Now, it isn’t really a fairy tale, so I don’t even know if it will be accepted on that basis alone, but Washington Irving‘s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” is a wonderful short story, and one of my favourites. It has the feel of a fairy tale to me, so to heck with it. Caution, meet wind 🙂
What ifturned out to be totally vapid, and couldn’t stand her family? What if the only way he could extricate himself from this sticky mess was to fake his own death? What if his perfect partner in crime was also his rival?
The heartless to the headless
An apparently headlessbent to extend his hand from horseback.
After clearing away broken bits of pumpkin and discarding his now-broken spectacles, Ichabod accepted the proffered assistance.
“You’re certain you won’t change your mind?” Brom asked.
“No, no,” said Ichabod, considering the book he’d clung to during the attack. “Katrina’s yours. I only had to experience her family tonight to know I couldn’t countenance their relation. It confirmed my suspicions. Though her beauty affects me, a fickle-hearted girl like that could never make me happy.”
“You’re speaking of my bride-to-be!” Brom shrugged his head up through his cloak, his hair so awry it revealed a bald patch. Ichabod stifled a laugh. “Watch it Ichy, or I might have to use this.”
“Put the sword away, Brom. You’ve won. I’ll be out of town before dawn. You’ve nothing to fear. You and Katrina shall be deliriously happy I should think. I wish you nothing but the best, and several strapping, young boys such as yourself.”
Brom’s considerable brow furrowed for a moment as if trying to decide whether Ichabod was waxing sincere or sarcastic, then with a shake of his head he gave over, pulled his cloak back up over his head, and said, “You’re a strange man, and a fool to think you’d be suited to a place like. We’ll be as well-rid of you as you are of us.”
“Just so,” said Ichabod. “Thank you, Brom.”
“Be sure you’re well-seen tonight.”
As an answer, Brom pulled another pie-pumpkin from his saddlebag and threw at Ichabod’s feet. Ichabod didn’t move. The man knew his business right enough.
As he turned to fetch his donkey, Ichabod threw the book, unfinished, but not worth the effort, into the road to complete the picture.
“Rest in peace, Ichabod.”
What do you think?