SLEEPY HOLLOW

North of Yonkers and north of New York still, lies Sleepy Hollow. Resting place of Washington Irving and haunting ground of The Headless Horseman, it is now inexplicably inhabited by thousands of Mexicans. We spied an restored seventeenth century mill over a locked gate and took pictures of a statue of the phantom himself and walked over the bridge. Next to the Old Dutch Church, we wandered the eerily still yet beautiful cemetery, full of magnificent mausoleums and creepy crypts. Using a map we found the grave of the town’s most famous son and I explained the short story is pretty dull compared to Tim Burton’s most well-crafted film.

I would have liked to have seen the reconstructed bridge featured in the film, but it was getting dark and I think Natalie was secretly scared. We were, after all, in the graveyard where the Headless Hessian Soldier begins his nightly ride from the bowels of Hell.

We didn’t see the terrifying spectacle of the Headless Horseman but we did see a shopping trolley move across a car park of it’s own accord. We told ghost stories and scared the living bejesus out of each other as we drove down yet another, unplanned, evil country road.

It was a quaint town, and you could feel the sleepy spell that the place casts over you, but we escaped with our lives.