For Those Who Came In Late: While playing at Glamorgan Castle, Billy and his cousin Marisa discovered an old book that unleashed ten story plagues on the city. The book’s owner, a mysterious old man, challenged them to return the ten plagues to the book and gather clues to his identity. If they fail, he will destroy the entire city.
***
Downtown Alliance shimmered in the early summer heat. Panting, Marisa and I stopped at the corner of Union and Main, in front of the bus stop. We had ridden our bikes all the way from Glamorgan Castle, hot on the trail of the first yellow light that had escaped from the old book.
“Okay, tell me what we’re looking for,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“I’m not sure,” Marisa answered. “That strange little man said something about a Headless Horseman on Main Street, but I don’t see... wait a minute! Look over there!”
She pointed across the street. A tall, skinny man wearing a black coat and wool hat was walking across the empty parking lot. His head was tilted straight up at the sky. “That scarecrow? He’s no headless horseman, Marisa!”
“Of course not,” she said, exasperated. Even though I was two years older, she had a way of making me feel dumb every time I opened my mouth. “Why, he’s...oh, no!”
The stranger started across the street and stepped right into the path of an oncoming truck. Quickly, I darted out into the road and pushed him out of the way. The truck’s driver blared his horn and swerved to the left, barely missing us! The stranger and I ended up in a tangle of arms and legs on the north side of the street.
“Jeez, mister, you act like you’ve never seen traffic before!” I said, standing up and brushing away some pebbles from my skinned knees.
The stranger was scared, and not just because he’d almost turned into a deluxe road pizza. “E-excuse me, young master, but can you tell me where I am?” he asked, pulling his hat still further down on his head. He looked like a human cartoon character: his nose and his feet were too large for the rest of his body.
“You’re in Alliance, goofball!” I said. Marisa, who had been much more careful crossing the street, helped the stranger to his feet. While he gazed in wonder at a SARTA bus that had stopped for passengers, I twirled my index finger around my ear. This guy was nuts!
“Don’t you know who he is?” Marisa whispered. She took me by the arm and led me away from the stranger. “That’s Ichabod Crane, the schoolmaster of Sleepy Hollow!”
“That geek teaches school?” I laughed. “C’mon, the kids would eat him for lunch!”
“Not in Alliance, silly,” she said, holding up the old book. “In the story ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ by Washington Irving. He must be part of the first Story Plague!”
“Excuse me, children,” Ichabod interrupted, “b-but are you g-ghosts?”
Marisa smiled, took the schoolteacher by the arm and began walking with him. “Of course not. I’d forgotten how superstitious you are!”
Obviously, Marisa had read this story before. I hadn’t, and felt left out of the conversation. By the end of the day, it would be a familiar feeling.
“But surely I’m in an enchanted kingdom,” Ichabod continued. “Why, just moments ago, I left a party at Katrina Van Tassel’s house in the middle of an autumn night, and here I am, in broad daylight -- and in the middle of the summer, based on the heat and the leaves on yonder trees!”
“Well, you see, it’s like this ...” Marisa started to explain, then stopped. How do you tell a poor guy that he’s just a made-up character in a story?
“And where is Gunpowder, my horse?” Ichabod asked. “I borrowed him from a farmer and have to return him!” He looked around fearfully. “And what about ... The Headless Horseman?”
Ichabod was so scared that he started to spook me, too. While he and Marisa walked ahead, I turned to look behind us. What I saw scared me even more.
“Uh, Marisa ...?” I whispered.
“Not now, Billy,” she said. “Mr. Crane, The Headless Horseman is just a ghost story, made up by that bully Bram Bones to scare you away from Katrina Van Tassel. He likes her, too, you know.”
“B-but, Marisa ...” I interrupted again.
“Oh, Billy, for goodness’ sake, WHAT?!” She turned around, just in time to see a black stallion galloping toward us. And riding on that black stallion was a man dressed entirely in black except for a long, red cape around his shoulders – a man who had no head!
“Ichabod, duck!” I screamed, and saved his life for the second time by pushing him to the ground. The Headless Horseman galloped past, reaching for Ichabod with a black-gloved hand.
“Run!” Marisa yelled. We darted across the street toward the SARTA bus.
Marisa and I ran up the bus steps, pushing Ichabod in front of us. I didn’t know what scared him more – The Headless Horseman, or the idea of getting on the bus. Both probably seemed like black magic to him!
“Let’s go!” I yelled to the driver as we dove into a seat.
The driver looked through the windshield, saw the black rider and his horse coming toward the bus, and took my advice. He pulled the door closed and stepped on the gas. As the bus pulled away from the curb, The Headless Horseman turned and rode alongside it. His hand stretched out and tapped outside the window where poor Ichabod sat, chewing his nails and whimpering like a lost puppy.
