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  "And Katrina Van Tassel too, sir. All of Mr. Ichabod Crane's good acquaintances." He laughed. "I was told that Mr. Ichabod Crane planned to marry that fine woman."

  "Katrina Van Brunt," Mr. Mulder corrected.

  "Van Brunt?" Julian asked.

  "Yes. Mrs. Van Brunt," Mr. Mulder said again. "She married a decade ago."

  Julian committed the new fact to memory. "Then I would very much like to speak with both her and her husband."

  The Mulders glanced at each other again, before turning back to Julian.

  "You don't know do you?" Mr. Mulder pointed out. "You must have forgotten to put it in that little book of yours that you carry around. Bones, as in Brom Bones, is a nickname; it is not his family name. It's Van Brunt. It's Mr. and Mrs. Brom and Katrina Van Brunt."

  Julian's smile disappeared.

  I have the motive for the murder!

  What Remains

  "All that he was, all that he would be, this is all that remains in this world of the man."

  Julian kicked a rock and watched it roll down the slanted ground. Caleb Williams briefly raised his head to watch but returned to his grazing. The decaying schoolhouse that was once the benevolent kingdom of Ichabod Crane sat in total solitude and decay on the hill. Only three of its four log walls remained, and cobwebs hung thick throughout the structure from top to bottom. The wood had a sickening rot. Some parts looked moist, and others bone-dry. The ground inside was matted with weeds and every other kind of noxious plant. The glass of the windows was long gone, with only jagged shards remaining. Julian looked up and observed an empty bird's nest under a section of the roof that had not fallen away.

  "Why doesn't the town tear down this unsightly edifice?" Julian asked.

  The old-timer stood with his hand firmly grasping his suspenders at the chest. "It's haunted of course. That's why." He chewed his pipe as he smoked.

  Mr. Berg had a bushy beard, but no mustache. A dark brown hat covered his leathery face and his coat, breeches, stockings, and shoes all were in matching shades of brown.

  "Haunted by whom?" Julian asked the old-timer.

  "The usual spirits that wander these parts of the Hollow."

  "This is the nineteenth century, not the ninth," Julian said bitterly under his breath.

  Berg inhaled on his pipe again. "You got a mean streak in ya, don't you?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. It's this place. It's set me off in a bad disposition. I read the accounts of it before I arrived. A happy schoolhouse brimming with noisy but bright children. A justifiable pride for the people of the town. And today, to see this...rotting shack that remains."

  The old-timer nodded and cast his gaze at the structure again. "Yes, it is a shame. But don't fret. If the town doesn't get to it, the land will rightly reclaim it so no one will ever know there was anything on this ground. All the town's children go for schooling in Tarry Town nowadays. They got a brand-new, fancy schoolhouse there."

  "Saw it on the ride in."

  "There's been quite a few changes since the time of Mr. Ichabod Crane. We also got ourselves a new church in Tarry Town, too. Wiley's swamp was drained away and plenty more folks movin' in, but they mostly are settled in Tarry Town. The Hollow is for us original settlers."

  "Was Mr. Ichabod Crane only a schoolmaster for the Hollow?"

  "Oh, no. Schooling children gave him only a meager salary. You have to be in the bigger towns and cities for that. He helped local farmers with light work, such as fence-mendin', cuttin' wood, takin' the animals to water and pasture. He had no wife or kin, just set up nightly domicile in the barn of one of the town farmers. He also excelled as a singing master, teaching the psalms. He made good wages that way. I always remembered him singing at church. His voice would carry above the entire congregation."

  "Mr. Ichabod Crane, Jack-of-all-trades."

  "Who are you again, mister?"

  "I told you already."

  "You told me something."

  "Can you point me to the Van Brunt residence?"

  "No." The old-timer shook his head as he smiled with his pipe held between his teeth.

  "Why not?"

  "You're trouble, mister. Get on your black horse and ride back to where you came from."

  "If I did that, I'd deprive you good people of some decent gossip. But thanks anyway, sir. I'll just ride until I find the biggest home in the Hollow. I'm sure that will be Van Brunt residence."

