By: Alyza Van Tassel
Inspired by Tim Burton's 1999 film, "Sleepy Hollow,"
and Washington Irving's original tale.
All suggestions welcome. Please do not
sue me, this is just MY version of the story!!!!!!, and I am certainly not
profiting in any way by this, other than having the pleasure of knowing that
other people will read and like my writing. Please ask me for permission before
using this story anywhere and do not plagiarize, or I'll chop your head off like
a tulip! :) Hee hee, I'm kidding…but don't you DARE copy without permission! (If
you ask me to let you put it on your site or something, I'm pretty sure I'll say
yes…but ASK first! K? PLEEEEEASE?? :) (E-mail me at: Alyza_@excite.com) Alyza,
Eliot (as MY character), and all other people who do not appear in the originals
belong to me. A couple of things about the story. No, at first, the Headless
Horseman is not ghastly-looking in the BEGINNING like in the movie (sharp teeth,
I mean) I'll let you know how he changes as the story progresses. K? And
remember..... NO PLAGIARISM!!! Or else!!!
Chapter the Sixth
Two years later...
1774, the month of March
The lazy late afternoon sun was already beginnning to drift and slowly
descend to let another cool night envelop the land. Alyza's feet did not make a
noise as they hit the soft, new, growing grass. She basked in the glory of the
sun's last rays and continued on her usual nightly walk, through the wood path
that she knew so well, around the hill, and back by way of the fields.
She
was now 19, and as vigorous and bold as ever. The memories of her past had not
ceased to haunt her. She feared they never would. But she could cope. Now.
She and Eliot had stayed...acquaintances. She did not know if "friends"
would apply. He visited the tavern, where she still worked, nearly every night,
watching her and talking to her. And also protecting her from danger.
Alyza's hair swayed in the wind. She could hear the music, the charm of the
trees and the harmony that nature possessed and bestowed so graciously upon
humanity.
She heard galloping. Nearer, closer. She knew the horse and rider
without having to turn around.
Eliot stopped Daredevil right beside her and
made him walk at a slow pace.
"I see you finally joined me," she said, not
looking at him.
"Are you not frightened to come here alone at night?" he
asked with a tone of deep, underlying curiosity.
Now Alyza did look at him.
"You know I can take care of myself."
They were out behind the hill now, walking back. Alyza's feet were not tired
at all. She did not mind Eliot riding on the horse not far behind her.
They
had walked for a few minutes in dead silence when Eliot spoke.
"Are you so
certain?"
Alyza turned and looked up, keeping her hair out of her face.
"Of what?"
"Of knowing you can protect yourself."
Oh no, not the
macho attitude, she begged mentally. That's the last thing I need.
Eliot must have sensed what she was thinking, because he got off his
horse and walked to her. She stopped.
"What I meant was...can you use a
weapon?" he asked.
Alyza nodded slowly. She was pretty good with one thing.
A scythe. Yes, that long, staff-like thing that Death, the Grim Reaper, was
supposed to carry in his skeletal hand. She knew a couple of self-defense moves,
but not that many. Why was he asking, anyway?
"I am not that well trained,"
she finally said.
He beamed inside despite himself. "I can show you. You
need to know how to protect yourself around here. With brigands...sleazy men and
all," he said, walking back to Daredevil and pulling something out of a bag.
"Oh really?" Alyza said. "Like you?"
He grinned but did not respond.
Instead he handed her a spare weapon he kept. A sword, shorter than his, but it
would have to do. Besides, he was not even sure how she would handle this one.
He was taken by surprise yet again when Alyza gripped it firmly and held it up.
We're off to a good start, he said to himself.
Meanwhile, Alyza held
the weapon with ease, pale moonlight glinting off the blade. The wind was
blowing her hair around, too close to the blade, so she decided to pull it back.
I believe I have it," she said, not without some self-satisfactory glee.
"Not quite," Eliot said, walking to her. "You are holding it too lightly,"
he said. "With onne blow, a strong opponent could knock it out of your hands.
Like this!"
She hadn't seen him move. Alyza didn't even have time to blink
as he unsheathed his own huge sword from his belt, spun around faster than she
had ever seen a human do, and clashed her sword with his. The weapon went flying
out of Alyza's hands and hit the grass with a soft thud.
"See?" he said. She
stared at him.
"You have to do it better," he said. Eliot leaned down and
picked up the fallen sword. He walked toward her once again and continued
walking until he wound up behind her. He put the weapon in her hands. His hands
were over hers, clasping them tighter.
"I see," Alyza murmured. "Good," he
replied. His head hovered above the back of her shoulders. She could feel his
warm breath on her body against the suddenly chilly atmosphere as he said the
word.
Her heart pounded. It was wonderfully overbearing, almost too good to handle.
She had always prided herself on keeping her cool in any situation, but this
time, Alyza WANTED it to get out of hand. But now, in goes the sarcasm that had
saved her time and again when emotion took over.
Alyza must have not really
wanted the sarcasm, because it did not come. Instead, she said, "You handle
weaponry very well."
Eliot shrugged. What could he tell her? "I was seven
years of age when my father first permitted me to hold a sword," he replied. Why
was he telling her this? He wasn't sure himself.
"I see," Alyza said. "Where
is your father now?"
Eliot turned to look at her warily.
"Forgive me,"
she said quickly. "I did not mean to offend."
"No, it is not that," he said.
His eyes looked into hers, and she could feel sadness pouring out through them.
"My father died fighting for Hesse a year later," he explained.
Alyza looked
away. "I'm sorry."
He stepped closer, but still did not bring his gaze to
her. "So am I."
She raised her eyes to him. Such pain. A wound that had
never been healed. Deprived of a father--pain for a son. She supposed everyone
had those sort of grief wounds, in whatever form they came.
"Eliot, I had to
leave my family," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know how you
feel."
"We are kindred spirits, then?" he asked, finally looking at Alyza
and taking the hand on his shoulder into his own for a moment.
She leaned
towards him. She could not have stopped herself, even if she had wanted to.
"Maybe..." she whispered...
"ALYZA!!!!!!!!!!!"
Both of them turned to see a figure coming up
the hill. Roxanne was breathless.
Oh good, the sarcasm was back. No one
like Roxanne to ruin a moment, Alyza admitted to herself.
"They're
expecting you at the tavern," the girl said. Evidently she was overjoyed at the
fact that she "caught" them.
"Now?" Alyza asked.
"Yes, indeed," Roxanne
replied.
Great, Alyza thought. Just peachy.