The Hessian Finds a Witch

Chapter I

Disclaimer: I don’t own Sleepy Hollow, Washington Irving’s or Tim Burton’s. I only

own my o.c. Isabelle

Warning: bad prose. Really bad prose.

The night was calm. Too calm. A swamp of mist was steadily flooding a field of crops and hay, as well as the neighboring dead and dying forest; the Western Woods. The amount of moisture became so great, that it finally harbored several thunder and lightning strikes. Bleating of sheep could be heard as several clusters of the livestock hustled from the Woods and through the field. Soon after another blinding electric crackle and strike of lightning, the thundering of heavy hooves and the toughened whinny of a war horse was heard through the blue veil of the night.

Astride the galloping steed was the Hessian. The wind did nothing to help his already tangled tousled pitch black hair. His electrified blue eyes searched hungrily for his target. It didn’t take long for the Hessian to find what he was looking for. Not far off, in one of the corners of the field, was a young white witch. Shrouded in her dark cloak, she crouched at her alter. Clutched in her pale hand, was a simple ceramic bowl, in which she was sifting brightly colored powders and dribbling a dull pungent liquid into the bowl.

Hearing the neigh of Daredevil, she whipped up her head. What her eyes perceived, was a little more than bone-chilling. Suddenly forgetting the spell she was casting, the girl abandoned her alter, climbed over the wooden fence that caged most of the lonely field, and started to run for what her life was worth.