, so as to keep away from prying eyes (since he didn't have an explanation as to where he had gotten the horse ... at least a satisfactory one, anyway), he hid the horse in an abandoned barn near his home. Making sure that the stallion was secure, and leaving it some food, he hurried to get back home; he couldn't give the children of the town a reason to mention how strangely he’d been acting to their parents ... or at least, how much stranger he was acting. The people of this town had enough time on their hands that his behavior could occupy tongues and minds for months to come.

Walking his original horse to the nearby road, before mounting, Ichabod nearly jumped out of his skin with fright, when a voice came out of the darkness behind him.

"So," the voice of Brom said, from the deepened shadow under a tree, "I see that you've brought yourself a new steed."

"What I do," Ichabod said, slowly turning, "is of no concern of yours."

"I beg to differ," Brom said, stepping closer, so as to be seen more clearly. "I think what you do is ver much my concern, especially when it concerns Kat Van Tassel."

"You have already won her," Ichabod said, his face screwing up in pain, "do you really need to keep throwing it in my face?"

"While that is completely enjoyable for me," Brom said, with a wide smile on his face, and his arms crossed against his chest, "you're right. That isn't why I'm here."

"Then, what is the reason?"

"I suspect that you have something planned, if you've got a new horse ... on that is too much for you to handle, if seeing you trying to pull him down the road and into that barn is any indication. And I notice that he’s black." He raised an eyebrow. "Much like the Hessian's horse."

Ichabod simply stared at him, not wanting to admit to anything, and surprised that such a pumpkin-head could have guessed so close to the mark.

"Whatever it is that you have planned," Brom continued, his voice becoming a bit more forceful, "I want you to leave Kat out of it."

"What ... exactly do you think it is that I've planned?"

Brom took another step closer to Ichabod. "You told her that you love her, and she let you know that she didn't love you. Now, you've bought that horse." He yanked his head toward the direction of the barn. "I think that, seeing as the time of year that we are in, you were planning on faking her death, and taking her away with you."

Ichabod nearly laughed. He would have, if he hadn't been so terribly afraid of Brom, and the bodily harm that he could most likely cause.

"You've got it all wrong ... well, no," Ichabod stammered, "you've got it only half wrong. I have no intention of trying to take Kat away from you. I was planning on using the legend of the Hessian to my own benefit, but I was planning on leaving this place by myself, pretending to be killed by him."

Brom grinned, broadly, at him. "I think that I can help you."

Ichabod was surprised at how willing he was to let Brom help him in such an endeavor. For someone he had always considered to be thick, it seemed to him that Brom would know exactly what to do in such a situation. In fact, it seemed as though Brom had thought about this far more than he had. But instead of suggesting that they execute the plan immediately, Brom insisted that they wait. First, he suggested that they wait until the annual Fall Festival at the Van Tassel home, where Ichabod would man an appearance (making his supposed death just that much more shocking to the people who had just seen him). In the mean time, they would look for a newly buried corpse, which looked as though it could pass as Ichabod.

It wasn't long until Brom asked Ichabod to meet him secretly, in the barn where the stallion was kept (the stallion that Brom had somehow come to see as his own, and whom he had been taking out for spirited rides, late at night), only a few nights before the party. Coming inside, Brom had showed him the corpse that he had found (still fresh, from the look of him, and from a neighboring town). It didn't look as close to himself as Ichabod had hoped, but certainly enough to fool any cursory examination (especially missing it's head, the way that it was).

In the time that had passed since he had first been approached by Brom, and when the body had been found, Ichabod had given little serious thought about what he would do once he was free of this place. No, he was filled with the romance of what life would be like, once he had a fresh beginning, and he could start over. He considered going out West, and becoming a teacher there. A teacher was in high demand on the frontier, and they wouldn’t be so quick to examine credentials (even if they were badly forged replicas of the ones that he already had, with only the name changed).

The only concrete thing that he had done, was to pack his meager possessions, and to dress the (now ridged) body in his own clothes. It was with a heavy heart that he did this, once it had begun. He now had one fewer suit to bring with him on his journey. But it would little matter, once he had started his new life, and he began to wonder what the fashion was there.

So, it was with a certain level of excitement, mixed with a healthy amount of trepidation, that he went to the party at the Van Tassel home on the appointed night. He made sure to mingle with the other guests, as much as would be expected of him, being the eccentric that he was. And he sat in a corner and ate a plate heaped full of food, as Brom told a fantastic version of the Headless Horseman.

Hours later, still on pins and needles, he managed to catch Brom's eye. Brom nodded only slightly at him, and he knew that was the signal. He began to yawn and stretch, making it quite clear that the hour was far past what he was accustomed to going to bed at. He said goodbye to fellow guests of the party, to Kat, and thanked the Van Tassels for inviting him into their home. He then, quickly extricated himself from the house, and after mounting his horse, he went to went to where he had stashed a wagon. Getting it appropriately hitched, he got into the seat and started on his way.

Brom had probably already excused himself from the party, and it wouldn't be long until the guests would see the Horseman riding outside the Van Tassel home. And not long after that, if all went well, they would find the headless body laying on the side of the road. The body that was wearing Ichabod's clothes, and which he and Brom had left there for them to find. They would assume that the Horseman had come for him, and he would be free and clear to begin a new life, without the fear of being found out by any of them. As for Brom, he would have Kat, without the fear that Ichabod would be hanging about, like a kicked dog, hoping for scraps from the master's table.

And as he turned in a fork in the road, he could just make out the screams of people who were being terrified.