I guess I was in the third grade when Miss Beck introduced me to Washington Irving. She started me off by telling me the story of Rip Van Winkle and then took me to the library to find the story in print. I�d been reading since long before I started to school, so I devoured that story and asked her for another. That was my introduction to Ichabod Crane and the story of the headless, Hessian horseman. I was fascinated by The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Though I had never been near New York or the Hudson River Valley, I imagined it was like countless dark wooded areas and roads around Winfield.
It was about this same time that T.W. Holmes bought a television. Since Rocky Holmes was one of my closest friends, he invited Bill and me to visit some at night and watch television with them. You can imagine my excitement when Rocky�s mother, a former teacher herself, told me that The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was scheduled to be on TV the following week. I could hardly wait to see my favorite story on the 25-inch screen.
My brother Bill had also read the story but had not been as impressed as I with the tale; in fact, Bill said there was no such thing as a headless horseman or a ghost. Of course, Bill had also told me there was no Santa Claus, so what did he know about anything? I knew that Mama would not let me stay late at Rocky�s house and walk home by myself, so I really needed Bill to watch the story with me. I didn�t tell Mama, and certainly not Bill, but I didn�t like the idea of walking home by myself much either, especially after a scary movie. It took some persuading to get Bill to agree; but after I offered to take his turn mowing the yard that week, he relented.
That special Friday evening finally came, and, as luck would have it, there was no moon, and the road home from Rocky�s house was dark enough as it was. The nearest street light was two blocks away. We would have to walk by the Amerson house where old Mr. Amerson had died in his attic room and his body hadn�t been found for several days. Bill had told me, on several occasions, that the place was haunted and that he had seen Mr. Amerson walking about late on moonless nights.
�You told me there was no such thing as ghosts,� I reminded him.
�I lied,� he said. I think Bill believed whatever suited his purpose at the time, and his purpose was usually to scare the wits out of me. More times than not he succeeded.
We started for Rocky�s house just after dark, but there were still people outside talking over the back fences and making the usual preparations for the night. Old Mr. Cochran was still plowing his garden.
�I�m not scared,� I told Bill as we neared our destination.
�You just wait till we start home,� he replied with a slight lilt in his voice. �Only the dead will be out then.�
�You�re not scaring me,� I told him, but the truth was I was getting a little nervous already about the trip home.
The show came on at nine o�clock, and Rocky�s mother had popped popcorn and had cokes for us just like at the picture show in Mt. Pleasant. The longer the show went on, the more apprehensive I became about the dark walk home. I also wasn�t sure what Bill might have planned to frighten me; after all, it wasn�t unheard of. I had wet my pants once when, during a game of Piggy Wants a Signal, he jumped out of the chinaberry tree wearing a Halloween mask he�d found somewhere.
As the story wound to a close and Ichabod Crane was running for his life, I moved closer to Rocky�s mother on the sofa, and she gave me a reassuring pat. I knew it wouldn�t be long until Bill and I would have to thank them, tell them goodnight, and start home. Momentarily, I thought about asking Mrs. Holmes if maybe I could spend the night, but I knew I�d never hear the last of it.
The show ended, and I couldn�t put off the inevitable any longer. Bill and I thanked them for inviting us and for the popcorn and cokes. Rocky walked out on the porch to see us off. Home was only three blocks away, but it might as well have been three miles. It was dark, very dark, and I could just sense something evil about. Bill tried to act as though he wasn�t scared, but I could tell by the nervous tremor in his voice that he wasn�t nearly as self-assured as he was pretending, and that scared me. I figured once we got past the Amerson house, we were home free. There wasn�t any sound except a slight rustle of wind in the sycamore tree behind Mr. Cochran�s garden and the barking of a dog somewhere off in the distance.
Suddenly, Bill, who was walking so fast I could hardly keep up, stopped dead in his tracks causing me to bump into him in the dark.
�Did you hear that?� he asked.
�What?� I asked. �I don�t hear nothing. You�re just trying to scare me.�
�No, listen,� he said almost in a whisper.
The cracking of his voice told me that maybe he was as scared as I was. Straining to listen, I heard it, too. It sounded like something shuffling along in the road, and it seemed to be coming from the direction of the Amerson house.
�Don�t do this, Bill,� I pleaded. �You�re really scaring me.�
Before Bill could answer, something loomed in the darkness of the road just ahead of us. I don�t know who saw it first, but Bill took off like a shot, and I desperately, but unsuccessfully, tried to keep up. I ran, afraid to pause long enough to look behind me, trying at least to keep Bill in view, which was no easy task since he was faster than me and the darkness seemed to engulf both of us. When I turned the corner and started up the alley by the Amerson house, I closed my eyes and kept running. I had decided by then that if something was about to get me, I�d just as soon not know what it was. I imaged I heard something behind me, but I kept running and calling for Bill to wait for me.
Without warning, something grabbed me. I screamed and struggled to get free. Then, a familiar voice broke the darkness.
�Hey, hold up there before you break something.� I recognized Daddy�s voice. �I just got home from work, and your mama said you�d gone to Rocky�s to watch a scary movie. I thought I�d walk down there and come home with you. I met you coming down the road, but before I could say anything, you both took off. I just barely caught you before you ran headfirst into the chinaberry tree.�
�Daddy, I think I wet my pants just a little; I�m sorry,� I said as he and I walked into the light of our kitchen window.
�Don�t worry,� he said. �Just go get some dry clothes, and see if you can find Bill.�
When I found Bill, he was looking for dry clothes as well.
�I won�t tell if you don�t,� Bill said sheepishly. �Fair enough?�
�Fair enough,� I replied as I rummaged through the dresser for some dry pants.
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