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Greetings!  My name is Eclia Laufeyson.  I'm a grad student at Arkham University, Arkham Mass.
I thought that you might be interested this transcript.  It was attached to one the papers I was grading at the end last semester.   The paper, entitled "Practical Reasons For Mass Panic When Confronted By Supposedly Supernatural Local Legends" was certainly no prize, but one of the interviews was struck me as pertaining to our mutual  interest.  The student had interviewed his suite-mates about a local legends from their home towns.  One suite-mate not only had a local legend to tell, but one intimately  entwined in his family.  Unfortunately, and much against standard procedure, he did not include the tape nor the questions he asked.  Nonetheless it is still an interesting read.  The student, Andrew Watley Grishom, has extended me permission to submit it to you (after he had attained permission from his suite-mate, Hunter Crane.)  (A note of warning, Mr. Crane has a less than genteel way of putting things..)

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(Transcribed from a interview with Hunter Crane, age 19,
on November 5, 1999, in Peabody Hall, Suit 206C)

You want to know about the Horseman? Why is it that people want to know about the Horseman?!? Why not some nice juicy gossip about people dead hundreds of years? That way no one really gets hurt.

Okay, yeah, he has been known to ride around headless. He doesn't like it, and neither does my family. You see, some moron steals his skull, then works, and usually botches it in the process (that can get real messy), some black magic to resurrect him. He gets sent to kill some people. My family ends up having to get his skull back. No matter how hard we try and stay out of it. I think great-great-great-great...now how many greats was he? Any way lots of Greats-Grandfather Ichabod seems to have unwittingly bound the family into that role.

The last time the skull was stolen? Well, that would around nineteen-twenty...nineteen-twenty-two, my Grandfather was a little boy, uhm, maybe eight? Well, anyway, 1922, and this religious zealot digs up Hunter's grave. That's right, we call him Hunter. He was after all part of the Hessian Jäger Corps, Jäger translates as Hunter, so the family sorta named him Hunter.

Yeah, that's right, my lunatic mother named me after him. Ain't I psyched?   Well,  I was lucky, I almost was named Baltus.

All right, 1922, religious zealot, right that's where I was. Okay, this lunatic digs up Hunter's grave, breaks open the lead casket my family put the bones into after the incident in 1873, and starts siccing him on anyone who doesn't measure up to his twisted standards of religious 'purity.' My great-grandfather nearly had his own head chopped off that time.

Obviously, we got the Horseman reunited with his head, but yeah, about four people got killed before that.  I think was, like, the only time tall, dark and gruesome made sure the loser he took with him back to Hell was already dead.  Guess he didn't want any in-ride conversation, can you blame him?

This time the family pours concrete over the grave.  If you want to dig him up, go right ahead.  You'll need a jackhammer, alot of time, and alot of muscle.   And you'll get yer ass throw in jail so fast for trespassing, you won't know what hit you.  We do keep watch and we have installed surveillance equipment.  We just just don't need to hassle that having him riding about whacking people's head off would bring.  I mean, how would we explain to the FBI?  Local authorities, maybe, but anyone else...

The first time he showed after that business with the bitch-witch?  Was the only time on record he turned up some place other than  Sleepy Hollow.  Greats-Grandfather Ichabod was trying to explain to his superiors why he hadn't brought back the murderer.  He was really catching hell for bringing back a tale about a witch and ghost.  According to Greats-Grandmother Katrina's journal, the Burgomaster is really giving Ichabod a hard time, when the Horseman comes out of this big metal, trap/torture device.  Damn thing just springs open and this huge-ass horse and rider come out full gallop.  He does twice around the courtroom, or where ever they were, stops by Ichabod. Smiles down at him, looks up at the Burgomaster and snarls.  Now, Hunter has the scariest smile I've ever seen, and I don't even want to imagine what he looks like snarling.  I think it was brown-trouser time for the Burgomaster personally, but Greats-Grandmother Katrina wouldn't write that.  Then he hops back through the iron maiden, or whatever it was.  Ichabod says something like  "Your Honour, the Horseman!" then thump...he faints.

Huh-uh, just like the time I did when Ian popped his eyes outta his head.  That was disgusting.  And you all encouraged him.  I mean what if they actually had come all the way out?   Explain that at the emergency room.  "Oh yeah, my suite-mates thought it'd be cool to see if I could actually put my eyes into lime Jell-O."

