Dreams
a Sleepy Hollow story
by Hermione Eveningfall
She was so beautiful. Ichabod stood watching as his mother spun round and round, white petals falling like snowflakes all around her. He took her gentle hands, joining eagerly in the game, laughing. After a couple of moments, she began to float into the air, reaching for the tree tops...
...His father, a tall man dressed in a black robe with white hair tied back, pushed his mother to the floor by the hearth. Ichabod hid in the doorway of their cottage, his heart pounding. His mother sobbed helplessly as his father threw a thick bible down before her, pointing angrily to a page. He grabbed her by the arm and drug her away towards the door of the church...
...A strange room, filled with sharp and terrifying instruments...an iron maiden with dead eyes staring out through the top slits...
Ichabod awoke with a yell, panicking a little because he had no idea where he was. When his vision cleared, he found he was sitting on his bed in the Van Tassel mansion. The room was dark, which meant it was still very late. `How did I get here?' he thought, confused. The last thing he remembered was a flaming pumpkin thrown in his direction, and laying on the cold, damp leaves. `Someone must have found me.' He shivered, suddenly realizing how stuffed up he was when he attempted to take a breath. Wonderful. Now he was coming down with a cold.
Groaning a little, he slid to the floor, cringing at his aching back and shoulders. Ichabod made his awy over to the single window, and noticed the full moon attempting to peer out through the heavy Sleepy Hollow fog.
He pulled open his desk drawer and removed a clean, plain white handkerchief. Blowing his nose softly, he decided to go downstairs and fetch something cool to drink for his raw throat. The house was silent as death, and he felt his breath catch in his throat when a stair creaked under his sudden weight.
Reaching the kitchen at last, Ichabod found a full pitcher of water and began to fill a cup, when a glitter of fire light caught his eye. Sniffling, he walked towards it, pushing open the wooden door to the parlour. Katrina sat on the couch reading, and whirled around at the noise.
"Oh!" Ichabod turned pink, backing off. "Pardon my intrusion, I...I saw a light." Without warning, he felt a tickle building in his nose, and rubbed it quickly
"It is no intrusion," Katrina insisted with a smile as she hid the book under the cushions. "I come here to read when I'm wakeful."
Ichabod nodded in understanding, feeling the sudden urge to sneeze. He cupped a hand over his face, his breath hitching. "Eshhuh! HuhEshhh! Excuse me."
Katrina got to her feet, worry in her eyes. "Are you catching cold?"
Ichabod did not answer...he did not want anyone fussing over him. "I'm all right."
She clucked her tongue, remembering when Mr. Killian, the town blacksmith, brought Ichabod's unconscious body back to town after finding him in the woods. He felt so cold. The two stood watching each other in awkward silence, when Ichabod cleared his throat.
"So. You hid books which...you must hide." He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth uneasily on his heels.
Katrina chewed on her lower lip. "They...they were my mother's books. My father believes tales of romance caused the brain fever that killed her. She died two years ago this coming winter."
Ichabod frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that." He'd seriously thought Lady Van Tassel was her mother. Before he could tell her that, another sneeze began to build up, and he heard his breath hitch. "Heh-eshhuh! Ushhh!" Excuse me again." He apologized, pulling the hanky back out of his pocket.
"Blessings." Katrina reached up to feel Ichabod's forehead. "You have a slight fever. Here, lie down and get comfortable."
"No, please, I eh...heh!" he scrunched up his nose, a sneeze playing with him. Katrina laughed softly, rubbing his back in gentle circles. "Huhishhuh! Eshhh!" he doubled over, wishing he'd decided to stay in bed.
"Bless again," Ichabod. Here, sit down at least." She led him over to the couch and sat beside him. "You do have a cold." She sympathized, listening to his cough.
He rubbed his nose, his head throbbing. What he truly wanted was a nice, strong cup of tea, but he did not feel right asking for it at this hour.
"Here." Katrina moved so he could lie down, and pulled the throw blanket over him. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Ichabod stared at her, his dark eyes widening with surprise. "Oh no, Katrina, that is not necess...eh..Chuuuh! hushuuuh!"
She rolled her eyes a little. Men were always so full of pride that they forgot to care for themselves. "Honestly, there is no need to be modest with me. If you want the tea, I will make it."
Sighing, Ichabod nodded. "Yes, thank you." He pulled the blanket more closely to his neck, watching as the beautiful young maiden left the room. `Of all the worst possible times,' h e cursed to himself. He'd always been succeptable to catching colds. In fact, his fellow constables tortured him about this weakness amongst other things. Sniffling and shivering, Ichabod closed his eyes, deciding just to doze until Katrina returned.
`Just a nap.' He turned towards the back of the couch, sighing softly in content.
When Katrina came back with the tea about ten minutes later, she found Ichabod fast asleep. Smiling, she set the cup of tea down on the nightstand, walking over to the couch. Very gently, she pulled the blanket closer to his neck, smoothing his raven black hair away from his eyes.
"Good night, my sweet Ichabod," she whispered.
The characters names and places do not belong to me, but they belong to director Tim Burton and crew. :-D I am only borrowing them for my own personal pleasure and promise to return them somewhat in tact.