The next morning at the Levine house was off to a somewhat halting start for the makeshift family, especially when it was discerned that whatever had happened to the Headless Horseman, it had him down for the count a bit longer than anyone had thought. Normally, the undead Hessian soldier would rise with the dawn, and didn’t seem to need nearly as much sleep as the other myths did, but today was a stark contrast to the norm.

            The Mothman was the first one to notice, given that he and H shared a room. The cryptid woke up in a daze around nine, feeling a strange mix of exhausted and wired, like he’d been hearing someone shouting his name. Admittedly though, this wasn’t a sensation he was unfamiliar with; he didn’t necessarily like being an omen, or to predict anything be it good or bad, but he’d been one, and doing this sort of thing, long enough to know the signs.

            But even with that buzzing around his mind, Moth was more than a little surprised to see the telltale lump of H still present in his bunk. That was entirely not normal, and while there was a part of Moth that scrambled for whatever half-remembered nocturnal warning he’d apparently gotten, his conscious mind was more preoccupied by this current oddity. Because, well, considering what had happened last night, this could mean anything from H still being maligned to perhaps it actually killing him, it wasn’t like many things could kill a myth but perhaps—

            Moth caught himself, his hands clenching on the Hessian’s blankets. Circle back, H didn’t need to breathe, but a myth didn’t typically just drop dead. And, well, the most he knew was that H hadn’t left his bed, Moth had barely even gotten a look at the guy given that his pillow was still covering where his head would be.

            Of course, that meant getting a better look, something that Moth balked at a bit given that it meant getting much closer to the downed myth. H wouldn’t sleep in often if at all, but waking him up out of a dead sleep didn’t often end well. Perhaps it had something to do with being the ghost of a Hessian soldier, though given that Moth had his own issues with sleep, he was more inclined to respect H’s desire to not, well, startle him awake, accidentally or on purpose.

            But, surely a peek would be fine, right? At the very least, to check if the other myth was still affected by whatever he’d been dosed with last night. That in mind, and with a heavy swallow, Moth crouched, that way he’d hopefully be out of swinging range, and cautiously reached for the pillow covering H’s neck. Slipping a claw under the side of the pillow, Moth carefully eased it up, red eyes squinting as he tried to see what he could of H’s, well, lack of a head. The space underneath the pillow was shadowy and dark, but at the very least, it didn’t look like H’s neck was…leaking, or making any more weird smells.

            Moth leaned in a little closer, ear tufts fluttering as he wondered if he should try to call out to H. But before he could act on the thought, a garbled grunt came from the Horseman’s neck, his body giving a convulsive twitch as he seemed to less wake up and more jolt back to the land of the living.

            Which was a distinctly not welcoming thought, something that Moth realized even as he toppled back from the suddenness of H coming to. Landing on his rear, the cryptid let out a gasp at what felt like a bruised tailbone, the sound heralding H’s headless body fully reeling forward. But, instead of jumping to the usual soldierly alertness Moth was more familiar with, H folded in on himself, a hand massaging at his breastbone as an echoey groan came from his neck.

            “H? Y-You okay?”

            The Hessian started at Moth’s call, though he moved like he had been worked over by a particularly brazen horse. There was a brief, aborted attempt to hold or rub at the temple of a head that wasn’t there, H gingerly swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing again at his sternum. It took a moment, but eventually the Horseman was able to pry his hands away and creakily sign out a message to the watching cryptid.

            Why don’t I have my head again?

            Oh. Well, at least he seemed a lot more aware of what was going on this time, Moth allowing himself some relief even as he replied.

“You lost it, I think? S-Something about a prank?”

            Don’t remember a prank. H haltingly signed before rubbing at his chest again. What time is it?

            “Uh, nine-thirty, I think?” Moth said with a brief glance at their clock, remembering a few seconds too late why being so candid might not have been the best idea. H did hear the time, though something in his memory rang out like a whipcrack, the Hessian straightening as his fingers signed out a new message.

            Did I give Harriet her present?

