by Jonathan Josephson

Adapted from and inspired by "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by .

PRODUCTION SCRIPT

www.stagerights.com THE LEGEND(S) OF SLEEPY HOLLOW Copyright © 2015 by Jonathan Josephson All Rights Reserved

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PRODUCTION HISTORY The Legend(s) of Sleepy Hollow Adapted by Jonathan Josephson Adapted from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving Directed by Darryl B. Hovis

World Premiere, October 8-18, 2015: Chance Theater Artistic Director – Oanh Nguyen Managing Director – Casey Long Production Stage Manager – Cynthia C. Espinoza Rehearsal Stage Manager – Robin Shorter Scenic & Props Designer – Alexandra Giron Lighting Designer – Martha Carter Sound Designer – Iris Zacarias Costume Designer – Mauri Anne Smith.

Cast: Storyteller 1/Katrina Van Tassel – Victoria Rafael Storyteller 2/Baltrus Van Tassel – Robin Walton Storyteller 3/Brom Bones – Aaron McGee Storyteller 4/School Boy/Servant/Messenger – Gabriel Gentile – Nick Bradford Slimmer

CAST OF CHARACTERS Minimum Cast: 6 – 1 F, 3 M, 2 F/M Maximum Cast: 17 – 1 F, 3 M, 13 F/M (additional actors can be used as townspeople, school children and the world of Sleepy Hollow – trees, scary things in the forest, etc.)

STORYTELLERS 1-4: (M/F) The voices and setting of Sleepy Hollow (roles can be divided in half) ICHABOD CRANE: (M) A Connecticut Schoolmaster— very friendly, huge appetite KATRINA VAN TASSEL: (F) A fair damsel, a bit of a coquette BALTUS VAN TASSEL: (M) Katrina’s father, a wealthy farmer BROM BONES: (M) The self-proclaimed hero of the country round SCHOOLBOY: (M) A jerky kid with a secret SERVANT: (M/F) A wise and loyal bodyguard MESSENGER: (M/F) A cranky deliverer of news HEADLESS HORSEMAN: (F/M) The terrifying specter of Sleepy Hollow GUNPOWDER: (M/F) Ichabod’s loyal and energetic horse

Suggested Actor Doubling (for 6 actors): • Storyteller 1/Katrina • Storyteller 2/Baltrus • Storyteller 3/Brom • Storyteller 4/School Boy/Servant/Messenger • Ichabod • Gunpowder

SETTING The play takes place in numerous settings throughout early 19th Century upstate . The settings include a schoolhouse, the Van Tassel Mansion, several country roads, a glen, and the route where Ichabod is chased by the Headless Horseman.

NOTE ON STAGING This play has firm roots in both the dramatic and literary forms. The Storytellers are the strongest keepers of this duality as they serve as both narrators and characters in the play while also carrying a great many of Washington Irving’s words from the original short story. To that end, the play should be performed (especially the Storytellers) with an eye towards the artful. They create the world of Sleepy Hollow— the villagers, the trees, and the haunting ghosts stories that fill the air. Any series of speeches by the Storytellers should be imbued with movement and physicality— they should rarely, if ever stand still and should avoid recitation at all costs. Last thing… unless otherwise noted, the Storytellers speak to the audience while the characters speak only to one another (or to themselves).

