The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

(continued from a villager’s point of view)

It was said that Ichabod had not returned to the school for two days. At first, I didn’t

believe what everybody was gossiping about, but now I have no doubt about what

happened. They all keep saying it was just a coincidence that he was not coming to the

school, that he was probably just sick, and he would be back in a few days. But you tell

me. If he was sick, wouldn’t we have heard from him? Wouldn’t Ichabod have given us

some notice, that he wouldn’t be able to come to teach the children? I know everybody

is saying it’s a coincidence. But I also know what they all are thinking, what they believe

in their hearts.

The day that Ichabod was said to disappear, I was mowing my lawn, and I had seen him

exiting the school, galloping away, on his old, grey horse, Gunpowder. I saw him entering

the woods, but he hesitated for a few seconds before going in. He shouldn’t have gone.

It was twelve o’ clock. The witching hour had arrived, and the woods were the most

unsafe place in the valley at this time. I had the fleeting thought of warning him, but

I ignored by instincts and went back to work.

The next day, Ichabod had not come to breakfast, lunch, or dinner. We heard nothing

from him, so we assumed he wasn’t well. But the day after that, when there was no sign

of him, a few of the townsmen, including me, set out on a expedition to find him. The

first place we checked was his house. The windows were covered and shut, and the door

was bolted. At first, we tried knocking on the door, but after a while we gave up and

barged inside. It was immaculate, exactly the way Ichabod would have kept it. But he

wasn’t there. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. So, I volunteered the idea of

searching the woods, because I had seen him go inside. We went and we searched,

behind every tree, in every hole,behind every bush. There was not a single trace of him.

We were just about to give up. We had ran around the entire village looking for that

man. There was no other place to search. But at the last moment, an idea popped into

my brain. “Wait! We haven’t searched the bridge yet!” At those words, everybody

 shuddered simultaneously. The bridge was a forbidden place. It was dangerously

creaky, and old, the wood in splinters. But we had no choice. We had to check. We took

off towards the direction of the bridge, and once we came, an alarming sight awaited

us. We found Ichabod’s hat...next to a shattered pumpkin. Horrorstuck, we all ran, we

ran and ran for our lives, to our homes, shutting ourselves inside. I gasped for breath.

My suspicions had been proven to be true. Ichabod was irretrievable. He was gone,

forever.

The news quickly spread out. Within a few hours, everybody knew. The townspeople held

a funeral for poor Ichabod, and his dreadful fate. The funeral went well, everything

happened in an orderly fashion. Afterwards, I went home, and decided to rake my yard.

As I was doing so, I felt a woosh of cold air that sent chills down my spine. I turned

around only to come face to face with the tall, narrow shouldered, figure of Ichabod

Crane, but replacing his head, was a bright orange pumpkin with a wicked smile on its

face...