Post by ladygiry on Jun 21, 2006 1:43:37 GMT 9.5
This is a Sleepy Hollow oneshot fan fic I wrote about a week or so ago:
It was a cold day in Mid-January as the citizens of Sleepy Hollow crowded in the village square. The men stood stone-faced and solemn while the women whispered and chattered in a nervous, exited manner with the children clinging to their skirts.
Today was the day they had all been waiting for since the murders had ceased: the day the spirit-conjuring witch would pay for her crimes. She had caused them all so much suffering and now it was her turn. This fact contented them. Well, it contented all but one anyway.
Ichabod Crane stood in the far back of the crowd in silence. His superiors had ordered him to attend the hanging as a representative of the New York police force. And who better, they had thought, to represent them than the very man who had caught the perpetrator in the first place? The very thought made him sick.
Suddenly the whispers died down and the crowds parted. Ichabod craned his neck to see why the sudden change in behavior and his heart lurched as his mouth went dry. The guards were escorting their prisoner to the platform.
Mary Van Tassel walked with her head held high like the noblewoman she was, her midnight eyes focused ahead of her on the platform, not even giving the crowd a fleeting glance, and somehow this was more unnerving than if she had stared at them.
Her once fine gowns had been replaced by a worn, torn, and soiled dress of white cotton and her small white feet were bare as she walked over the rough cobblestones, stumbling with every other step.
Her beautifully delicate porcelain features were stained with dirt and grime and her long flaxen mane-her prized feature-tumbled down her back in a tangled, matted mess. This was a far cry from the poised, elegant woman they had all come to know and Ichabod could barely watch.
As she was guided through the crowd, “boo”s and hisses started to erupt from the gathered villagers. In a flash a rotten tomato was thrown out of nowhere and struck her on the right cheek. Ichabod felt the bile start to rise in his throat.
The guards led her up onto the platform where the noose was suspended from a wooden post, swaying menacingly in the cold, winter breeze. Her cold, emotionless expression did not waver in the slightest.
Ichabod watched as she was taken over to where the noose hung. He felt his throat start to constrict but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The intimidating grace and poise that this woman still possessed even at the threshold of death was eerily entrancing.
Her head was still held high as they dropped the noose around her long, white neck and the noise of the crowd lulled into a hushed whisper. Ichabod felt unsteady on his feet and this feeling only increased as she turned her head and her sharp, piercing, midnight eyes locked with his.
His face turned white as a sheet but once more he couldn’t look away. What he saw in her eyes both fascinated and terrified him. There was no fear, no sadness, and no remorse in those midnight orbs. Nor was their anger, hate, or contempt. They were empty of all human emotion. All that remained was a cold, eerie darkness.
Then she turned away, breaking the moment and Ichabod was shaky and clammy, feeling more ill than he ever had in his life. He suddenly felt empty, as if with that one look she had taken away his very soul. The rope was pulled and the deed was done. But as the crowd around him cheered, Ichabod swayed on his feet and fainted dead away.
End
Please reply and tell me what you think! I value the opinions of others!
It was a cold day in Mid-January as the citizens of Sleepy Hollow crowded in the village square. The men stood stone-faced and solemn while the women whispered and chattered in a nervous, exited manner with the children clinging to their skirts.
Today was the day they had all been waiting for since the murders had ceased: the day the spirit-conjuring witch would pay for her crimes. She had caused them all so much suffering and now it was her turn. This fact contented them. Well, it contented all but one anyway.
Ichabod Crane stood in the far back of the crowd in silence. His superiors had ordered him to attend the hanging as a representative of the New York police force. And who better, they had thought, to represent them than the very man who had caught the perpetrator in the first place? The very thought made him sick.
Suddenly the whispers died down and the crowds parted. Ichabod craned his neck to see why the sudden change in behavior and his heart lurched as his mouth went dry. The guards were escorting their prisoner to the platform.
Mary Van Tassel walked with her head held high like the noblewoman she was, her midnight eyes focused ahead of her on the platform, not even giving the crowd a fleeting glance, and somehow this was more unnerving than if she had stared at them.
Her once fine gowns had been replaced by a worn, torn, and soiled dress of white cotton and her small white feet were bare as she walked over the rough cobblestones, stumbling with every other step.
Her beautifully delicate porcelain features were stained with dirt and grime and her long flaxen mane-her prized feature-tumbled down her back in a tangled, matted mess. This was a far cry from the poised, elegant woman they had all come to know and Ichabod could barely watch.
As she was guided through the crowd, “boo”s and hisses started to erupt from the gathered villagers. In a flash a rotten tomato was thrown out of nowhere and struck her on the right cheek. Ichabod felt the bile start to rise in his throat.
The guards led her up onto the platform where the noose was suspended from a wooden post, swaying menacingly in the cold, winter breeze. Her cold, emotionless expression did not waver in the slightest.
Ichabod watched as she was taken over to where the noose hung. He felt his throat start to constrict but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The intimidating grace and poise that this woman still possessed even at the threshold of death was eerily entrancing.
Her head was still held high as they dropped the noose around her long, white neck and the noise of the crowd lulled into a hushed whisper. Ichabod felt unsteady on his feet and this feeling only increased as she turned her head and her sharp, piercing, midnight eyes locked with his.
His face turned white as a sheet but once more he couldn’t look away. What he saw in her eyes both fascinated and terrified him. There was no fear, no sadness, and no remorse in those midnight orbs. Nor was their anger, hate, or contempt. They were empty of all human emotion. All that remained was a cold, eerie darkness.
Then she turned away, breaking the moment and Ichabod was shaky and clammy, feeling more ill than he ever had in his life. He suddenly felt empty, as if with that one look she had taken away his very soul. The rope was pulled and the deed was done. But as the crowd around him cheered, Ichabod swayed on his feet and fainted dead away.
End
Please reply and tell me what you think! I value the opinions of others!
