Sleepy Hollow, Is all as it seems?

Arriving in Hell

Icila glared out the window of the carriage that she was traveling in, a scowl seeming permeant upon her lips. Oh, how she hates the judge that had given her this task, this task of dealing with a mad man decapitating people in the village of Sleepy Hollow. A shiver of a forbidding went down her spine as the name rolled around in her thoughts. That name did not sit well with her and she now had a definite bad feeling about this. Thankfully, instead of blindly rushing into her situation, Icila had done a bit of research first. She had found that twenty years before, a man called 'The Hessian' had come to this country as a missionary from Europe; Germany, if she recalled correctly. He had been the most ruthless known missionary, loping off heads in battle without a thought. One day, however, soldiers happened upon him when he had no ability to escape on his horse. When he ran into the wood, it was said that he met two little girls, one who ran and the other who alerted the soldiers of the mans presence. In a twist of fate, he was disarmed and beheaded with his own sword.

That part of the tale seemed odd to her. This man, The Hessian, could most likely could have killed the soldiers without a second thought. But, he hadn't. Why? Perhaps he was sick of carnage? No, that did not fit him from what she had heard. Then, maybe he had simply lost the will to live? Had life become so meaningless that he had wanted to end it all?

Icila sighed. She was brooding. The last time she started brooding she had ended up walking into a pole and had been knocked unconscious for several days. So, no brooding for herself, then. Shutting her eyes, Icila leaned back into the warm interior of the carriage. She had a certain feeling that something life changing would happen on this trip. Icila trusted her feelings, as her mother had taught her to when she was still young and innocent. Another sigh escaped the women at the thought. Mother. Thought to be a witch when she was only a child of nature, or what the Greeks called Nymphs.

A sneer curved her lips as anger at the human race in general rose within her. Always snuffing out what they don't understand. That is why Icila had a feeling that the legends of the Hessian, or 'The Headless Horseman', were true. Legends that people thought were untrue always had at least one ring of candor. This one, she thought, had the promise of being all true.

Icila was snapped from her calculating thoughts when the carriage came to a slow halt. So, she was finally there, it seemed. A sigh left her as the driver opened the door to her transportation, a hand held out for her to take. Taking it, Icila gave the man a polite nod, mentally rolling her eyes as his gravitated towards her chest. Men, she snorted, honestly.

Moving away from the still staring man, Icila glanced around the small village that seemed deserted. The reason came to her as she focused on the large manor at the top of a large hill, it's lights flaring in fading twilight. A party. When there was a man riding around killing? Icila never really understood her fellow human beings, and she really had no desire to in that moment.

Grabbing the bags that the driver handed her, Icila started through the town, not before giving the man a few crowns for the trouble of the long distance. The man gave her a bright smile and waved as he once again mounted the transportation and headed back the way to New York. Turning her focus to the manor on the hill, Icila once again started that way, a certain drag to her step that stated wariness at the possibility of a party. Icila was not one for parties, or social gatherings in general. A mumble rose from her lips before she could stop it.

"Welcome to Hell on Earth."