Page 24 of Hollow

There’s only me.

I get to my door, and for one second, I fear the horror will kill me. The idea of what’s waiting for me inside.

They will eat your soul, Marie had said earlier.

Joke’s on them. I might not even have one.

I step inside my room, my lantern held out in front, casting the darkness into light.

There’s no one there.

Nothing except a row of candles all along the windowsill, the flames dancing as if there’s a breeze. What in God’s name? I didn’t light those. I know I didn’t.

I quickly walk in all the way and look around, including my bathroom and closet, making sure there’s no place for this thing to hide. Satisfied, I march over to my desk and the candles on the sill above it.

I suck in my breath.

On the desk is a black snake with several sewing needles stabbed through it, in the eye, the middle, and the end of the tail. Dead, except for a faint twitch of the tail.

And below it, there’s something written on a scrap of paper in very fine handwriting.

Written in blood.

Welcome to Sleepy Hollow. May you never leave.

Chapter 9

Crane

Suffice to say, I barely slept a wink last night. After I found the message, I quickly disposed of the snake in the forest. Mercifully, the creature was fully dead—it must have been a reflex that caused it to move. It was only then that I realized I needed to hold on to the sewing needles and the piece of paper. Sure, the blood I had seen in the hallway wasn’t real, and the woman that I saw dragging herself on the floor disappeared, but this was evidence that I had. The only problem was I didn’t know what it was evidence of.

By the time the sun came up, casting pale gold on the surface of the black lake between the patches of fog, I was already in the dining hall getting breakfast, a tray of eggs and salted pork, before anyone else was up, including the students. I’m amazed I have an appetite at all, and it’s only when I finish my meal and get a cup of coffee from the cook that other teachers and students start coming in.

There’s the two girls who walk in matching outfits. They must be sisters, their faces similar, their braids coiled on their heads matching. They exude a quiet energy, a shy one, and even though it’s only been a week since classes started and I’m still getting to know everyone, I recognize them from my mimicry class. They’re from Oklahoma, and they both seem fascinated by astrology. One of them, in particular, I know has prophetic dreams.

There’s a man, Doug Smith, who is probably a few years older than me, his beard peppered with grey, who shows promise in psychometry, which is what Leona has—the ability to gain foresight by touching objects. He showed this off in my psionic class yesterday.

Then there are the teachers, who don’t always eat in the dining hall at the set times. This morning, I recognize the shy and quiet Ms. Peters with her sad eyes and ruddy complexion, sitting alone with a slice of bread and syrup, but there’s no one else to be found. I at least wanted to see Daniels or Desi to inquire if they had heard any peculiar noises last night. I know I might sound a bit daft by asking, but I have to know it wasn’t all in my head.

I reach over to my coat pocket and slide my fingers inside, finding the paper. As long as I have this, I know it wasn’t a dream.

I finish the rest of my coffee and get up to procure another cup when I bump into Sister Sophie in line.

“Professor Crane,” she says to me, her face brighter with her head free of her hood. Sister Sophie is the twin of Sister Margaret, both looking exactly the same except for a small mole above Sister Sophie’s lip. But while Sister Margaret is rather cold and stiff, Sophie’s personality is a little more pliable, and she’s easier to talk to. “How are we this morning?” she asks, adjusting the copper pin at the throat of her cloak.

My jaw tenses while I think of what I should say to her. Would the truth make me look weak? I take a chance.

“Tired, actually,” I say as the iron-eyed cook refills my coffee cup. I nod my thanks and walk with her slowly across the hall. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I know what that’s like,” she says, blowing on her coffee. “Too many thoughts in your brain rattling around.”

“You’re not wrong,” I tell her. “That’s usually the case.”

That’s why opium was such a godsend for me. I’d been clean ever since I came to Sleepy Hollow—Leona forbade it—but boy did it ever help in making me feel at peace for once. It made me feel normal for a change.

“It was different this time,” I go on. I come to a stop and fix her with a pertinent gaze. “I woke up because I had heard something out in the hall.”

“Oh?” she asks, her thin brows knitting together.