Dullahan Boyfriend: Ichabod & Iscariot (complete)

Small yet somehow endless, a world all of its own. A world created and formed to bring joy to those who enter it. A dream that has become something more than hope. I was brought here when I thought everything else had ended for me. Everything I knew, everything I loved, was gone. This endless place that is more than hope reached out to me in my grief. It called to me and invited me to stay.

I had been alone for so long, secluded in my home, letting it rot around me as the world went by. Life went on, but not the lives of those who made it worth living for me. Then, one day, I heard voices near me. They whispered, their voices carrying on the wind.

There was no one in the house. I would have known if there was. I got up from my resting place and followed the voices. I trailed my hands along the wall, then slowly and carefully descended the stairs. The voices both followed and led me, taking me down into what had once been his room. There was a presence there. I stepped softly, feeling around, because I could not see. I knelt on the floor as the voices grew louder and louder. 

I reached under his bed and, instead of the cold wooden floor, I felt nothing. My hand extended into a void. I moved under the bed to see if I was losing my mind, and instead I found myself somewhere else. I sank into this void, no longer in my home, no longer really anywhere. The whispers touched against me and guided me.

I fell through a doorway, toppling over  through clothes. I clattered to a floor, snarled in clothing hangers and soft fabric.

“Look, Coraline, a visitor!” a man announced brightly.

“Where did they come from?” A woman came forward and helped me untangle myself. The gasp in her voice said it all. She saw me. She knew what I was. “Oh, you poor thing. Here, Bram, help me with her.”

“Where am I?” I asked dully. “Where did I go?”

“You’re safe now. No need to worry.” The man helped me up and eased me back into a chair. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“All these burns - they’re old,” Coraline murmured. Her hand gently touched my arm and face. “And her eyes.”

“We’ll get her taken care of. She’s here for a reason.” Bram’s voice was kind and gentle. “We’ll take care of you. What’s your name?”

It had been so long since I had spoken it, I had nearly forgotten. But then I remembered how my loved ones used to speak to me, his voice bright, hers excited. “Nessarose,” I murmured. 

“How lovely.” Coraline held my hand. “You’re in the right place. Here in Scarebrooke, you’re with your own kind.”

“Scarebrooke?” I lifted my chin slightly. “What’s that?”

Bram and Coraline took me in like one of their own. Like me, they were living dolls. Coraline was made of porcelain, while Bram claimed to be carved from the gallows and guillotines of history. In any event, they gave me a home, they reminded me about love, and they helped me.

A great deal of my body was covered in horrible burns. Coraline and Bram replaced one of my arms, and then filled in the rest of the burns with some sort of acrylic. They tried to give me new eyes, but I rejected them. I had removed my eyes for a reason. I no longer wished to see this world when the ones I loved couldn’t.

Scarebrooke, I learned, was more than a small town. It was a destination and it could move. It was part of a carnival, a small yet somehow endless world on its own. Bram and Coraline ran Scarebrooke, and they offered me a job. 

Back when the ones I loved were still alive, I used to perform all sorts of tricks. I could juggle and play the violin, and I even did puppet shows. Bram took me under his wing. He was master of ceremonies for Scarebrooke, and he told me he saw potential in me.

“I always wanted a daughter,” he chuckled. “My son is wonderful, and I’m proud of what he’s accomplished. But he’s more like his mother. I see myself in you, my dear.”

“What is there to look at?” I asked.

Bram gently took my hands. “I know your heart is broken, and unlike the rest of you, the heart and mind are hard to mend.” He tapped his finger in the center of my forehead. “But I see in you something extremely special, Nessarose. Something you and I share.” He squeezed his hand around mine. “One of these days, I might want to retire. I’ll need someone like you to make sure Scarebrooke is in good hands.”

My hands could do nothing to protect the people I loved. How could it manage a whole wonderful place like Scarebrooke?

“Not to worry, it won’t be for a long while. I don’t plan to stop anytime now. But until then, you and I will be like peas in a pod.” Bram clapped his hand on my back. 

Bram and Coraline did become my family. In time I saw them as my parents, and addressed them as such. They got me a brand new violin to play and for a while I performed music in the graveyard. I made friends with the people there, the ghosts, the bats. After some time had passed, I started to juggle.

I worked with the skeletons, who offered me their skulls and bones for the act. They taught me how to play the xylophone with their limbs. I became a headliner in the graveyard, playing with my all-skeleton band. I would lie in wait in a grave, and one of the skeletons would throw me up and out to frighten guests who were taking tours. The skeletons would burst from their graves after me, and I would play the violin while they sang and chanted. I would bounce a skull around as I played, passing it off to the headless one as I took bones to juggle.

