(Website, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads)on August 2nd 2016
Tragedy has brought Micaela Burgos back to her hometown of Sleepy Hollow. It's been six years since she chose to live with her affluent father in Miami instead of her history-obsessed eccentric mother. And now her mother is dead.
But while Sleepy Hollow was made immortal by literature, the town is real. So are its prejudices and hatred, targeting Mica's Cuban family and the secrets of their heritage that her mother obsessed over. But ghostly voices whisper in the wind, questioning whether her mother’s death might not have been an accident after all, and Mica knows there's a reason she's here.
With the help of two very different guys—who pull at her heart in very different ways—Micaela must uncover the hidden secret of Sleepy Hollow…before she meets her mother's fate.
Wake the Hollow was everything that I wanted in a “Sleepy Hollow”-inspired book. I was one of the kids that enjoyed being forced to read the story of the headless horseman in elementary school around Halloween and knew I had to read this book.
You guys, Sleepy Hollow is a real place! I’m not sure why it never dawned on me to look it up and see if there was actually a town named Sleepy Hollow, but there is. I’m probably the last to know, but I so want to go after reading this book. I just started watching the show Sleepy Hollow on Hulu, and the tale of Ichabod Crane and all things Irving might become my new obsession. Triana gave a lot of background surrounding Irving, a lot of things I didn’t know. One of my favorite classics is Frankenstein, and I was excited to hear some history there and the connection she made. The history, creepy and enthralling, kept me interested as much as the new story surrounding Michaela Burgos.
Mica was terrified of becoming her mother. She returned to the Hollow to try and reconnect with the woman that she had left for Miami six years prior, but that wasn’t the only reason. Her mother’s death shook her up, especially the note she received six weeks earlier, demanding that she come back as soon as possible. The mother-daughter relationship fought against death, and I loved the connection that they had. No, it did not scream normal—her mom had an obsession with creepy, handmade dolls, for crying out loud—but nothing in Mica’s life ever had. Mica found strength in herself that she didn’t know existed and discovered a completely different person than the one that had arrived on the train in Tarrytown months ago.
I couldn’t figure out who to fall in love with. I met Bram first and thought he would be the obvious choice—then Dane came into the picture. The whole time, while trying to figure out what exactly was going on in such an interesting town, my heart didn’t know who to trust. Bram had the old best friend thing on his side and the do anything for Mica thing going on, but Dane was the new guy, the enigma. Trust me, Triana will keep you guessing and gasping until the end.
Wake the Hollow kept me on my toes. It had mystery, unexplainable romance, history like I’ve never read before, and a main character that I would love to see more of. Like it’s inspiration, it will be a story that won’t be forgotten any time soon.
I hear the laugh once again, calm and satisfied. A solid wave of rage starts between my forehead and the back of my head, overtaking my entire body. Teeth clenched so hard, I hear them grind. I scream, “What’s so funny, you sick bastard!”
Then a new sound, so clear there’s no mistaking it. A horse’s neigh, followed by the woody, hollow sound of hooves galloping right toward me.
Thirsty leaves rustle on the ground like littered newspaper in the wind. I stand paralyzed over my mother’s grave, eyes roving, searching for the source of the sound. A horse in the cemetery? Seriously? But there’s no one here! Yet the galloping feels a blink away.
I break free of the invisible straitjacket immobilizing my upper body. I plunge through the woods, boots pounding the earth in time with my breath, eyes focused ahead, dodging grave markers, logs, rocks, and fallen limbs in my way. Who’s charging me on a horse? The Headless Horseman is only a character in a story. A legend.
I run straight for the bridge, my breath short and choppy. Isn’t the horseman supposed to stop chasing his victims once they cross the bridge? How ridiculous that I’m considering the logistics behind a work of fiction. Maybe it’s not a real spirit at all, but someone playing a trick on me.
It’s unnervingly dark inside the covered bridge, but I have no other choice. The galloping is right behind me. I’ll have to go through it if I don’t want to sense a horse’s hot breath prickling my neck. I avoid eye contact with whoever is chasing me, in case paralysis freezes my body again.
I charge through the bridge, my breath loud in my ears, panicked footsteps echoing against the siding, plowing along the musty planks until I blast out the other end, nearly tumbling onto the ground. I check over my shoulder. Nothing followed me through. But next to the bridge, a hazy mist hovers above the ground in the shape of what could be interpreted as a massive horse with a rider on top. It stands at the edge of the river, watching me escape.
That’s no trick.
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