  The elderly man smiled as he took his pipe from mouth. He looked at it and then put it back to hang from his lips. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again."

  "I doubt that."

  "I'm the undertaker, mister. I'll be seeing everyone at some time."

  "Unless some undertaker has the pleasure of seeing you first."

  The man looked back at him and smirked. Julian turned to walk back to his horse and grabbed the reins as he effortlessly mounted. He rode back to the man.

  "Here's what I promised, sir." Julian leaned down from the saddle and handed the man a few bits of coin.

  "Thank you, mister. I enjoyed answering the questions that you already knew."

  Julian smiled and said, "Be wary of ghosts, undertakers...and ghostly undertakers."

  The old-timer laughed. Julian touched the tip of his hat as he turned and galloped away.

  Hans Van Ripper stood at the open door, staring at him with a highly irritated expression and a slightly jutting jaw. He was an old man with gray hair, eyebrows, mustache, and beard in dirty clothes from some kind of work in the field.

  "Good day, sir. I was told to call on you by local townspeople. I am Julian, and I am in the employ of the Estate of J. Doyle Senior to find the exact whereabouts of one Ichabod Crane for purposes of settling all affairs related to the disposition of an inheritance."

  "He's dead, mister. Ten years ago." Van Ripper's voice was straightforward and curt.

  "How do you know that, sir?" Julian asked.

  The man had already begun to close his front door but stopped at the question. He considered Julian for a moment. "Please sir, I shall compensate you for your time."

  "Come on in," Van Ripper said as he backed away from the entrance to allow Julian to enter. "Please sit." Van Ripper motioned to an empty chair.

  It was a warm cabin and filled with clutter. An oversized supper table, a few chairs in front of the main stone fireplace, and a wide four-shelf bookcase leaning against the walls, which was so inundated with books, papers, and knickknacks that it seemed in danger of falling over any minute. Julian could see the kitchen in the corner, one open door in the back (obviously the bedroom) and a closed door in the back (must be to outside).

  "You were saying that Mr. Ichabod Crane is dead. How are you certain of that, sir?"

  "Everybody knows that. He was taken."

  "Taken?"

  "By the Horseman."

  "You don't truly believe in that legend?" Julian's face showed his annoyance.

  "Ichabod was taken by the Headless Horseman. All that was left of him that night was his hat and a shattered pumpkin on the road to the church. That was all. That and all his possessions that he kept in a handkerchief at whatever home or barn or shed he resided in at the moment. He had no other possessions in the world. The night after the event all the town's boys showed up at schoolhouse as normal, but Ichabod was no place to be seen. Ichabod was never absent or tardy. If he didn't show, that meant he was sick or dead. And he wasn't sick. Lunchtime came, suppertime came, late night, and no Ichabod, nor the next day or next. Ichabod's dead, mister. Ten years since."

  "Was there a body?"

  "Demon spirits don't leave your body behind. They take you and there's nothing to be found of you."

  "Mr. Van Ripper..." Julian hesitated for a moment. He had to pose his next words as carefully as possible as to not offend. "My employers need some kind of tangible proof of death. They can't go before authorities and state Mr. Ichabod Crane as dead with no remains whatsoever because a ghost took him. Did anyone see...the eve
nt?"

  "Absolutely, not. If you want to remain among the living."

  "Have you ever seen this Headless Horseman?"

  "I'm alive, ain't I? I'm sitting in front of you, ain't I? Absolutely, not. And I pray I never do."

  "Why are you and the people of Sleepy Hollow so convinced that Mr. Ichabod Crane is dead then? Did you search for him?"

  Van Ripper smiled. "We searched high and low for him. The brook, all roads, the old churchyard, and the entire valley. We searched even places the Horseman never went. We even drained Wiley's Swamp to be sure Ichabod had not fallen and drowned there."

  "You said all that was left besides his hat was a pumpkin?"

  "Yes."

  "From the Horseman?"

  "Yes."

  "A ghostly horseman, riding a ghostly horse, but leaves behind a tangible pumpkin that any mortal man, woman, or child could see, touch, and pick up."