Anyway, the next day he, Katrina and Masbeth are on their way back to the Hollow.  New York paid Ichabod a hefty sum for those days to stay put there.  It wasn't like Sleepy Hollow didn't need someone to take charge anyway, I mean most of the village's Elders were ka-put.  So the family's stayed there.

Sorta nice, actually, I mean, really, I  can say that I really do have a Hometown.  So we get stuck looking after the resident homicidal, lunatic spook; at least he likes us.

He just likes some of us, more than others.  I mean, my sister has never seen him except for his occasional ride around the house.

Yeah, about once a month.

No, we don't want anyone 'checking' him out.  Last thing we need is the crew for "Sightings"  and all those other bull-shit shows camping out on our property.

Anyway, like I said, he shows up more for some in the family.  Especially me.  I mean, I'm as close to Ichabod without digging him and cloning him.

Yeah, the family thinks it may have something to do with a peculiar traits; dark hair, dark eyes, a tendency to go from vertical to horizontal at the drop of a hat.  I think he just likes to see our faces when we drop.   My sister is pissed about it.  She wants to see him so badly.  Thinks it would be romantic to be carried off.   You know I have nothing against Goths.  I mean, look at me.  You've met my girlfriend.  Yeah, I'm still dating Wednesday; what can I say?  She's the best.  But my sister's painted her room black and insists we call her Mortalia. Ya'know penis-envy?  Can you imagine ghost-envy?  That's what she's got.  Big time.

Me?  I've been on the bloody-fucking horse!  I was four years old.  I was upset about something stupid, and I ran away into the woods.   It's getting dark.  I was lost.  I was scared, I mean I'm four years old and  I'm in the woods and it's getting dark.  And then I hear this clomp, clomp, clomp.  I look up, and up, and up.  There is this horse.  It's huge.  And there's this leg, in a black leather boot that looks like it's got blood dried all over it.   I look up even  further and there's this amused smile. This guy had filed his teeth in to points, and you know that's gotta have hurt.  Well, the guy was crazy when he was alive anyway, maybe it didn't for him.  But, anyway,  I, well, I faint.  But before I hit the ground, he's reached down and picked me up.  After that I don't remember much.   I remember being on a horse, and I remember him crooning something in German, but that's it.  Next thing I know I'm waking up on the front steps to my Aunt Margaret screaming.

Oh, she's not one of us.  What I mean is that she's my Mom's sister and was a confirmed skeptic.   She believes now.  Stupid woman dropped me when he handed me over.   I've seen him lots of times since, I'm almost always on the back soon after.   He did get me out of chemistry exam I hadn't studied for once.  That was more a case of serendipity, than anything else.

Exorcise him?  You crazy?

Yeah, someone tried...once.   Back in 1897.  Some nice, sweet, really fat medium came with some well-meaning in-laws.  Took two days to coax her down from that tree.   My great-grandfather said that they'd worried that the branches might break before they got her down safely.  She was a real nice lady.

A description?  Let's see, I've covered the teeth.  Well, let's start with the obvious: he's crazy, blood-thirsty crazy.  I suppose he's good-looking, if you're into homicidal maniacs that is--not one word, I swear, not a single word about Wednesday, that's off limits, okay?   Well, his eyes are about the iciest shade of blue I've seen, and they're even scarier when he smiles.  What's going on behind them, I wanna know.   He's never heard a comb, but hey, he's dead.  And I'm not certain  you get one through that hatch of black hair.  He's dressed in the eighteenth century equivalent of  a Hell's Angel uniform, that is if they had one.  Ya'know, all leather.  It's got dragons embroidered on it.  I confess, I'd kill, well, maybe not kill, but seriously maim for his cloak, even if it is a little tattered.  Well, he went full tilt into battle, it certainly wasn't going to stay in pristine condition.  He's got an assortment of  bladed goodies stashed all over 'im.

Excuse me?

Uh, would I have told you all this, if I didn't believe he was real?  Yeah, I really believe he's real.  I didn't make up that story 'bout when I was four.

Look you, jackass, there are more documented cases of Hunter turning up, than there are fakes!

Fine, fine, the interview is OVER!