Ichabod always hated graveyards. They made him feel uneasy, always stepping on someone, the unquiet eerieness it held was enough to make anyone a little frightened. The fog didn't help either. He was high off some drug Brom had given him and to add to the stumbling around he had already begun, now the fog hid every branch, small hole, and gravestone. It also hid, Ichabod thought, that horseman Brom told me about. He didn't want to think about that. No, tonight was not a night for terror but one of joy of a uncertain, but beautiful future for Ichabod and Brom. The thought that Brom wouldn't come never crossed his mind. But then, the fog became thick, encompassing the bridge Ichabod was standing on, and he couldn't see anyone or anything. Ichabod began to panic. He started gasping for air, thinking that Brom had given him some sort of poison. Brom didn't care about him. Or Kat. Or anyone. Ichabod started spinning on the bridge, looking around for some outline of a thing he could decide was real. The fog dissipated and Ichabod stood still, and he found not just an outline of thing, but a thing that was all too real. The fog was not a hinderance to him,, but rather a shield, masking the terror that was waiting for him on the other side. He tried to run, yell for help, but he knew nothing would work. This was his fate, and now there was nothing standing between him and it. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was about to happen.