  Van Ripper thought for a moment.

  "Mr. Van Ripper, I submit to you that some mischievous person or persons played a terrible act of deception on you and the good people of Sleepy Hollow. Got you and the people to believe that the Horseman did away with Ichabod and scared poor Ichabod out of his mind. He probably started running and never stopped until he was a few states away."

  "Sounds plausible, mister. Several people have said the very same thing. A few even said they've seen him in northern part of the state a few years back. Very plausible, except for one thing."

  "What's that?"

  Van Ripper rose from his chair and grabbed something from the top of a bookshelf. He walked over and placed the book in front of Julian, Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft. "Ichabod would never have left without this. Even if he had to walk all the way back from whatever place he got to, no matter how far. I knew Ichabod well, and he was superstitious down to his bones. If the house was on fire, he'd even grab this book before he'd grab the Good Book."

  "Do you remember all the possessions he left behind?"

  "Know them by heart, this book, the King James Bible, the New England Almanac, two shirts, two socks." Van Ripper sat back down at the table. "Two pair of stockings, pair of clothes, corduroy, razor, broken pipe, book of the psalms, and a book of dreams and fortune-tellin'."

  "How can you be so accurate in your recollection? It was ten years ago."

  Van Ripper pointed to the bookshelf. "Because I see them every day, all of it on top of that bookshelf in a bowl. He was a bachelor and had no kin to claim it. I would be the closest I guess. I am the executor of his estate." He laughed. "Which means all his knickknacks went to me. What if you can't corroborate his death?"

  "Then my work is done. But again, I believe there to be a natural rather than supernatural explanation for his disappearance."

  "Or death."

  "Or death."

  "I don't know how you would prove it either way. For my part, and most of the people of the Hollow, it was the Horseman. I would swear to it."

  "Even though you never saw the Horseman yourself."

  "I've never seen your brain either, but I'd swear you have one with all the thinkin' going on in that skull of yours." Van Ripper stood from the table. "There was one other thing that dear Ichabod left behind from that night." He walked across to a side window, and Julian joined him. "There." Van Ripper was pointing.

  "What am I looking at?" Julian asked.

  "The grave."

  Julian now focused his gaze on the barely noticeable raised mound of earth nearly fifteen yards from the house.

  "Who?"

  "Not a who. Gunpowder, my late horse. I lent it to Ichabod that night. He was off to a big evening party at Old Baltus Van Tassel's, along with my most expensive possession still—my saddle. We found the saddle on the same road leading to church, in the dirt, trampled by the horse. Ichabod's hat and the pumpkin were found near the brook, beyond the old bridge."

  "They both disappeared?"

  Van Ripper tapped on the glass of the window to point again at the grave outside and continued. "The horse was found the next morning, but he was not right in the head. His hoof tracks were found deeply dented into the road from obviously running away at such a furious speed. It's no wonder his legs didn't fly off. A couple of nights later, Gunpowder ran off. He never had done that before. I believe my horse saw the Horseman again on his nightly quest for his lost head and ran in terror from it. Gunpowder returned home a month later. He was always a lanky horse. You could always see his ribs on the sides. He was blind in one eye too, but he was a fit animal, despite his frame, and despite his years. He was not that way that day. He was sickly. Deathlike. He was covered in bloody sores that just seemed to bleed for no reason. The poor animal had stumbled back from whatever hell it escaped from and carried itself with whatever will it had left and died right there on that spot. Gunpowder was like my kin, so I buried him like he was such. I didn't even need to get help to drag the body into the grave. His body was that light. It had shriveled away. It's been almost ten years later and nothing will grow on that spot. Nothing."

  Julian looked at the horse's grave again.

  "I knew Ichabod a long time, mister. I knew my horse a longer time. My horse ran away from something with such terror that it journeyed, God only knows how many miles away, and then reversed to get back home. My poor old horse collapsed and died right at my feet. No mortal man could have put that terror in my horse. None. It was the Horseman, I tell you. It killed Ichabod, and the sight of it again killed my horse. Do some thinkin' on that, mister."

