Ichabod tried to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It hit against his cranium with a tremendous crash and he was tumbled headlong into the dust and gunpowder.What had happened to him? Was he dead? He wasn’t entirely sure if he was in his room, but he was certain he was not dreaming.To such dreadful thoughts, Ichabod suddenly touched his head, just to make sure that everything was in its right place. At that point he decided that he would be brave, for once: he would stand up and face his destiny with honor. But before all this, he would light a candle.He remained silent, breathing as slowly as he could, in the half light, feeling utterly alone and horribly confused. The Headless Horseman might have been very near, maybe in the same dark room as him. But apparently, for some strange reason, the monster had decided to spare his life.There he was, in his quiet and usual room. The warm light of the candle had wiped out all his fears. What if it had all been nothing but a dream?Ichabod started thinking to himself, sniggering and feeling a bit naive: “Of course, it was only a bad dream. Brom, that villain...it was all because of his silly stories. And those three glasses of wine, too. I should have known better...”All of a sudden, while standing up, a quick glance on the floor made him tremble with terror.On the ground there was a horribly familiar cloak, and a sword. He remained motionless, as if his body was made of stone. He had no control over his thoughts and