Sleepy Hollow
script used with courtesey of Daily Script
Sleepy Hollow
Being the true storie of one Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman
Kevin Yagher and Andrew Kevin Walker
Based on “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving
Screenplay by Andrew Kevin Walker
Third Draft 4/10/95
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, of dreams that wave before the half shut eye…
EXT. GNARLED FOREST-NIGHT
An UGLY MAN charges through on a horse, holding a lantern forward on a long pole. He looks back, terrified.
INSERT TITLE 1799 Sleepy Hollow, New York
THUNDEROUS HOOFBEATS are HEARD behind.
The ugly man glances back again. His lantern swings wild… SHATTERS against a tree. The jammed-up pole SLAMS the ugly man off his horse…
He hits the ground. He runs, trips, falls and scrambles up.
DEEP IN THE FOREST, we glimpse the source of the HOOFBEATS: a HUGE FORM on a HUGE BLACK HORSE, already gone.
The ugly man pushes through thorny bushes. Jagged branches slit his hands and cheeks.
He bursts from the briar patch and tumbles to a trail. He lifts his bloodied face. He runs.
IN THE FOREST BEHIND the hooves of the black horse rip underbrush. HOOFBEATS DEAFENING. A spur digs into the snorting steed’s already bleeding flank.
The pursuer’s gloved hand draws a SWORD, blade RINGING.
ON THE TRAIL, the ugly man runs on. The shrill WHISTLE of a SWORD SWING is HEARD as the pursuer blurs past.
The ugly man is still running when his head lolls back, at an impossible angle… tumbles off his shoulders… His headless body hits the dirt.
EXT. CITY STREETS-NIGHT
Empty cobblestone streets. Crooked buildings. A RAPIDLY CLANGING BELL breaks the silence from afar.
INSERT TITLE: New York City
TWO CONSTABLES clamor round a corner, lanterns held high, listening. They rush into an alleyway.
ELSEWHERE, piers border the Hudson River. The BELL is LOUDER. The two constables arrive, searching. No one around. Constable One hefts his pistol, scared.
CONSTABLE ONE Where are you?!
MAN’S VOICE (o.s.) Here! Over here!
They hurry to the river’s edge. Down a hill, the MAN, another constable, stands with his back to us. He’s waist deep in water, tossing away his ALARM BELL.
MAN I need your help with this.
Constable Two crosses on the peir above. Constable One moves forward, wary. The MAN grunts, lifting something.
CONSTABLE ONE Constable Crane? Ichabod Crane… is that you?
The MAN turns. Meet ICHABOD CRANE, handsome, eyes piercing.
ICHABOD Yes, it is me. But, not only me… (lifting, struggling) I found someone here…
He drags a bloated MALE CORPSE up from the murky water.
ICHABOD Someone quite dead.
EXT. WATCHHOUSE/JAIL-NIGHT
The elderly HIGH CONSTABLE lifts a blanket off the corpse on a wheelbarrow manned by Constable Two. A snobby MAGISTRATE looks, disgusted. Constable One and Ichabod wait.
HIGH CONSTABLE Burn it.
CONSTABLE ONE Yes, sir.
Constable Two wheels the corpse inside. Ichabod’s dismayed.
ICHABOD Just a moment… if I may. It is possible this man was murdered.
HIGH CONSTABLE He drowned. Anyone could see.
ICHABOD There are surgical ways of telling how he died… by the water in his lungs…
Ichabod follows the High Constable and Magistrate in.
INT. WATCHHOUSE, NIGHT WATCH QUARTERS-NIGHT
Constable Two wheels the body ahead past many “booking” tables. A JAILER moves to unlock a massive door.
HIGH CONSTABLE He will be burned pursuant to statutes of health.
ICHABOD I could determine if he were dead before he went into the Hudson.
HIGH CONSTABLE Must we again hear these heretical rantings?
MAGISTRATE Yes, must we?
ICHABOD There is nothing heretical about science, sir. The Chinese have written on it for hundreds of years… procedural study used to solve seemingly unsolvable crimes.
The door is opened. The corpse again leads the way.
INT. WATCHHOUSE, JAIL-NIGHT
A two-tiered prison, alive with MOANS of AGONY and CRIES of INSANITY. Cells are full of wretched men in chains and iron gags. Many are against the bars, watching.
ICHABOD Our first night watch is adequate against fire and some violence, but if we were more often able to ensure justice, after the fact, then criminals would truly have something to fear from law enforcement.
HIGH CONSTABLE Have they nothing to fear presently?
ICHABOD Without disrespect, look around you. (motioning to cells) We overflow. As do our courts.
HIGH CONSTABLE And, with disrespect, Constable, if jails and courts overflow, it is testimony to success, not failure.
ICHABOD But, how many innocents rot here? And, how many victims are buried without reprisal while guilty men roam our streets?
The High Constable reaches a desk, taking a seat. Guards wait to process beaten, bloody prisoners.
HIGH CONSTABLE Very few, if any.
ICHABOD Even though I have seen confessions pried from the lips of the accused, often quite literally?
HIGH CONSTABLE For one who calls himself a Federalist, your mouth reeks of Republican liberalism.
ICHABOD Not Liberalism. Equanimity.
MAGISTRATE (to High Constable) Um, sir… might I suggest…
The Magistrate WHISPERS in the High Constable’s ear. Ichabod notices with worry that Constables One and Two wheel the corpse onwards into another room.
The Magistrate finishes. The High Constable smiles faintly.
HIGH CONSTABLE (to Ichabod) There is a farming community upstate, Constable… ten days journey north in the Hudson Highlands. It is named Sleepy Hollow. Within a fortnight, three persons have been murdered there. Each with their head lopped cleanly off. (holds up papers) The elders of the Hollow have sent dispatches to me, requesting assistance, and now, just this very moment, I have chosen you.
ICHABOD Chosen me?
HIGH CONSTABLE These “methods” of yours… there has been no practical application.
ICHABOD Not for lack of trying.
HIGH CONSTABLE Just so. Granted. And so you take your experimentations to Sleepy Hollow and catch the murderer who has tainted the place. Bring him here to face our good justice. Will you do this for me?
ICHABOD (swallowing doubt) I shall, gladly.
HIGH CONSTABLE Excellent. Then, you are excused till morning.
Ichabod moves away, heading to where the corpse was taken.
HIGH CONSTABLE Oh, and, Constable… (off Ichabod’s look) Do make certain that you meet with success. Otherwise… perhaps you should not come back at all.
The High Constable smiles a sardonic smile.
INT. WATCHHOUSE, INCINERATION ROOM-NIGHT
The corpse burns in a raging furnace. Flesh sizzles.
Constable One pumps bellows which fan the flames. Ichabod steps from darkness nearby. He watches with bitter regret as the corpse is consumed.
EXT. CITY-DAY
Market town streets bustle. Filthy. Pigs roam free.
INT. ICHABOD’S HOME, SECOND FLOOR-DAY
Decorated in Early-American Mad Scientist: books, papers and jars of chemicals. Charts of anatomy above a small bed.
ICHABOD (o.s.) Such a day for such a sad farewell. But, this is goodbye, my sweet.
At the window, Ichabod holds a bird cage with a red CARDINAL inside. He opens the cage. The bird flies free.
Ichabod watches it go, then looks down. A COACH halts in the street below. The forlorn DRIVER looks up.
INT. ICHABOD’S COACH-DAY
In motion. Ichabod absently studies his hands, touching the strange SCARS on both palms: evenly dispersed, tiny dots of tissue. Many scars.
