Ghostie
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Suddenly, a cold wind howled through the trees, rustling leaves like whispers from the grave. Ichabod's senses heightened; he stopped, straining to hear past the eerie cacophony. His heart pounded, echoing louder with each second. Eyes wide, he caught sight of a shadowy figure emerging from the forest line—a rider on a jet-black steed, headless, brandishing a glowing object where its head should be.
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