The Story Of The Headless Horseman

Hello. I’m Ichabod Crane. I am a schoolteacher in the town of Sleepy Hollow. My story was written by Washington Irving. I listen very closely to ghost stories told about the Headless Horseman, an evil spirit who supposedly roams Sleepy Hollow at night, looking for his missing head. I reckoned I knew quite a bit about ghosts. One night, a farmer told me that the spot we stood on talking was haunted. The folks in town thought a German doctor or Indian sorcerer had put a spell on that spot to haunt Sleepy Hollow. I read about witchcraft all the time. I always liked my pupils and did not like to beat them. When I had to, I told them that I lashed them for their own good. I cower at the thought of being attacked by a ghost. I could never convince

Nobody questioned him. His word was final. However, I was not going to let Brom rattle me. The Van Tassels were having a party one day, and I let my pupils out early to pick out my finest clothes. I needed a horse, and I took Hans Van Ripper’s most mischievous horse, Gunpowder. Hans told me himself that Gunpowder had the devil in him. It was such an odd sight to see myself riding on Gunpowder. Then when I got there, I ate almost everything, then started dancing with Katrina. I think that drew the ire of Brom Bones, who was sitting alone in the corner. Nobody knows what Katrina told me after the party. I’ve forgotten myself. I left with a downtrodden look on my face. When I whistled walking away from the party, somebody whistled back! When I got to a stream, Gunpowder stopped. I had no clue why. A gigantic horseman stood on the other side. The horseman had no head! The Headless Horseman was carrying his head under his arm. As he chased me to the bridge where he disappeared, he threw his head at me! I tried to dodge it, but it hit me in the skull. I toppled into the dust. I was dead. Nobody ever found me. They have always said I haunt the schoolhouse. That is the end of my

I could not find Wolf, so I took the gun and headed home. I didn’t anyone I saw in the village. They wore peculiar clothes. I was just going to have to face Dame Van Winkle.When I got to my house, it was ruined! I was happy Wolf was there. I called him, and the dog snarled at me. How had Wolf forgotten me? The town inn had changed. Instead of a picture of King George, it had a picture of a man called General Washington. Who was he? I asked if anyone knew Rip Van Winkle. Apparently he was leaning against a nearby tree. I went over. He was the picture- perfect image of who I used to be. A woman with a baby caught my eye. Her name was Judith Gardenier. Her father was Rip Van Winkle. I asked her about Dame Van Winkle. She had died not too long ago. I was a little bit happy about that. When people hear thunderstorms, they say those men are playing ninepins in the mountains. There is nothing more to say about me. Let’s turn to Wolfert Webber’s story, written by Washington Irving. I’m Wolfert Webber. I live in New York City. I think that the city is getting too big. Those pesky neighbor kids always break into my yard to steal cabbages. When I came to New York, I brought Europe’s best cabbages and I am famous for them. I give my