RUN TIME 65 Minutes

AUTHOR NOTES Assuming that you’ve already read my author’s note for The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, I’ll just jump right in – Gunpowder has been my favorite character in this story since the first time I read the tale of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Mr. Irving painted him with some much love and detail that I couldn’t help but fall for the mercurial beast, which is why I enhanced his role in the shorter version of this play as well. Perhaps my fondness for Ichabod’s horse came as a result of memories of the character “Chicken Bone”— the scraggily horse in the stories that my Uncle Michael would tell me and my cousins the evening of Thanksgiving. He would extemporaneously tell us fantastical stories of the ridiculous stallion Chicken Bone who was a world class sprinter— but only when he ran backwards; and was probably named when my Uncle was eating, well, chicken… but I digress… Or perhaps I fell in love with the idea of there actually being one redeeming personality somewhere in the town of Sleepy Hollow, at least one character without an agenda— or at least if he has an agenda, it’s a selfless one. As mirthful as this play is— and there’s plenty of mirth to go around— I hope that readers and producers and audience members are compelled by Gunpowder’s virtue as much as they are entertained by his eccentricity. Too often, extraordinary stories (in real life and in fiction) focus on the strong and the loud when it is so often the silent or the mute who have the most interesting and important things to say. I have always looked at adaptations as a way to explore new and potentially differing (even contradictory) points of view within a story. Because a published story is only the final draft of said piece of writing— when the author decided to (or was forced to) stop exploring the themes, characters, plots, metaphors and magic that make up their work. But with the play we demand that you— the producer/actor/director— put your stamp of the work, and then that you— the audience member/reader— work to understand the piece in your own way, knowing and given credence to the work that has come before. Gunpowder is sort of a fantastic, very hungry metaphor for all of that. I started writing Legend(s) after I was invited to apply for a commission for a theatre in Nashville. I had always wanted to play with the idea of Baltrus being the one behind Ichabod’s disappearance, and getting to invent and play with Gunpowder’s voice some— I mean what a delight. I didn’t get the commission, but Unbound Produced a reading of the play for a fundraiser, which ultimately led to the world premiere production at Chance Theater, my Orange County creative home.

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Lights rise on STORYTELLER 1 and STORYTELLER 2 on a bare stage. As they set up the story in Washington Irving’s words, they bring the play’s lighting, sets, properties, and costumes to life and establish the world of Sleepy Hollow. STORYTELLER 1 In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, lies a small market town, which by some is called Greensburgh. As she speaks, lights rise to establish the pastoral, sleepy little town. STORYTELLER 2 Not far from Greensburgh there is a little valley which is one of the quietest places in the whole world: a sequestered glen by the name Sleepy Hollow— STORYTELLER 1 —a place known to the local folk both for its general eccentricity and its legendary tales of spooks and mystic happenings. As she speaks, the set rolls into place. STORYTELLER 3 enters with a series of props and set pieces. STORYTELLER 3 Some say that this place was bewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days of colonial settlement. Others, that an old Indian chief held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. STORYTELLER 4 enters with costume pieces for each of the STORYTELLERS, including himself. STORYTELLER 4 Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people. STORYTELLER 2 The dominant spirit that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. STORYTELLER 3 It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War. STORYTELLER 1 Many allege that the ghost uproots himself from his tomb at the churchyard in order to ride to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head. STORYTELLER 2 Such is the general purport of this superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story. And the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. STORYTELLER 3 And that is where our story begins. The lights shift.

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STORYTELLER 4 In this by-place of nature there abode a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane. ICHABOD enters eating a banana. He is tall and thin— an academic. ICHABOD (to the audience) Hello! STORYTELLER 2 This unassuming fellow had sojourned to Sleepy Hollow for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. ICHABOD examines himself in a mirror. He begins to pluck his eyebrows. STORYTELLER 3 He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. ICHABOD Ow! STORYTELLER 1 Our Ichabod was certainly of the latter type. The lights shift. ICHABOD enters his classroom. He admires the broken windows, filthy walls, and creaky floorboards. ICHABOD (looking around, unimpressed) So this is to be my house of learning. Excellent. STORYTELLER 1 The schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copybooks. ICHABOD Simply— excellent. STORYTELLER 2 When school hours were over, Ichabod prided himself on being the companion and playmate of some of the boys; especially the ones who happened to have good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. A SCHOOLBOY enters the schoolhouse carrying an apple. He sticks his tongue out at ICHABOD. ICHABOD There, boy. Is that how you treat your schoolmaster on his first day? SCHOOLBOY Sorry teacher.

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The SCHOOLBOY hands Ichabod the apple. ICHABOD Thank you. ICHABOD takes a bite. The SCHOOLBOY kicks Ichabod in the shin and runs off, giggling. Ichabod hops around in pain. STORYTELLER 2 Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. ICHABOD Wretched-small-town-roustabout! STORYTELLER 3 The revenue arising from the school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder. ICHABOD polishes off the apple. Though lank, he had the dilating powers of an anaconda. STORYTELLER 4 To help out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he instructed. BALTRUS enters. ICHABOD Master Baltrus, sir. It is an honor. ICHABOD does a little bow. BALTRUS (underwhelmed) Honorable school master. ICHABOD After only one day in Sleepy Hollow, I am already quite sure that my stay here will be… a memorable one. BALTRUS Quite. BALTRUS welcomes ICHABOD into his home. STORYTELLER 1 In addition to his school teaching, Ichabod, also, was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. BALTRUS pulls out a shiny green apple. ICHABOD You’ve heard about Old Mrs. Wiggins? Her son Toby had a terrible run-in with the marshal last week. Why I heard— ICHABOD whispers some gossip into his ear.