“How do you do all that if you can’t see?” one of the tour guides asked.

“I can feel it,” I replied. I turned to face the tour guide. “I just sort of know.”

He chuckled. “It’s quite amazing to watch. Iscariot and I do some juggling as well.”

Ichabod and Iscariot had arrived in Scarebrooke a few years after me. They were running away from someone they said was a collector. They were Dullahans with the ability to take on two forms, one where they looked like normal men, and another where they appeared like centaurs. But their centaur half was skeletal, which made them perfect for Scarebrooke. They gave haunted tours and hayrides, and during October they organized the special parade. 

“Maybe next time I pass through I can throw my head at you to juggle with the other skulls,” Ichabod chuckled.

“It would take practice. I can’t exactly reach out and catch you if I don’t know how you’re going to throw.”

“True,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t want to butt heads.”

I liked Ichabod and Iscariot, but since I came to Scarebrooke I hadn’t really let anyone in aside from Bram and Coraline. I kept my distance, even with my friends in the graveyard. I was afraid of being close again.

Time has passed, and I’ve begun to love my life in Scarebrooke. October is my favorite time, because that’s when Scarebrooke takes over the carnival. All month the carnival is themed around spooks and frights to celebrate Halloween. It’s the last big hurrah before the carnival shuts down for winter and the holidays. 

I plan elaborate shows for October. The skeletons and I work on it all year, spending much of our holiday break tossing ideas around. This year, Ichabod and Iscariot approach me to join forces.

“What would I do? Perform on your backs?” I ask.

During the off season, Scarebrooke settles in a permanent location, and I keep my own place just off the graveyard. Ichabod and Iscariot’s farm is quite literally in my backyard. We share a fence, so they come over often.

“No, no, we were thinking of something for the parade this year,” Ichabod replies. “It would be nice to have you in it, rather than have the parade lead up to your usual performances.”

I’m mildly afraid of this idea. I’m so used to performing in the graveyard, where I’m comfortable. Thinking about giving that up makes me very nervous. I angle my head down towards the ground. “Are you sure? You usually have a much better band perform in the parade.”

“We want to do something different this year,” Ichabod says. “Iscariot said if we went all-out and did a skeleton parade, we would need you.”

“Please?”

I jump at Iscariot’s deep rumbling voice. “I didn’t know you were there!” I clutch my chest. “You’re so quiet.”

Iscariot is a man of few words. Those words are usually as deep and frightening as the ocean. 

“We could practice that head-juggling thing,” Ichabod says brightly.

“Maybe. Let me think about it.” I lift my chin as I face them. “We have time until October, so I’ll let you know after I discuss it with my band.”

Part of me is hoping they’ll turn it down but, when I bring it up, they’re ecstatic about the idea. I got so used to our graveyard performances, I guess I never gave thought to any change except for the acts.

Ichabod and Iscariot are just as excited when I tell them the news that my band wants to work with them. Ichabod begins spewing ideas when suddenly, Iscariot makes him stop.

“We should make Nessa Queen of the Parade.”

“Queen?” I blanch in fear. “No, no. I just play the violin, maybe juggle.”

Ichabod snaps his fingers repeatedly. “No, he’s onto something. Rather than a normal parade, it should be a procession! A royal procession!”

“I don’t think...” I start to grumble.

“We can be your knights and pull you in a big fancy carriage. I bet we could get something made up easily.” Ichabod gushes. “We’ll have a big, beautiful gown made, and a crown.”

“I don’t want a gown!” I try to argue.

“You’d be beautiful,” Iscariot says, and everything stops. Time, air, birds flying, rivers flowing. It all stops with Iscariot’s sweet words.

“She would be,” Ichabod agrees. “Everything would be a buildup to introducing her. We would have people dressed as princes and princesses, all of them celebrating their queen rising from the grave.” He snaps his fingers again. “Persephone returning from Hades!”

“Oh...” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’d make a good Persephone. Maybe Ruby should. I mean, since she and Mr. Faire are...”

“Is something wrong?” Iscariot asks.

I go quiet when he speaks. 

“Maybe we should solidify our thoughts before we bombard her with them,” Ichabod says with a laugh. “I do tend to ramble.”

“Yes, you do.” Iscariot sighs.

Ichabod turns to me. “We’ll come up with a few examples and we can go over them together. See what you like, see what you don’t like. Is that okay, Nessa?”

“That’s fine.” I don’t have the heart to tell them no. Ichabod is so happy and excited, and Iscariot, while I can’t put my finger on it, has a certain hidden hopefulness. And when he called me beautiful, I knew that he wasn’t lying. 