            “U-Uh…” Moth hummed, eyes roving around for a gentler way to deliver the bad news before he decided to just be honest. H, for all of his more emotional moments, did prefer that to a lie. “I, I think you might’ve tried to, but you didn’t have it with you last night—”

            What about the party?

            The question had Moth sucking in a breath of air as his eyes tried to find someplace to look that wasn’t H’s missing face. Which, unfortunately, told the undead Hessian pretty much everything he needed to know about how that went.

            Galvanized, the Horseman got to his feet, hurrying to the door and pulling his coat off the hook, trying to hurriedly compose himself even with a faint creakiness to his movements. It didn’t help that he could hear voices humming from further down the hall. Familiar ones too, had to be Harriet and Lorraine—no, not Lorraine, Susie. Lorraine was away.

            “H, if you’re not feelin’ well, maybe you oughta stay in bed—” Moth tried to argue, Southern accent growing thicker with nerves even as he got to his feet. Not that the Hessian would be daunted, and though there was a bit of irritation at the cryptid’s voice covering whatever might’ve been going on down the hall, he tried his best to wave off Moth’s concern, even throwing in a thumbs up as he tried to cover his neck stump as quickly as possible.

            The uptick in noise from beyond the door urged the Horseman to hurry; the present should’ve been in his coat, but even if he didn’t have it, manners and guilt urged him to apologize to Harriet. And, well, even if his undead body and limbs felt sore and stiff, he was going to be doing it.

            Oh hell, forgo the waistcoat, he hardly wore it on normal days anyway…

            H practically threw the door open, Moth hurrying to stand behind him though most of the undead Hessian’s attention was on the pair standing at the far end of the hall. Newly eleven Harriet, and nineteen-year-old Susie for their parts, looked more startled by their ‘uncle’s sudden appearance. Especially when H stumbled partly into the wall on his way over before managing to right himself and taking very careful, deliberate steps to make sure he didn’t accidentally do that again.

            “Uncle H, did you…just get up?” Susie asked as she pulled her brown hair back in a ponytail, more than a little confused and somewhat concerned by the off-balance Horseman.

            “Yeah, he, he’s not feeling well…” The Mothman breathlessly tried to explain, only for the Horseman to jerkily turn back in his direction and make a few slashing gestures, then turn his attention to Harriet and immediately begin signing.

            Harriet I am so sorry—

            “Yeah, I know, the town festival’s more important—”

            “Harriet!” Susie snapped, a hand hurriedly landing on her younger sister’s shoulder in an attempt to admonish her. Not that Harriet would be admonished, glaring up at her oldest sibling with a hard frown and an equally dismissive scoff.

 “What?! That’s pretty much what everyone’s saying, my birthday doesn’t matter—” The girl’s harsher words were cut off with a familiar gloved hand carefully resting on her head. Though Harriet looked like she might’ve tried to shrug her way out of it if the Horseman had kept it up, so he didn’t. Instead, he withdrew and made sure he had her attention as he formulated his answer.

            If someone has said that to you, Harriet, they are very incorrect. Your birthday matters, I made the mistake of thinking I could do both at once. H signed, shakily kneeling just to be sure the girl could see his signs. But, even as she watched his hands there was still a moody pout on her face, spurring the Horseman on. How about we spend today together, K-L-E-I-N-E-R? You and me.

            The prospect of a day with ‘Uncle H’ was no minor thing to someone like Harriet; the girl was very much an outdoorsy, rough and tumble tomboy that loved a lot of the backwoods of Sleepy Hollow. And, well, Uncle H was usually the sort to either lead or trail along with her and her brother Brian when they wanted to explore.

            “You promise?” Harriet asked, peering through her bangs as her brown eyes narrowed at H’s headless torso.

            I promise. He signed back, gently ruffling her hair. And, well, a promise was a promise, but Harriet’s more mischievous, and perhaps a little bit of her growing sense of sarcasm, couldn’t help taking another poke at her Hessian “uncle.”

            “You don’t have another festival thing to go to?”

            God no. I’m done for the year. H drily signed back, Susie getting a similarly impish smile on her face as she threw out a memory of her own.