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BALTRUS Is that so? Is that so?? Is that so?!? They share a laugh. ICHABOD eyes BALTRUS’ apple… which Baltrus begrudgingly turns over, then exits. STORYTELLER 3 Gossip kept Ichabod’s mind interested by day, but for evening pleasures, he preferred a more fantastic manner of tale. STORYTELLER 1 His prime sources of pleasure were to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives and share in their marvellous tales of ghosts, goblins— ICHABOD (to the gathering crowd) —and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses. STORYTELLER 4 He would delight them by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut. ICHABOD says goodbye to the group of listeners. The lights shift. It is now dark, late. Ichabod is walking home. STORYTELLER 2 And as Ichabod would wend his way by swamp and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination. ICHABOD’S attention darts from side to side as mysterious noises jar his senses. STORYTELLER 3 —the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. ICHABOD is more than a little freaked out. STORYTELLER 1 And how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings! ICHABOD screams in fright. ICHABOD Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! (to the audience) That’s not funny. STORYTELLER 1 His only recourse on such occasions, to either to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes, generally reserved for Sunday mornings. ICHABOD (singing softly) A mighty fortress is our G-d…

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STORYTELLER 3 And whether by a song or sheer good fortune, Ichabod always managed to return home in tact. ICHABOD breathes a sigh of relief. The lights shift, it is morning again. STORYTELLER 4 In addition to his school-mastery, Ichabod was also the singing-tutor of the neighborhood. Over time he would pick up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks of the town in psalmody— KATRINA enters. —To Ichabod’s great pleasure of course. KATRINA Good-day music teacher. ICHABOD Good-day, my pet. ICHABOD gives her the ultimate lothario eye wink. KATRINA is suddenly not amused. KATRINA Shall be begin our lesson? ICHABOD Indeed. If you would turn to page 45 in your hymnal— ICHABOD begins to conduct his lesson. STORYTELLER 4 Among the musical disciples who assembled, one afternoon each weekend, to receive his instruction in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel. STORYTELLER 3 She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which included a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. ICHABOD (to Katrina) Very well done Miss, you have improved. KATRINA I have an excellent teacher. STORYTELLER 3 She was also the daughter and only child of the substantial Dutch farmer, Baltrus Van Tassel. BALTRUS enters. He appears even less amused with ICHABOD than he did previously. ICHABOD Good day to you, sir.

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BALTRUS Good day. ICHABOD (giving a small bow) Katrina, until tomorrow? KATRINA Until then. KATRINA smiles, then exits. ICHABOD (to Baltrus) Katrina is making wonderful progress. Her voice is that of an angel. Her mother would be very proud. BALTRUS That she would, I’m sure. STORYTELLER 4 Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the gentler sex; and it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes… more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. ICHABOD Thank you again for your generous hospitality. BALTRUS We are obliged to you, schoolmaster. Think nothing of it. BALTRUS starts to exit— ICHABOD You have a wonderful home, sir. BALTRUS Been in the family for years. The house descends from the original Dutch settlers of three generations ago. And in the barn you’ll find swallows, pigeons, geese, turkeys, Guinea fowl, pigs, cows— most everything you could hope for on a Christmas morning. STORYTELLER 3 The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy. ICHABOD Mmmmmmmmm. BALTRUS gives him a look. Excuse me. STORYTELLER 3 As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains.

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BALTRUS exits. STORYTELLER 4 In this enterprise, however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight- errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, with which to contend. STORYTELLER 2 Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments. STORYTELLER 1 He also had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood. STORYTELLER 4 Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roistering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom— Brom Bones, the hero of the country round. BROM enters— muscles flexed, ego soaring. ICHABOD watches the following scene from the shadows. STORYTELLER 2 He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. KATRINA enters. KATRINA Hello, Brom. BROM Katrina. He slaps her on the bottom. She gives him a look, then a smile… then exits. STORYTELLER 2 He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition. BALTRUS enters. BALTRUS Brom my boy! BROM Lord Van Tassel. BALTRUS Staying out of trouble are we? BROM As best I can.

