Page 4 of Headless Over You
Assuming they haven’t been destroyed, my new mission is to find these pages and learn what someone wanted to keep a secret. Maybe I’m uncovering things after all.
Sure, some things are better left buried, but that’s not the type of person I am when it comes to history and preservation.
Hours pass,and my stomach rumbles. I haven't eaten all day and am paying the price for it now. I gather a few texts that are in line with the journal and make my way to Mrs. Abernathy.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“Yes, ma’am. The lore is magical and enthralling, much like the town itself. I was wondering if these are allowed to be checked out?” I set the small stack on the countertop, and she looks them over.
“I don’t see why not. Just handle them with care, please.” She starts to process them, and I speak up, nerves twisting my stomach.
“One of them has pages ripped out. Would you know anything about that?” She looks at me over her glasses before she pushes them up.
“We received this collection as is. I know what pages you mean; it likely happened decades ago. The collection is from the Van Tassel estate. If you’re looking for more information, best to start there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but thank you. I’m acquainted with Kurt, so I’ll reach out to him.” She gives me a nod before gathering my books into a brown paper bag.
“Iris,” she starts, stopping me in my tracks. “Please understand, not everything is meant to be found, child.” Her words are kinder than the woman’s yesterday, but they still chill me to the bone.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you again.”
When I step outside, a flash of blond hair I've become too familiar with catches my eye.
“Kurt?” I call, turning for a better look. “Are you waiting for me?”
“I figured you could use a nice walk back, not accosted by the residents.” He falls in step beside me, and I appreciate the sentiment.
“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful.”
“I finished my evening run and ran the odds that you would stay until Mrs. Abernathy turned the lights off.” I laugh and look over my shoulder toward the towering library.
“You assumed correctly.” There’s a pause in the conversation, and I work up the nerve to ask Kurt outright. “Tell me, do you know about a journal holding the history of the Headless Horseman?”
“I know there are a few out there.” His shoulders stiffen, but we walk on. He isn’t fully cold and closed off, but he is beginning to get cagey.
“I was thinking you might be able to help me after all; Mrs. Abernathy said this journal came from the Van Tassel estate.” I pull it out of my bag, but with one glance, he turns away from it.
“I don’t know,” he says, looking everywhere but at me. “How about we talk it out over coffee and breakfast tomorrow? You bring your questions, and I’ll do my best to answer what I can.”
“That sounds nice.” We walk on in silence after he tells me to meet him at our regular run-in spot just down the street. At the inn, he bids me a good night, and I walk back to my room. It’s been a long day, and as night falls, I’m drawn to the window once more. I pull a protein bar from my bag and unwrap it, taking a bite and only mildly enjoying its taste.
The fog rolls in by the bridge, and I desperately want him to show himself to me. If he even knows that I’m watching.
I wait and wait, but there’s no Horseman tonight.
I’mearly for our breakfast meeting, but it gives me time to prepare and settle my nerves. The town is touchy about the Horseman legend, their supposed secrets, and Kurt is very reluctant to share anything. Going over the questions in my head, I wonder just how many answers I’ll actually receive.
The door chimes and Kurt walks inside, waving to me before going to the counter to order. He sits down in front of me, and I pull out the ledger and my notebook full of research haphazardly compiled. Tonight, while I wait for the Horseman’s appearance, I’ll organize them as I transfer them to my computer files.
“Right to it, I see,” he notes, discomfort returning to his posture. He was the one to propose this, but now it seems like a mistake more than anything of use.
“I’m sorry. It’s just really important I know about this. There are pages missing, and like Mrs. Abernathy said, this came from the Van Tassel estate.”
“No, I understand. It’s okay. I just wish I was able to help more. I personally haven’t seen this journal before.” He takes it from my hand and flips through it. “It’s likely this was donated long before I was born. But I will say, it’s the most accurate recount of the history.”
“That’s helpful, at least. I want to use it as my main source of information. Do you think the missing pages are still at your family home?”
“I don’t,” he replies, giving me the journal back as he sips his coffee. “Given the age, I’d just resign myself to those being lost.” And that is all he had to offer. It feels like a done deal and a dead end in his eyes.