“Where to, kid?” the bus driver asked. The other riders on the bus had taken notice of the situation – being chased by a headless man was certainly something new on their daily commute!
“I don’t know!” I answered. “Marisa, you’ve read the story! What now?”
She stared out the window. The black horse was still galloping alongside the bus, its flaring nostrils steaming up the window. “A bridge! In the story, Ichabod thought if he could beat the horseman to a bridge, he’d be safe! Where’s the nearest bridge?”
“Keep going straight,” I told the driver. The bus roared through the intersection of Main and Arch, heading east.
“Turn right here!” I shouted. The driver took a sharp right onto Linden Avenue, then a left onto Market Street. The Headless Horseman stayed right with us, reaching for Ichabod from the other side of the window.
Two blocks later we’d reached our destination: the Martin Luther King Jr. Viaduct. It was the closest bridge I could think of on such short notice.
“Okay, Marisa, now what?” I asked.
She turned to Ichabod. “Mr. Crane, there’s the bridge. You’ve got to make it to the other side!”
“A-alone?” he stammered.
“Yes!” She led him to the front of the bus. The driver braked and opened the door. Poor Ichabod jumped out, running like mad for the overpass.
It only took The Headless Horseman seconds to figure out what had happened. For a guy with no head, he was pretty smart! He spurred his horse into a gallop and chased the schoolteacher. As he did, he pulled a pumpkin from the folds of his cape and twirled it like a basketball on one finger.
Ichabod raced up the side of the overpass, dodging cars in both directions. He looked back only once, just as the Horseman hurled the pumpkin straight at his head. Before the pumpkin hit, a bright flash of light hid both Ichabod and the Headless Horseman. When the light faded seconds later, they were both gone.
“Look!” Marisa had the old book opened on her lap. All the pages were still blank, except for one. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, it read. Beside it, written in red ink, was our first clue: “I’m A Grim Character.”
“Jeez, did Ichabod make it to the other side?” I asked. Although he was kind of a loser, he seemed like an okay guy. Marisa shook her head sadly but refused to answer.
The bus driver was kind enough to drive us back to the corner of Main and Union, where we’d left our bikes. He stopped us as we started down the steps. “Hey, kids, what the heck happened back there?”
“Mister, when we figure it out, we’ll let you know,” Marisa said.
We pedaled east through downtown, retracing the route of The Headless Horseman all the way to the viaduct. As expected, there was no sign of the schoolteacher or the spirit who had chased him.
I checked my watch: it was one o’clock. “Only eight more hours to find the other nine plagues,” I said. “Wonder where the next one will be?”
“I think I’ve found it already,” Marisa said.
“Okay, tell me what we’re looking for,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“I’m not sure,” Marisa answered. “That strange little man said something about a Headless Horseman on Main Street, but I don’t see... wait a minute! Look over there!”
She pointed across the street. A tall, skinny man wearing a black coat and wool hat was walking across the empty parking lot. His head was tilted straight up at the sky. “That scarecrow? He’s no headless horseman, Marisa!”
“Of course not,” she said, exasperated. Even though I was two years older, she had a way of making me feel dumb every time I opened my mouth. “Why, he’s...oh, no!”
The stranger started across the street and stepped right into the path of an oncoming truck. Quickly, I darted out into the road and pushed him out of the way. The truck’s driver blared his horn and swerved to the left, barely missing us! The stranger and I ended up in a tangle of arms and legs on the north side of the street.
“Jeez, mister, you act like you’ve never seen traffic before!” I said, standing up and brushing away some pebbles from my skinned knees.
The stranger was scared, and not just because he’d almost turned into a deluxe road pizza. “E-excuse me, young master, but can you tell me where I am?” he asked, pulling his hat still further down on his head. He looked like a human cartoon character: his nose and his feet were too large for the rest of his body.
“You’re in Alliance, goofball!” I said. Marisa, who had been much more careful crossing the street, helped the stranger to his feet. While he gazed in wonder at a SARTA bus that had stopped for passengers, I twirled my index finger around my ear. This guy was nuts!
“Don’t you know who he is?” Marisa whispered. She took me by the arm and led me away from the stranger. “That’s Ichabod Crane, the schoolmaster of Sleepy Hollow!”
“That geek teaches school?” I laughed. “C’mon, the kids would eat him for lunch!”
“Not in Alliance, silly,” she said, holding up the old book. “In the story ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ by Washington Irving. He must be part of the first Story Plague!”
“Excuse me, children,” Ichabod interrupted, “b-but are you g-ghosts?”
Marisa smiled, took the schoolteacher by the arm and began walking with him. “Of course not. I’d forgotten how superstitious you are!”
Obviously, Marisa had read this story before. I hadn’t, and felt left out of the conversation. By the end of the day, it would be a familiar feeling.