It doesn’t take them long to come up with a bevy of ideas. I can hear the weight of Ichabod’s journal as it hits the table, and I realize more than ever what a dreamer he is. He expounds at length on the royalty idea he had before. Iscariot is with him. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his presence strongly. He goes along with Ichabod’s dreaming, happy to enable his grand scheme. I can feel his joy, even if his voice is always flat and monotone with the rumble of a grizzly bear. 

“I also wanted to do something like the Phantom of the Opera. Not for the parade, but maybe a special show. I just keep seeing you playing ‘Angel of Music’ on your violin and the skeletons dancing.” Ichabod sounds so chipper, it’s easy to imagine him as a hyperactive boy.

“A bare-bones production, if you will.” It’s a shock to hear Iscariot make a joke. I didn’t think he had it in him.

Ichabod snaps his fingers. “See how brilliant that is? It could be a continuing series in the carnival. Bare-bones productions of all sorts of favorite shows.”

I press my mouth into a thin line. “You have a lot of ideas, and that’s good. But let’s focus on the parade if we can. I’m having a hard enough time wrapping my head around it.”

“You’re right. Let’s parse one thing at a time. Now...” he opens up his journal again. “Persephone coming from the underworld with her procession.”

“Must it be Persephone?” I ask weakly. “I mean, it sounds like such a beautiful idea, but there must be someone better for the role of Persephone.”

“And wouldn’t it make more sense that she was going to the underworld now, rather than leaving it?” Iscariot asks. I hear him walk around the table. “It is fall now, and that was always when she returned to her home with Hades.”

Ichabod hums to himself. “You know, you are so very right!”

“I still think we should ask Ruby. After all, if she’s going to the underworld, Mr. Faire would make a very striking Hades.” I’m hoping my idea will pay off. I’m all for taking center stage for any other performance, but I’m uncomfortable with being billed as a queen, and as Persephone of all beings.

“I mean...” Ichabod is hesitant. “Then what about you?”

“I’ll lead the band like always.” I have a feeling it might work. She called me queen. He was my king. Now that they’re gone, I no longer feel like I could ever be that again, even in pretend.

Ichabod and Iscariot are silent, possibly looking at one another as they try to figure out what to do. “If you truly don’t wish to take that role, we can figure something else out.” Ichabod sounds sincere and apologetic. “I just...” He chuckles. “Well, for selfish reasons, I would like for you to be queen.”

“There are people better suited for the part than me. And besides,” I try to sound cheerful, “we have time before October anyway. It’s basically a year away. We’ll be able to find a willing queen easily.”

“That’s fine,” Ichabod admits. “We’ll start asking around, but I would still love to keep you in the planning stages. I think you inspire me.”

“She inspires me,” Iscariot adds.

I laugh shyly and shake my head. “You two are full of ideas. But I’m happy to help any way I can. My band and I had lots of ideas too, so maybe we can bring them together to make the parade really something.”

I find myself wondering what they look like. It’s been so long since I even had that desire in my head. With Bram and Coraline I never needed to know. I could just sense them and knew they were perfect. But when I am around Iscariot and Ichabod, I want to see them. I want to know their expressions and mannerisms. I want to understand the look in Iscariot’s eyes, even when we aren't talking. 

It makes me embarrassed to have these desires, because along with wanting to see them, I find myself wanting to be closer to them. I enjoy their visits. I like hearing Ichabod’s rambling and being in Iscariot’s warm shadow. I feel comforted by their presence, and I want to touch them more. I want to feel their skin. I want to know why Iscariot has scars on his palm. I want to see both their forms and how beautiful they are.

Are they beautiful? I just assume they would be. How can you be anything else when you manage to light up a room by existing?

One evening, I sense a change outside. As I step out onto the porch, I can feel snow all around me. The soft, cold touch of it as it falls against my body reminds me of playing with her in the yard. She used to love playing in the snow. It made her happier than anything. I used to love making snowmen with her and seeing the light in her eyes as she gave them faces. 

Nora. My sweet, darling Nora. She was mine and I was hers. I was made to love her, and she loved me instantly. I had dreams of seeing her grow and prosper, of seeing her fall in love with the world beyond me and her father. Benvolio loved the snow too. He used to say he could taste it on the air before it ever arrived. He would tell me stories of his boyhood, and how he had gone sledding down a hill only to run into a tree every single time he went. It made me happy to hear his stories, especially as we curled under the blankets together. 

Benvolio made me to be a companion for his daughter, Nora. He gave up something special to give me life. I grew to love Nora like my own, and Benvolio and I became one. He never intended to love me. He had never wanted it again. But the two of us were drawn to one another, and so we were a family.

