Sleepy Hollow

                             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

              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.