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STORYTELLER 4 This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses of a bear, it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. BROM and BALTRUS exit, Ichabod emerges from the shadows. The lights shift. ICHABOD is back at home. STORYTELLER 3 Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. ICHABOD throws his attention to his mirror. He flexes his muscles, and realizing that he has none, gets slightly depressed. STORYTELLER 4 Ichabod had, however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; though he bent, he never broke. ICHABOD begins to prepare a picnic basket with food, drink, and blanket. He then sets out on a journey towards the Van Tassel home. He also carries a bouquet of white roses. STORYTELLER 2 To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner. STORYTELLER 3 Under cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. ICHABOD arrives at the Van Tassel house. ICHABOD (calling) Katrina, are you ready for your lesson?! SERVANT arrives at the door. He stands perfectly still. SERVANT Yes. ICHABOD Is, um— the Lady of the house, home? Is she in? SERVANT stares at Ichabod. Katrina. I am here to conduct our regular… lesson? Nothing from the SERVANT. ICHABOD Parlez vous français? SERVANT offers ICHABOD an umbrella.

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SERVANT Hmm? ICHABOD No, Katrina! She lives here! SERVANT Wha? KATRINA (entering) Coming! The SERVANT starts to exit, then gives ICHABOD a stare, then exits. You must forgive Ferdinand; he speaks very little English— oh! She is surprised and impressed by the gifts. ICHABOD offers her his arm, which KATRINA gladly accepts. They walk for a spell then sit down for their lunch. STORYTELLER 2 I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. BROM enters and sees ICHABOD and KATRINA picnicking together. He dodges behind a tree; they do not see him. KATRINA (smelling her roses) This was truly kind— thank you. ICHABOD Think nothing of it. KATRINA Am I but a pupil to you? Like one of your school boys? ICHABOD No! No, not at all. You are my finest pupil, and one of the finest people I have met in Sleepy Hollow. Not to mention, the loveliest. STORYTELLER 4 He who wins a thousand common hearts is entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. KATRINA I must be off home, thank you for a fine afternoon. ICHABOD It has been my absolute pleasure. KATRINA Good day music teacher.

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KATRINA exits. ICHABOD Good day. ICHABOD looks after her a moment, then exits a different way. BROM watches them go. STORYTELLER 4 But as Brom became aware of Ichabod’s advances towards the maiden Van Tassel, a deadly feud arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. He then snaps a tree branch in half. The lights shift as ICHABOD enters his schoolhouse. STORYTELLER 1 On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat in his schoolhouse enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. ICHABOD sighs, daydreaming. STORYTELLER 3 His young scholars were silent, and aside from his wistful sighs at the thought of his fair beau, the room was still. STORYTELLER 2 The mood was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a messenger in tow-cloth jacket and trousers, mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt. The sounds of a colt can he heard offstage. MESSENGER (O.C.) Easy boy, easy. An enormous, one-eyed, limping MESSENGER enters. You Crane? ICHABOD is slightly unnerved. ICHABOD I am. The MESSENGER trudges over to Ichabod— spurs jingling. He takes ICHABOD’S hand and slaps an envelope into it. MESSENGER Don’t say I never gave you nothin’. The MESSENGER stalks off the way he came. ICHABOD (towards offstage) Many thanks! ICHABOD opens the envelope. He is so shocked by the contents that he must sit down.

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STORYTELLER 1 It was an invitation for Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic" at Mynheer Van Tassel's— tonight. ICHABOD also removes a boutonniere— a single white rose. ICHABOD Class dismissed! ICHABOD gathers his things and rushes home. The lights shift. Ichabod prepares his hair for the party and pins the white rose to his coat. He is in extremely high spirits. STORYTELLER 4 The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour brushing and furbishing up his best. STORYTELLER 1 That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated and issued forth like a knight- errant in quest of adventures. ICHABOD approaches his horse— his spirits falter. We hear the horse— restless and grumpy. ICHABOD Oh dear. STORYTELLER 3 In the true spirit of romantic story, I give some account of the looks and equipment of our hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse that had outlived everything but his viciousness. He was skeletal and shagged; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore— ICHABOD (to the horse) All right… Gunpowder. It’s just you and me. The deck may be stacked against us but we’ll show them what we’re made of. We’re in this together. ICHABOD gently strokes GUNPOWDER. Good boy. That’s a good boy. We hear the horse footsteps and snorts as ICHABOD and GUNPOWDER ride towards the party. STORYTELLER 4 Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre. STORYTELLER 1 It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. ICHABOD dismounts and greets BALTRUS.