  Sleepy Hollow Boys

  "Leave the matter of this man, long-gone, alone—or you will join him."

  A black hat on his head and a thick coat over his body, the man spied on the Van Ripper cabin from the hill. He was not at all visible, unless one knew he was there, straddling his horse but keeping his profile hidden among the trees.

  Word had already begun to spread throughout the Hollow about the "Inheritance Man" looking for Ichabod Crane. That's how it was in small towns. Someone had news to tell and they told it, even if they had to run to the next neighbor's house. And that person would do the same. More than a few were suspicious of the stranger and his true motives. Why would anyone be looking for Ichabod Crane after a decade?

  He was the closest sentry. The other two men were at their posts within eyeshot. There was only one main road from Tarry Town through Sleepy Hollow, and strangers never strayed from it. Their plan was simple—wait for him to come to them.

  Out of habit, he pulled his pocket watch and flipped it open. The time was no matter because they were to stay here in wait until the stranger came out of the cabin and follow him close. It was now two hours since he had entered.

  What could that old mutt Van Ripper and he have to talk about for so long?

  He saw the main cabin door open.

  His head tilted around the tree to get a better view. There was Van Ripper walking from his porch to the side of his cabin to start cutting the logs into more wood for the fireplace, an odd thing to do with strange company in the house. He watched for a few moments, then longer. Van Ripper continued his work, in no hurry at all, and no one exited the cabin.

  Van Ripper was now into a good rhythm. Quick forceful swings and he was able to cut the wood into manageable pieces in no more than two cuts. He heard noise and stopped to look up to see Ayden riding down to him on his brown horse.

  "Good day, Hans."

  Van Ripper held his ax with one hand, resting it on his shoulder. "What brings you around, Ayden?"

  "I was lookin' for that stranger. The Inheritance Man. I was told he was by you."

  "Wait!"

  Hans was not looking at Ayden but off to some nearby trees. The ax dropped to the ground and the old man suddenly had a gun in his hand. He fired. All Ayden saw was an animal moving away and its head explode.

  "You got a bloody mess there, Hans. There'll be nothing left of that hare for you to eat."

  "They usually don't come so close and just sit there
for you to shoot at. What do you want again?"

  "Where's the stranger who was here by you?"

  "He left almost...two hours ago."

  Ayden was taken aback and looked around. "Where'd he go?"

  "Out the back door of my place. He said he was being followed."

  Ayden was flustered and looked out to the woods behind the cabin. "Damn."

  "Seems he was right."

  "Where was he goin', Hans? Mr. Van Brunt will be angry with us for losin' him. Where'd he go?"

  "I don't know where he went."

  "Hans, we'll be back to deal with you." Ayden quickly rode past him to the woods behind the cabin.

  "Ayden, don't come back to my land! If Brom wants to talk to me, then he better do it himself and not send no Sleepy Hollow Boys to my land again!"

  Ayden ignored Van Ripper's yelling as he looked at the ground for any signs of the stranger's horse. He stopped and rode the horse side to side, then zigzagged around, and finally galloped forward just a few paces at a time.

  He jumped down from his horse and bent down to scan the ground. His horse tried to move away, but he held the reins tight. He looked forward at the horizon and then scanned it from left to right.

  Ayden squinted and then stood on his tiptoes. "What's that?"

  He could see someone on a horse in the distance. It was only a silhouette, but it was clear to him that whoever it was, they were watching him too.

  "Ayden!"

  He looked behind him to see the two other horsemen riding up.

  "Ayden, what are you doing? Where's that man?" Ace yelled at him.

  Both men were similarly dressed. Ace looked to be the oldest of the three. The third man looked like a boy, but he was older than both men.

  "He snuck out the back way of Hans' cabin. I think I found him though—" Ayden whipped back around, but the silhouette was gone. "Damn. Where'd he go again?"

  "Where? You had him in your sights?"

  "Yes, but he's gone again."

  "Get on your horse then and let's go!"

  Ayden clumsily mounted his horse and settled back on the saddle. His body jerked up, startled.