Truth be told, becoming a constable didnʼt really play a major role in my earlier career plans. It just so happened that I was chosen by our Lady Fortuna, the bitch that makes the world go round, on that dreadful day to be her helpless toy, for she saw it fit to mess with the original scheme the Fates had intended for me, and that is how I took the wrong turn on the crossroads of life. There was no doubt that I was a gifted child, very bright and enthusiastic for my age. But everything comes with a price; a man can have the necessary seed and no soil, but he can also have a fertile piece of land, but no seeds. I was practically left to fend for myself after the execution of my mother...Crane did not really care much for raising a witchʼ spawn, and all that. A woman who used to be a friend to my mother took pity on me and she took me to her house and raised me as her own. Crane would give her a small sum every month for me, but that was it. I was already branded as an outcast. But that didnʼt matter to me. I was in a de facto catatonic state for almost a year and the outside world was like a plethora of phantasmagoric images with no meaning or sense, sounds did not affect me, food had no taste to me, everything looked the same to me. She was gone, the bond was severed, and my being started to wither and die. In order to survive this state of mind, heart and soul, I had to be reborn as a new Ichabod Crane, stronger than the boy who was dying. I had to create a new person and assume its skin. That is how I killed every particle of magic inside me, for it was too painful to live with the memory of my mother. I decided to keep my inborn curiosity and hunger for knowledge, but I had to upgrade them. And that is how I developed my gift for thorough analysis and fast learning. The little magic that was left inside me could still manifest itself in some situations: I could read people just by looking at them, I could still involuntarily light a candle with my mind, the weather would change according to my mood(only if I was getting too emotional) and sometimes I could feel it build up inside me around those with similar gifts, and that would make me have nightmares about my mother.
The woman was known by the name of Anna Berry, a stout woman and a spinster, but very lovable. She had short greasy red hair, a chubby face with freckles and eyes that were of a dirty shade of green. Her mother had come from Ireland many years ago and married a local. Anna was full of tales from Éire(Ireland) that she had heard from her mother and I have spent years listening about the stories of the children of Lir, the Druids, battles, magical creatures, et cetera. Those stories were beautiful and very emotional, but my mind told me that they were still fiction. Anna wasnʼt offended by this and she decided to send me to a local school because she found it unreasonable to keep me at home and feed me with Celtic myths. And that is how I started my first school years, eventhough I was already proficient in both reading and writing in English, French and Latin, in mathematics, and I knew quite a bit about literature and history, not to mention the natural philosophy, which still occupies a special place in my heart. My classmates were terrified of my appearance( my skin and sunken eyes were the things that mad them shiver as if Death itself was among them) and they avoided me as much as possible. The schoolteacher, a skinny man in shabby clothes and an old wig, did not know what to make of me. He regarded me as some sort of unholy soul in the body of a child, apparently human but not quite. That is how I have spent the first years of my formal education.
Anna knew that I was not cut out for manual labour, or any labour, because of the weakness of my body. The mistreatment and malnutrition, for which I have Old Crane to thank, have rendered me a weak and anemic waif that faints whenever he sees anything dead or dangerous. She was saving money for my future education, but that was not enough, and Old Crane didnʼt give a damn anymore when I turned eighteen. My other alternative was to leave the village and move to New York, a great city that was a few kilometers away. I could find work there, save some money after two or three years and go to university to study law or medicine.
The city did not welcome me the way I thought it would. The streets were dirty, dangerous and full of poor people. There were immigrants all over the place and for the first few hours I could only hear Dutch and German. I found myself a small flat with a large round window, in which I am still living, and I started to look for work. My knowledge was very useful to me and I have managed to get a few jobs: I was working both as a secretary, translator, rarely as a schoolteacher, and I have been able to persuade the right people to let me watch the dissection of bodies in anatomy class at the local university. I memorized those procedures in my head and was fascinated by the complexity of the human body, the flesh, the nerves, and the enchanting red color of blood. The whole thing was almost romantic to me, and I didnʼt even faint. Quite a marvel(the not fainting part).
Two years later I realized that I was still short of money and that I needed a firmer job. The professor that held class told me that he had never seen someone that was so fascinated by corpses like I was, and he said that I would be a wonderful, although temporary, addition to the police with my knowledge. He pulled a few strings and I was employed as a constable. Which I still am now, at the age of twenty two. Sad, isnʼt it? The way people have to work to get enough money for their education...
But I did get myself quite a reputation, eventhough I have only been working like that for two years. Well, that is it for my career life for now, and I hope that I will soon get off of these streets and return to my proper place at the university.
Ichabod Crane, January 19th, 1796.