            “Well, if you wanna reprise a role, I would like to see another go at the Easter Bunny—”

            H didn’t bother to sign out a response, opting to do a more polite version of the throat-slashing gesture he did before even as faint, echoey laughter bubbled up from his decapitated neck. It was echoed a bit by Moth, the cryptid’s winged shoulders shaking as he tried his best to smother it and let the group have their moment.

            But the relative calm of the moment was somewhat interrupted when H brought his arms back down, and apparently brushed up against something in his pocket given how he paused and reached in, coming up with a folded piece of paper. From Harriet’s lower vantage point, she thought it might’ve been a torn page out of a book, a thought shared by Susie as she tried to lean in to look at it.

            Though before she could even get close, H seemed to cotton onto something that neither had had time to notice, the Hessian’s body stiffening as his fist reflexively closed over the page.

            “Uncle H?” Harriet asked, Susie coming up with a question of her own at the same time. What’s the matter?”

            He seemed almost taken off guard, body straightening as he hurriedly put the paper back in his pocket, waving off their worry with a hand. But before anyone could question him, the Horseman hurriedly signed out that he’d forgotten something and to go down without him. The deviation from the earlier promise was enough to reintroduce a frown on Harriet’s face, though what turned it into a more wondering stare was how her undead Hessian “uncle” hurriedly followed up his words with a clarification, that he’d be down in a few minutes, before turning on his heel and heading back to his and Moth’s room at the end of the hall in a few strides. Before Susie, Harriet, and Moth realized it, the door was shut, fainter rustling noises emanating from the other side.

            “…Maybe y’all better just go downstairs, I’ll wait for him here.” Moth said into the quiet, Susie nodding and turning to Harriet, who was a little more fixated on the door.

            “C’mon. He’ll make good on the promise when he’s done with…whatever it is he’s gotta get.”

            It still took a moment for Harriet to actually be pulled in the direction of the stairs, and even still her gaze flipped back just long enough to see Moth come to stand worriedly next to the door.

            ***

            It took H about fifteen minutes to come downstairs, with Moth in tow. The cryptid was hovering at his friend’s side, red eyes worried and watchful as he followed. Big was sitting in his usual place, the chair specifically designed to hold the larger cryptid’s weight, as well as carry a carefully perched Frez on an unoccupied arm rest. Missus Edith and Crow were also present, along with Brian and Harriet who had both just settled in for breakfast.

            The Hessian carried himself with all of the poise of a soldier, though those who knew him better might’ve also noticed that he was doing his best to stay near anything he could use to brace himself, a hand coming up to briefly rub at his chest as he came to stand near the table. It was something that Moth noticed, the cryptid’s ear tufts lowering, but it happened so quickly the others didn’t see. Big, however, noticed the Horseman first, calling out to him.

            “Hey, H. Can figure you’re not gonna eat, but do you wanna sit down?”

            At the same time, Missus Edith looked over and asked her own question. “How are you feeling?”

            Fine, a little sore, but fine. The Hessian’s fingers stilled for a moment before he rushed out with the second half of what he’d wanted to “say”. I also will be needing a new phone.

            It took a moment for the second half of H’s declaration to register, but when it did, a bark of laughter came from Frez, Big throwing the smaller cryptid a dry look.

            “Wh-What, it’s gotta be the fourth one he’s wrecked this year…” Frez warbled out through giggles, the white creature’s sharper teeth on full display as he wheezed for air. Big, for his part, just plopped a hand on Frez’s head, cutting off the giggles.

            “Again? We’ll have to see if we can actually afford it…” Missus Edith replied, gesturing to the chair in between her and Harriet. “Here, sit down.”

            “What happened to the old one? Did it fall out of your pocket again while you were riding?” Brian asked, the boy having heard bits and pieces of what transpired last night and while admittedly more interested in breakfast, his uncle’s missing phone was enough of a lure that he couldn’t help speaking up.

            No I learned my lesson the first time… At this H’s fingers stalled, the Horseman seemingly debating on just what to say before he went on. I’m not actually sure what happened to it. I, might’ve thought it was just lost, but I bought a present for Harriet and that’s gone too.