Page 2 of Headless Over You
“That would be lovely,” I accept, moving around him to order my coffee. He stands outside and doesn’t follow me in, but he watches me carefully. The window is tinted—it’s why I didn’t see him walking out—so I chance a look back. He’s drinking the littlethat remains of his iced beverage, but the way his face has fallen sorrowful has me on edge.
I face the barista, and her head cocks to the side as she takes me in.
“Can I get a cold brew, please? Large if you can.”
“I can,” she replies, and that’s all she says as she keys in the order and the price flashes on the terminal. I swipe my card over the screen, and it shows me the approval before disappearing. She says nothing as she stares at me, and I take that as my cue to step aside and wait.
I take in the little coffee shop. There are themed decorations for the season, hand-drawn art and displays for the drink of the week, and the table settings don’t match as a set, but they go together with the quirky vibe. It feels homey even if the staff isn’t as welcoming as I’d hoped. My eyes drift across the room and back to the storefront, where they land on Kurt as he waits for me. He’s staring at his drink and shifts the ice in the now empty cup. His brows are pinched together, and I’m curious to hear the thoughts he’s being burdened with.
“Cold brew,” a man says grudgingly, and when I turn around, he’s placing the cup down forcefully. The contents nearly slosh out, but he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.
This is going to be fun.
As we walk through town,and I get an admittedly boring introduction to it, people stare and whisper. A few even go out of their way to not cross our path.
“Really, though, if you’re looking for the best?—”
“Kurt,” I interrupt. He isn’t explaining anything of importance, at least that’s relative to me. “Have you noticed that people are literally avoiding me?”
“Sleepy Hollow doesn’t do well with strangers,” he explains simply. We walk past the inn I’m staying at, and something catches my attention in the background: a little covered bridge by the river. Kurt notices and follows my gaze. “Don’t go there at night.”
“I’m sorry—” I laugh. “Why not?” I look up at him, expecting a goofy answer or an unserious face, but I’m met with a sternly set brow and a less than playful man.
“It’s just safer to stay in town,” he says without expanding. Was that an ambiguous threat?Assume kindness, Iris.
“Is the Headless Horseman going to get me?” I laugh again, but Kurt remains stoic. His mouth is set, smile lines gone.
“The Headless Horseman is little more than a ghost story. Sleepy Hollow has its superstitions, but it’s best to not test them.”Ominous as fuck.
We walk a little more, but this time it’s in silence, and I enjoy my coffee, unbothered by his warnings. The library is close enough that it doesn’t feel too awkward. I clearly struck a nerve, and I’m in no position to push someone’s boundaries. Though, if I have to guess, something about the legend is swirling in that not so silent mind of his.
“Have a good time!” Kurt smiles, switching moods again. It’s back and forth, hot and cold with this one, but he’s mostly friendly to me, so I guess it’s a tolerable aspect of the gentleman.
As I start to turn around, I run into an elderly lady with terror in her eyes. “Some things are better left buried!” she shouts, wagging a finger in my face.
What the hell . . .?
She walks off without giving me a chance to say anything in return. I brush it off as local rudeness and eye the library. Unease settles in alongside the outsider feeling from the welcoming I’ve received.
Maybe this is a task for tomorrow.I scan the building. It’s sturdy and old, plain like any other library would be. I settle the discomfort within myself with the promise that tomorrow I’ll be able to better shake off the locals’ behavior. The building will remain. The books will still be there in the morning.
Settlinginto my room for the remainder of the evening, I pull out my laptop and outline my novel. I start with the rough idea of chapters and their target word goal. I want this to be a story like no other has told regarding the history and richness of Sleepy Hollow. The cursor blinks on my title page, and I question what would befit such a tale.
The town hasn't deterred me exactly, but my first day here was very chaotic. I look out my window, giving my eyes a break from the screen. The night is as gloomy as the day. My eyes are drawn to the forbidden bridge of doom that I mustn’t go to in the darkness of the night.My recall was a little more dramatic than Kurt’s warning, but it felt right.Fog rolls in off the river that flows under it, and the entire sight is disquieting.Better left buried.The woman’s words haunt me, though I have no reference for meaning.
I blink, not sure if I can trust what’s starting to appear. There’s a large figure on horseback coming through the fog. There’s no hurry as the horse meanders, a faint neigh reaching me. I crawl to the edge of the bed that sits nearest to the window and lean forward with my palms on the glass. My breath starts to condense on the surface as my eyes widen with curiosity. The rider leads the horse back in the direction from which they came, never actually crossing the bridge. I realize it then.
He’s headless.
TWO
Iris
I wakeup with a smile on my face despite the dreary day breaking over Sleepy Hollow. My mind races over the figure I saw last night. Was he real? Is this a prank a local is trying to pull? Is it Kurt warning me away? I laugh off the last thought. Kurt seems . . . not the type to be a prankster in that regard.
As I look out to the bridge, secretly hoping for another sighting of my headless friend, I see fog start to settle over the town. There’s no sign of him. Hardly anyone is walking the streets, and I decide it’s my best opportunity to investigate the bridge.
I pack up a small backpack with pens, a notebook, and a recorder. The chill from the window causes me to dress in warm layers, and excitement ramps up my heart rate.
