Ichabod loved halloween. Always had. He loved the vibe, the costumes, the snacks. This year, he was dressed as a wizard. He’d made his cape all by himself and he had hot-glued the stars (glow-in-the-dark, of course) to his hat as well.
What he didn’t like as much, was the heavy drinking his peers engaged in. As such, Ichabod could be found leaning against the wall, between the door and the snack table, holding a cup of lukewarm soda in his hands. Sometimes he wondered why Katrina even bothered to invite him. Well, in large part, it was because Katrina was his friend, and Ichabod liked her very much. In no small part, though, Ichabod knew it was also because they needed a designated driver. But hey, that’s what friends were for.
Friends also looked, or rather, listened out for one another. Ichabod had been listening in on Brom’s fruitless (and frankly very loud) advances towards Katrina in the other room.
Brom – the jockiest jock to ever jock – didn’t usually like to take ‘no’ for an answer, but credit where it was due, Katrina had been doing a great job holding him off for the last half hour. Ichabod had been about to step in when a stranger approached him.
They weren’t very tall. People in general weren’t very tall compared to Ichabod, but even Ichabod had to acknowledge this person wasn’t very tall compared to people in general. This was in no way helped by the excellent concealment of the person’s head. Visible over the collar of their Hessian trooper uniform, was only a bit of latex neck, covered in fake blood. Under their arm, they held a Jack-o’-lantern in which a small candle burned.
A horseless headless horseman. That’s Tarrytown for you.
“Greetings, great wizard,” the stranger said in a deep, thundering voice that seemed to come from… somewhere. Ichabod couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “A grand celebration, is it not?”
Ichabod’s lips quirked into a smile. He liked this. Someone who appreciated the dramatics of halloween as much as he did. He was happy to oblige.
“‘Tis certainly, oh brave cavalryman. This will go down in history as one of the greatest celebrations of All Hallows’ Eve,” Ichabod said, looking squarely at the stranger’s chest. There had to be a window for their eyes somewhere.
“I see the lack of eye contact confuses you,” the headless horseless-man noted, lifting their Jack-o’-lantern over their latex neck and fixing it there. “I hope this helps.”
Ichabod instinctively looked into the lantern’s eye holes, which were just above his eye level. “It does. Immensely,” he said, only seconds away from rambling. “I’m Ichabod,” he blurted out.
A look of recognition seemed to pass the gourd’s eye holes somehow. “Ichabod? Like from the story?” the stranger asked. Their voice sounded oddly amused.
“Yes, yes, I know. One would think one Ichabod was quite enough for Tarrytown, but I was really skinny as a baby and my parents couldn’t resist,” Ichabod almost snapped. He hoped he hadn’t put off the stranger too much towards him, but the quicker this subject got shut down, the better.
The stranger seemed to take the hint and changed the subject. “Tell me, Ichabod, what does a man like you have to hide from?”
“Hide from?” Ichabod asked. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m following you.”
“It is said that departed spirits wander the land of the living until All Saints’ Day, making All Hallows’ Eve their last chance to exact vengeance on their living enemies. People started wearing costumes on All Hallows’ Eve in order to hide from those vengeful spirits. You’re wearing a costume, so what are you hiding from?”
“I…” Ichabod started. His brain could barely begin to process what the Hessian had really said. Ichabod didn’t know anyone who was dead. Except maybe his grandma, but she wouldn’t want vengeance on him, right?
As if by providence, Katrina peeked her head around the doorpost. “Icky, I need you to drive Brom home right now while I try to clean the kitchen. He threw up all over the floor and counters.”
“Sure thing, I’ll be right with you.”
Katrina smiled at him, nodded and withdrew herself back to the kitchen.
Still a little shaken from their earlier conversation, Ichabod turned back to the stranger. “Sorry, I have to go. Duty calls and all that,” he said hastily. “It was, er, enlightening talking to you,” he admitted. “Is there any way I can get in touch with you, or…?”
The stranger simply waved their hand. “Not to worry, I will be in touch with you. Go perform your duties, Ichabod Crane.”
Ichabod raised his eyebrows at that, but decided not to answer as he left the stranger in Katrina’s living room.
*
By the time Ichabod returned from his errand, the party had mostly wound down. Katrina was stretched out on the sofa, nursing a bottle of beer in her hand. Ichabod primly sat down next to her.
“So, how would you rank this year’s party?” Ichabod asked.
Katrina let out a deep sigh. “Not as good as three years ago, but still better than last year. By a long stretch.”
He smiled. “I take it you had a good time, then?”
“Apart from Brom being Brom? Yeah, definitely,” Katrina said before sitting up straight. “How about you? I heard you talking way more than usual!”
“I know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, do you have any idea who that pseudo-philosopher in the pumpkinhead was? No one I know mentioned a headless horseman outfit and their voice didn’t sound like any I’d recognize.”
Katrina frowned. “Headless horseman? Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“They were with me when you asked me to drive Brom home. You don’t think Irving let in a partycrasher, do you?”
Katrina’s frown didn’t fade. “Ichabod, when I asked you to take Brom home, there wasn’t anyone with you.”
“You’re kidding,” Ichabod said, but Katrina’s face wasn’t kidding. “There was, I–”
Then it dawned on Ichabod.
The stranger had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Despite their amazing costume, no one seemed to pay them any mind, the voice that seemed to come from everywhere, the talk of vengeful spirits… ‘Ichabod Crane’.
“Katrina, do you think I could spend the night here?”
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