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ICHABOD Master Van Tassel— an honor. BALTRUS Welcome, welcome! Come in— meet friends. STORYTELLER 4 The party was full of old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. And of course… BROM enters. Mr. Brom Bones. BROM is surprised to see ICHABOD and is furious at the sight of the white rose. Brom then looks at BALTRUS— knowingly. BALTRUS You two must know each other. ICHABOD and BROM lock eyes. Brom offers his hand to shake. Thinking quickly, Ichabod simply pats Brom on the shoulder. ICHABOD Always a pleasure. BALTRUS (to Ichabod) Did you see the horse that Brom rode in on? Daredevil! I have never seen a more vile, angry beast than that monstrosity. BROM All a horse needs is a strong will and some strong hands. (to Ichabod) Did you ride in this evening? ICHABOD I did, his name is… Gunpowder. The finest horse a man could ask for. BROM That mangy beast? Ha! More like glue-powder if you ask me! BROM throws his head back and laughs. BALTRUS Excuse me. BALTRUS crosses the room to greet other guests. KATRINA enters. KATRINA Gentlemen. They each bow to their lady, ICHABOD much more gracefully than BROM. STORYTELLER 4 And now the sound of the music from the common room summoned the guests to dance.

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BROM starts to greet KATRINA, ICHABOD steps in front of him. ICHABOD Katrina— may I have the pleasure of—? KATRINA Certainly. ICHABOD and KATRINA take hands. They dance. Ichabod is fantastic. STORYTELLER 2 As it turns out, Ichabod was, indeed, quite a dancer. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person. KATRINA Is this how one dances in Connecticut? ICHABOD It is, my sweet. But only when one has the opportunity to dance with a beauty… such as you. The music ends. KATRINA exits. BROM exits a different way. STORYTELLER 4 When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about the war. BALTRUS You must recall Doffue Martling, the large blue-bearded Dutchman? He had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork. Only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge— ICHABOD laughs. He’s the only one laughing. STORYTELLER 1 As the hours passed by, stories of the war and local legend were bandied about. STORYTELLER 3 But these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major André was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood. STORYTELLER 4 The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard. But no matter the tale, there was one among the group who had no fear of the Hessian. BROM I have faced the Horseman myself numerous times and have never once fallen to him. Just last month I had been overtaken by the midnight trooper; and he had offered to race with me for a bowl of punch.

14 THE LEGEND(S) OF SLEEPY HOLLOW – PRODUCTION SCRIPT

BROM (CONT’D) We raced to the old bridge, and I should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as the cretin and his devil steed came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire. That old devil didn’t want anything to do with the Sleepy Hollow boys— or at least, not with ole Brom. BROM and BALTRUS laugh at this, then exit. STORYTELLER 1 The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together their families in their wagons, and began to roll off, into the distant hills. ICHABOD stands alone, awaiting KATRINA. STORYTELLER 3 Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to have a tête-à-tête with the heiress; fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success. But his mistress? She was nowhere to be found. STORYTELLER 1 Some said that she had taken ill, some that she had taken another lover that night. Who is to know? STORYTELLER 2 Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. ICHABOD exits the house and enters the stable. ICHABOD Come on old boy, let’s go. ICHABOD is dejected. GUNPOWDER can be heard as Ichabod walks the old horse away from the party. STORYTELLER 1 It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travels homewards. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring marsh. STORYTELLER 2 All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. The sounds of the forest start to get to ICHABOD, but he is almost too heartbroken to be scared. Still, he and GUNPOWDER begin to quicken their pace. STORYTELLER 3 He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. ICHABOD and GUNPOWDER stop for a moment to admire a large tree.

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