The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

By Sarah J Dhue

Jackson is a young journalist living in New York City… or at least a young man trying to be a journalist. He needs a break from his life – his very short and unsuccessful life. This seek of refuge leads him to the small village of Sleepy Hollow, a seemingly peaceful place. But all small towns house dark tales, and he soon learns of the legend of the headless horseman, a Hessian war veteran traveling throughout the American countryside. When the town big shot got the idea that the Hessian had stolen the heart of his fiancée, he and his friends beheaded the Hessian with his own sword right in the streets of Sleepy Hollow. They buried his body in the woods just outside of Sleepy Hollow, but it was said that the head was disposed of elsewhere. In the nights following the gruesome execution, the offenders were found dead, one by one, their heads taken. Only once the horseman’s head was returned to his grave did the murders cease.

But no sooner has Jackson set foot in this peaceful town do strange murders begin to occur, very similar to the killings that took place over two hundred years ago. The bodies are found with their heads gone, and the people that are being killed now are the descendants of the men who murdered the horseman all those years ago. Although the horseman’s head was returned, he is in search of something – something else that was taken from him. And he will not rest until he has it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781458377517

Sarah J Dhue

Sarah J Dhue is a fiction author from Illinois and has been writing since she was in elementary school. She writes predominantly Horror, Paranormal, and Sci-Fi fiction, but has branched off into Romance and plans to try to her hand at other genre departures. In addition to books, she also writes poetry, short stories, and songs. She loves networking with other writers and artists of other media. Some of her other interests include coffee, photography, graphic design, social media, animals, art, travel, music, and animation. Sarah currently resides with her family and cats in southern Illinois.

Book preview

Dedication

To my family, as always, for all of their support.

To my editors, Deborah and Max, for helping this second edition come together.

To Maeva’s Coffee and its employees, for a creative atmosphere, great coffee, and fantastic supportive people.

And most of all, to you, my fans and readers.

In loving memory of my Dad,

Freddie Gene Dhue, Jr., who was always supportive of all my endeavors, especially my artistic ones

Chapter 1

The young man unlocked his PO box after entering his apartment building, the New York City streets bustling outside.  Besides the general ads and spam, an envelope from the NYC Tribune addressed to Jackson Straub caught his attention.  He walked up the stairs and entered his apartment, dropping his keys in a dish by the door and setting his groceries on the counter.  He threw the other mail on the coffee table and plopped down on his loveseat with the Tribune envelope in his hands.  He took a deep breath before tearing it open.

His pale blue eyes darted over the letter inside for a moment before he ran his fingers through his short, black hair, holding his head.  Dammit! he yelled, standing and balling up the letter and throwing it across the room, followed by flipping over his coffee table in rage, sending the mail scattering onto the floor.  He stood there a moment, breathing hard, looking at the mess he’d made, and fighting angry tears.

♠

"‘Dear Mr. Straub, due to a fairly negative response to your column, the NYC Tribune will not be accepting any more submissions from you.’  Jackson downed his Jack and Coke, slamming the glass down on the bar.  Fifth letter like that this month…  You’d think I’d be used to it by now," he chuckled, turning to his friend.

You’ll get your footing, his friend, Mac, patted his shoulder.  You’re still new to this network.  You’ll get with it eventually.

I just did so well in school – a Bachelor’s in Journalism; damn, I was the top of my class.  He sighed.  Just thought it’d be different than this: rejection letter after rejection letter.  Even the independent papers don’t want my stuff anymore.

"Well, you just keep trying.  You’re one tenacious bastard, Jackson.  Keep that up, and you’ll be writing for the Times before you know it."

No man…  I need a break.  Jackson tapped the counter for another drink.  I need a break from rejection, from failure; I need a break from this damn city.

Mac looked down at the floor, surprised by his friend’s negative attitude.  Jackson had always been optimistic, especially about coming to New York City to become a journalist.

Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a sip of his drink.  I found a place.  Just for a few weeks.  After I read the letter, I fired up my laptop and Googled small towns – villages.  I came across a little place called Sleepy Hollow, several miles up the Hudson, an old village that never grew into a city.  Maybe a few weeks there, away from all of this, is what I need.  He stood, finishing off the last of his drink.  I’m leaving in the morning.  See ya around.  Don’t call me for a few weeks…  Won’t be checking my phone or email – no social media. Totally cutting myself off.  He set down the glass and walked out of the bar.

Good luck, Mac muttered after him.

Chapter 2

Jackson drove his black sedan down the two-lane road that ran along this section of the Hudson.  He had his windows down, letting the wind blow through his hair, breathing in the fresh, country air.  He had called ahead to the inn – the town’s only inn for that matter – and reserved a room for the next three weeks.  The word ‘inn’ had made him smile; ‘inn’ sounded so much more quaint than ‘hotel.’

Jackson yanked his steering wheel hard to the left.  He had almost missed the dirt road he needed to turn onto.  Now, he felt a true disconnect from the world.  His favorite radio station was gradually turning into static, and he was driving down a dirt road to a village that had managed to remain so small for all of these years.

A wooden sign came into view, the letters carved into it so faded that it was barely legible.  It read ‘Sleepy Hollow 5 Mi.’  He was now driving in a very densely wooded area, and small log and brick cabins began to come into view.  Jackson maneuvered his car onto a small covered bridge.  It was so old that he was moderately paranoid that the planks would not be able to hold his car.

The village was the kind of place you could miss if you blinked as you drove through it.  The roads were not paved, his tires kicking up dust as he drove down the dirt road toward the inn.  He stopped his car in front of a three-story log building with a wooden sign that read ‘Sleepy Hollow Tavern and Inn.’  There was no parking lot, just a small area on the lawn where the grass was worn down from cars parking there.  A rundown stable set off to the side from the inn itself, overgrown with weeds.  Jackson stepped out of his car, suitcase in hand, staring at the building.  It had to be at least two-hundred years old.

He walked through the door into a dimly lit tavern with several tables dispersed throughout the room.  There were only a few other people in the tavern.  One man sat reading a book; he was very slender, his short, light brown hair parted on the side, his green eyes darting over the pages of his book behind large, round glasses.  A few tables away from him sat a fairly rugged-looking man.  He seemed to be deep in thought, brown bangs falling into his grey eyes.  He scratched the dark stubble that covered the lower half of his face.  The third man had short, blonde hair, but Jackson could not see