“But surely I’m in an enchanted kingdom,” Ichabod continued. “Why, just moments ago, I left a party at Katrina Van Tassel’s house in the middle of an autumn night, and here I am, in broad daylight -- and in the middle of the summer, based on the heat and the leaves on yonder trees!”
“Well, you see, it’s like this ...” Marisa started to explain, then stopped. How do you tell a poor guy that he’s just a made-up character in a story?
“And where is Gunpowder, my horse?” Ichabod asked. “I borrowed him from a farmer and have to return him!” He looked around fearfully. “And what about ... The Headless Horseman?”
Ichabod was so scared that he started to spook me, too. While he and Marisa walked ahead, I turned to look behind us. What I saw scared me even more.
“Uh, Marisa ...?” I whispered.
“Not now, Billy,” she said. “Mr. Crane, The Headless Horseman is just a ghost story, made up by that bully Bram Bones to scare you away from Katrina Van Tassel. He likes her, too, you know.”
“B-but, Marisa ...” I interrupted again.
“Oh, Billy, for goodness’ sake, WHAT?!” She turned around, just in time to see a black stallion galloping toward us. And riding on that black stallion was a man dressed entirely in black except for a long, red cape around his shoulders – a man who had no head!
“Ichabod, duck!” I screamed, and saved his life for the second time by pushing him to the ground. The Headless Horseman galloped past, reaching for Ichabod with a black-gloved hand.
“Run!” Marisa yelled. We darted across the street toward the SARTA bus.
Marisa and I ran up the bus steps, pushing Ichabod in front of us. I didn’t know what scared him more – The Headless Horseman, or the idea of getting on the bus. Both probably seemed like black magic to him!
“Let’s go!” I yelled to the driver as we dove into a seat.
The driver looked through the windshield, saw the black rider and his horse coming toward the bus, and took my advice. He pulled the door closed and stepped on the gas. As the bus pulled away from the curb, The Headless Horseman turned and rode alongside it. His hand stretched out and tapped outside the window where poor Ichabod sat, chewing his nails and whimpering like a lost puppy.
“Where to, kid?” the bus driver asked. The other riders on the bus had taken notice of the situation – being chased by a headless man was certainly something new on their daily commute!
“I don’t know!” I answered. “Marisa, you’ve read the story! What now?”
She stared out the window. The black horse was still galloping alongside the bus, its flaring nostrils steaming up the window. “A bridge! In the story, Ichabod thought if he could beat the horseman to a bridge, he’d be safe! Where’s the nearest bridge?”
“Keep going straight,” I told the driver. The bus roared through the intersection of Main and Arch, heading east.
“Turn right here!” I shouted. The driver took a sharp right onto Linden Avenue, then a left onto Market Street. The Headless Horseman stayed right with us, reaching for Ichabod from the other side of the window.
Two blocks later we’d reached our destination: the Martin Luther King Jr. Viaduct. It was the closest bridge I could think of on such short notice.
“Okay, Marisa, now what?” I asked.
She turned to Ichabod. “Mr. Crane, there’s the bridge. You’ve got to make it to the other side!”
“A-alone?” he stammered.
“Yes!” She led him to the front of the bus. The driver braked and opened the door. Poor Ichabod jumped out, running like mad for the overpass.
It only took The Headless Horseman seconds to figure out what had happened. For a guy with no head, he was pretty smart! He spurred his horse into a gallop and chased the schoolteacher. As he did, he pulled a pumpkin from the folds of his cape and twirled it like a basketball on one finger.
Ichabod raced up the side of the overpass, dodging cars in both directions. He looked back only once, just as the Horseman hurled the pumpkin straight at his head. Before the pumpkin hit, a bright flash of light hid both Ichabod and the Headless Horseman. When the light faded seconds later, they were both gone.
“Look!” Marisa had the old book opened on her lap. All the pages were still blank, except for one. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, it read. Beside it, written in red ink, was our first clue: “I’m A Grim Character.”
“Jeez, did Ichabod make it to the other side?” I asked. Although he was kind of a loser, he seemed like an okay guy. Marisa shook her head sadly but refused to answer.
The bus driver was kind enough to drive us back to the corner of Main and Union, where we’d left our bikes. He stopped us as we started down the steps. “Hey, kids, what the heck happened back there?”
“Mister, when we figure it out, we’ll let you know,” Marisa said.
We pedaled east through downtown, retracing the route of The Headless Horseman all the way to the viaduct. As expected, there was no sign of the schoolteacher or the spirit who had chased him.
I checked my watch: it was one o’clock. “Only eight more hours to find the other nine plagues,” I said. “Wonder where the next one will be?”
“I think I’ve found it already,” Marisa said.
To Be Continued
Story: Chris Schillig
Art: Steve Wiandt
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