Page 8 of Hollow
Mary rolls her eyes. “Go get on your horse, boy,” she says to him. “And when you stop by McClellan’s orchard, see if you can get me a few apples.”
He groans. “If McClellan sees me stealing again, he’s going to have my head.”
“Wimp,” Mary says, smacking the fence. “And here you are supposed to be Kat’s protector.”
He looks steadily at me, ruddiness on his cheeks. “I won’t let you down,” he says.
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”
He gets on his horse, and we say goodbye to Mary and start on our way toward the school. The village of Sleepy Hollow is located north of Tarrytown and situated between the wide expanse of the Hudson River and low, wooded hills to the east. My house and Mary’s house are at the northern end of Sleepy Hollow, where the town streets and houses turn to farmland and forest.
“So what really goes on at that school?” Mathias asks me after we’ve ridden in silence for a bit, just enjoying the morning chirp of finches and sparrows, waving hello at farmers in the fields and a couple of carriages riding past. The hot breath from the horses rises in the cool air, but it’s growing warmer by the minute, and I wish I had gotten dressed in a more breathable gown instead of the one I’m wearing now. It’s yellow and ruffled, my favorite, and I obviously hoped to make a good impression on my first day.
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“They’re so secretive,” he says, flicking the toothpick around in his mouth. “That’s what Mary says anyway. Maybe because she doesn’t know why they didn’t let her in.”
“I believe all schools are secretive. That’s what makes them so prestigious.”
He squints at me. “It’s your family that runs it. I’m sure it’s not so secretive to you.”
I shrug with one shoulder. Every year at this time, strangers filter into the town to go and attend the school, coming from all over America and sometimes even Europe. They go and live on campus, earning their degrees from botany and astronomy to liberal arts, philosophy, and ancient civilizations. They rarely come into town during that time, and when they do, they come in groups and keep to themselves. That alone creates an air of mystery about what really happens at Sleepy Hollow Institute and why the students are so strange.
Of course, by now, I know the truth about the school. My mother sat me down and explained it to me a few days after my father died. A lot of people in town also know the truth and accept it, while others put blinders on and refuse to believe the rumors. I always thought that was so ignorant, considering the magic that runs in Sleepy Hollow’s veins.
Brom believed it. His mother was a witch, after all, and he’d seen the few things I could do. But Mary and her family only moved to Sleepy Hollow a couple of years ago, and since they were the closest neighbors to us and Mary was only two years younger than me, we became good friends. She filled a void that Brom left behind, even if she came from a pragmatic family, focused on science and having zero interest in the occult. I assume any talk of witchcraft would go over Mathias’ head too. Besides, ever since my mother sat me down and told me the truth about the school, I’ve been sworn to keep it a secret.
Sometimes it feels like my life has amounted to little more than keeping one secret after another.
“I guess I’m about to find out,” I tell him. “I’ll be sharing a lot of my studies with your sister, so if you ever want to glean some knowledge from me, all you have to do is ask.”
Granted, I won’t be sharing everything, but that’s enough for Mathias to make a face.
“No, thank you. I learn enough at school. I’m just grateful my ma asked me to give you a ride to your classes so that I can miss the start of mine.”
We ride in the sun along rambling fences and pink hollyhocks that tower over us, reaching for the clear blue sky beside the sunflowers, their yellow heads nodding as if paying their respects. Then we go across the old wooden bridge over Hollow Creek, hoofbeats echoing on the wood, a comforting sound. The creek that flows underneath is a soft murmur of water, waiting patiently for the autumn rains to replenish it. We then emerge to where the road forks, with one road skirting off toward the river and settlements further north, while the other becomes a narrow trail that goes through the woods and up a slight hill toward Pocantico Lake, where the school resides.
The minute we enter the woods, a hush comes over us. Everyone’s parents always told them never to go beyond Hollow Creek Bridge, that the woods always held dangers and wild animals, that you could easily get lost and never come out. I always thought it silly since my mother would ride here in the dark alone every month for a meeting with her sisters, but even so, when I used to play with Brom, we never ventured too far.
“So how come you’re not living at the school like everyone else?” Mathias asks me. His voice trembles slightly, and I can tell he’s getting more spooked out the further we go into the forest, passing by the stagnant water of Wiley’s Swamp.
“My mother said it made more sense to stay at home since I live in town,” I say. I know the school represents an escape from Sleepy Hollow in its own way, but it didn’t feel right leaving my mother alone. Aside from the promise I made to my father, she hasn’t been the same since his death, her health steadily falling ever since.
We ride for another twenty minutes, the trail getting so narrow in parts that the branches are reaching for us and if there hadn’t been fresh wheel ruts in the ground, I’d have a hard time believing that anyone could have come through here on a carriage, let alone anytime lately.
Finally, the morning light seems to reach through the gaps in the canopy, and I see the slick surface of the lake through the trees, and the trail opens up to reveal the school in all its dark glory. In front of us are large iron gates flanked by a high stone wall covered with ivy in places. A brass placard reads Sleepy Hollow Institute: Where Learning Goes Beyond.
Looking past the gates, I can make out the shapes of the buildings, most old and castle-like, though there are two more modern and squat. The modern ones are made of brick, but the rest are this dark stone that looks perpetually wet, flanked by gargoyles. All of them are surrounded by a thick fog that seems to hang over the entire complex.
As we get to the gate, it becomes apparent how far back the school goes, disappearing into the woods. There are five large buildings sprawled around a central courtyard that looks like it could have been taken straight out of a fairy tale, with its cobblestone paths lined with statues and lanterns that cast light onto small patches of groomed grass and gardens of orange dahlias.
But despite how impressive the school looks, a strange feeling of fear kicks up inside me like a wild horse, a tightness in my chest. Perhaps this is because, even in broad daylight, all the windows are shuttered tightly. As if it’s either trying to keep something out.
Or something else in.
Chapter 3
Kat