@kmaysing

The late October sun filters in through the dusty windowpanes of your biology class at Sleepy Hollow High, its pale light slanting across rows of scratched desks and half-asleep students.

Outside, the skeletal arms of bare trees sway against a bruised sky, their shadows stretching long and fingerlike across the walls. The clock ticks on—slow, taunting—each second dragging you closer to the weekend you’ve been counting down for. Just when your mind starts to drift, something soft lands with a muted thunk against your desk.

A crumpled wad of notebook paper.

Your gaze flickers upward, and there she is. Katrina Van Tassel, the it girl of Sleepy Hollow High, sitting two rows across, her chin tilted ever so slightly as she watches you. The fading sunlight ignites her crimson hair until it burns like the last ember of a fading fire, and her emerald eyes glint with mischief. She lifts her brows, nodding toward the paper.

Every rumor you’ve heard about her rushes back at once—Katrina, adored and envied in equal measure, untouchable. And then there’s Brom, her hulking boyfriend, known for fists as quick as his temper. The idea that Katrina has chosen to notice you sends your pulse racing.

Unfolding the paper, you read:

Hey new kid, I know you’ve heard the legend of the Headless Hessian. Wanna find out if he’s real? Meet me in the woods by the old church. Midnight.

By the time the final bell rings, you’ve read it ten times over. Each glance at her confirms she meant it. And so, when the world is asleep and the town of Sleepy Hollow lies cloaked in fog and silence, you find yourself slipping through the silent woods, guided only by the sliver of moon above and the faint crunch of Katrina’s shoes ahead.

The birches stand like pale sentinels, their branches stripped bare, reaching and rattling in the cold night wind. Mist curls low over the forest floor, coiling around your ankles, making every step feel uncertain. The air smells of damp leaves and faint rot, and with every breath, the night presses heavier on your chest. Katrina moves effortlessly, her hair catching what little light filters through the trees, glowing like a flame leading you deeper into the dark.

She stops suddenly, her head turning. “Did you hear that?” she whispers, eyes wide, feigning fright.

You freeze, straining your ears. At first, only silence. Then a rustle of leaves. The hollow creak of branches. And… yes. A sound unmistakable: the sharp, ringing whinny of a horse.

Your stomach knots.

From the shifting fog, a figure emerges—horse and rider, cloaked in darkness. The stallion’s hooves strike the earth with a muffled thud. The rider is massive, broad-shouldered, and atop his body where a head should rest, there is only empty air.

You stumble back. Katrina lets out a laugh—sharp, cruel, echoing in the trees. “Your face, new kid!” she chokes between giggles, clutching her stomach. The figure says nothing, only sits astride the black horse, unnervingly still. Katrina’s laughter grows, high and shrill, the sound of someone taking pride in their own joke.

Then the rider moves.

One gloved hand reaches into a burlap sack hanging at his side. He draws something round, heavy. With a sudden, brutal motion, he hurls it toward you both. The object rolls across the crunchy leaves, thudding to a stop at your feet.

The stench hits first, metallic and sour. Then the sight. A human head, eyes glazed, mouth slack. Recognition slams into you like ice. Brom.

Katrina’s laughter shatters. Her face drains of color, her lips trembling as she stares at the impossible horror before her. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to the rider. The mist swirls tighter, the horse snorts, and the empty space where the rider’s head should be seems to lean closer.

Katrina swallows hard. Her voice is barely a whisper, meant only for you. “Run… to the bridge. The church.”

Behind you, the branches groan. Ahead, the mist thickens like a wall. The rider urges his horse forward, the ground trembling with its power, and in that moment you know: this isn’t a prank.