Now my family is gone. Oh my god, they’re gone.

I start crying. I miss her so much it becomes unbearable. I fall to my knees in the snow, and stay there until I feel a warm presence over me.

“I’m sorry you’re sad.” Iscariot’s voice is surprisingly gentle. The deep bass of it rumbles in my ears.

A warm blanket is draped over my shoulders. “We saw you from the barn,” Ichabod’s voice is soothing. “Are you okay, Nessa?”

I sniffle and raise my head, lost in memory, which has become the only thing I can see. “You didn’t need to worry about me.”

A warm hand takes hold of mine. It’s big but gentle. I can feel scars along the palm, and one finger is missing. 

“Let’s get you inside now. Those tears have frozen to your cheeks.” Iscariot helps me to rise, and Ichabod gets the door open for me. 

I don’t have much in my home, mainly things Coraline has given me. I don’t keep a lot of knickknacks or baubles, and since I am alone, I don’t have much furniture. Iscariot sets me down on the sofa while Ichabod stokes the fireplace. 

“Now, tell us, why were you trying to turn into an ice sculpture?” Ichabod sounds like he’s scolding me. 

I shake my head. “I’m fine now. You don’t need to worry about me.” Iscariot’s hand tightens around mine, and I lift my head towards him. “Really.”

“Are you certain?” Iscariot murmurs.

I lower my head again. “Just remembering, that’s all.”

“Tragedy?” Ichabod asks. 

“No,” Iscariot scolds him.

I keep my eyes closed, but I then move my hands over them. Behind the lids the sockets are empty. I took them out when I lost the ones I loved. I had told only Bram and Coraline about it. The crash, the fire, the end. 

“How about I tell you a story?” Ichabod asks. “Just until the ice melts.”

I lower my hands. “What kind of story?”

“It changes as it goes along. Sometimes it’s a fairy tale, sometimes it’s horror. It’ll become adventure in one moment, then romance in the next.” Ichabod kneels beside the sofa. “But maybe it will make you smile.”

I nod my head gently. “If you’d like.”

“Well then,” Ichabod sighs. “Once upon a time, there were two young men who lived in a faraway meadow. Their houses were far apart and they had never met before. One day, the meadow caught fire, and for the first time, the young men met. They fought the fire together, but it was no use. Everything they had burnt to ash.”

I grimace and grip my knees. The idea of fire, even the mention of it, sets me on edge. 

“The two became more than family. They became treasures to each other, for all they had now was one another. Years went by, but the meadow never flowered again. It remained black and endless, stretching on forever like it was a part of the sky. The two young men decided to leave, unable to continue making a life from that void. As long as they were together, they needed nothing else. They found themselves a new home. It was small compared to what they knew, but it made them happy.

“Unfortunately, they had a neighbor close by. At first, it was nothing. The two young men were happy to help her as she was all alone. She was also lovely and she lured them with sweets and baked goods.”

I turn towards Ichabod. “Was she a witch?”

Ichabod chuckles sadly. “Something worse. She was a predator.”

“Ichabod,” Iscariot says sternly. 

“You’re right. She doesn’t want to hear the horror story in this tale.” Ichabod sighs.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Did you end up okay? I mean, you’re here, so you must be safe now.”

Ichabod laughs. “What makes you think it was us?”

“A feeling.” I place my hand over my chest. “I know what fire is like.”

Iscariot sighs, and I hold my hand out to him. “We are happy here. Mr. Faire saved us when it felt like we had nothing left.” He places his palm in mine. 

Ichabod’s palm cups the back of my hand so it is sandwiched between theirs. “It would mean a lot to us to be able to share it.”

“Ichabod,” Iscariot says scoldingly again.

I pull my hand away and stand up. “I’m sorry.” I gasp. “I’m sure - no, I know you’re two very good people. But I just...” Fear grips my chest and the thick, choking taste of smoke billows on my tongue. I can feel the smoke building, the ashes gathering. “Thank you, but please leave.”

Ichabod stands. “I’m sorry, Nessa,” he says gently. “I didn’t mean to...” He stops himself and sighs. “I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

Iscariot also rises, but he stands still. “We’re your friends, and we always will be.”

I hear them leave my home, and I cough up smoke and ash. If they only knew how weak I was, and how incapable of keeping them safe I am, would they feel the same way? It’s best I keep my distance and hold the world at arm’s length. It all fades, and I can do nothing to protect the ones I love. I don’t want to hurt them, especially when they have been hurt before. Iscariot and Ichabod can find someone better to hold dear than me.

I put out the fireplace and let the house go cold.