“Isn’t this illegal?”

“Excavating a grave? Only if you get caught…“ Kate replied.

Select was digging up Ichabod Crane’s grave to see if he could be the Headless Horseman.

“Here it is!” exclaimed Select.

They pulled out the coffin, nervous about what might happen.

“Okay, here we go!”

And…

Ichabod Crane was still there, unmoving.

“Impossible, it has to be him!” exclaimed Select.

Kate noticed a strange book he had in his hands.

“What’s this?”

“His diary or something, maybe it’ll be useful.”

Kate started flipping through the pages, and her astonishment was such that she almost dropped the book.

“What’s wrong, Kate?”

“You won’t believe this, look at what it says on this page.”

Select and Maxine were perplexed when they saw the name written on it.

“We have to see this.”

What it said was as follows:

Ichabod Crane, son of Percival de Carpenter

It was an October afternoon in 1790,

I was riding under the moonlight, staring intently at the road.

I had been alive for centuries, all thanks to the magic I learned from Merlin, my teacher.

I was hoping to start a new and exciting life as a teacher, away from all the problems I had faced as a wizard. But unfortunately, I fell into the clutches of something more powerful: love.

Katrina was perfect, a being of light, and I wanted to hold her in my arms. Unfortunately, there was that brute Abraham, always mocking me.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

One night, Abraham told the tale of a headless horseman to scare me, and that gave me an idea, even if I had to use forbidden magic.

I created a cursed horseman, a Hessian soldier whom I could control with my spellbook, and I made him cut off that wretch’s head, passing the curse on to him when he did so.

That way, I got rid of Abraham, and I could live happily with Katrina. I hid the spellbook, using an incantation to imprison Abraham for life, while he continues in his undead existence…

—That Ichabod had serious problems… —Select commented ironically.

—But how do we find that book? —Maxine asked.

Select thought, enlightened.

—In the old church of Sleepy Hollow, who would search for such a book in a church?

Freya glared angrily at Charles.

“You are pathetic.”

“I… I’m sorry, I was driving the bus, I couldn’t do anything.”

“No excuses!”

She plunged the sharp, burning metal rod into his side.

A piercing scream escaped Charles.

“Luckily, we will be able to fix everything at the Church. God will forgive me my sins when he understands that I do it for a greater reason. Our cities are being flooded with parasites, Charles, people who implant absurd ideas in others’ heads. They must be exterminated. And the Rider will be my key to success.”

Charles looked horrified at the woman.

“According to rumors, Ichabod made an underground network beneath Sleepy Hollow to hide his potions and parlor tricks. It disgusts me!”

“And yet you seek his magic.” Charles whispered.

“What did you say?”

“You are right, ma’am.” He trembled.

Freya laughed maniacally, as Charles wondered if he would ever be able to escape that punishment.