The Black Heart Crypt (10 page)

Barnabas wanted
one of the Ickleby ghosts to venture out of the Haddam Hill Cemetery and go into North Chester to scout it out, since none of the thirteen souls were familiar with the town.

“We need a spy,” he said. “To locate the Jennings boy. He will be the one to pay for what the three women did to us!”

Eddie quickly volunteered.

“I can scope things out better than anybody else,” he argued. “The last man into the tomb should be the first ghost out, because, unlike the rest of you freaky-deakies, I’m hip to the modern lingo, dig?”

“You make an excellent point, Edward,” said Barnabas. “Return by midnight.”

So Eddie Boy’s soul drifted down the highway toward town. He tried hitching a ride, but nobody could see him.

“At night, you can will yourself to become visible to whomever you choose, even those who are not ghost seers,” Barnabas had told Eddie before he set out.

So he tried that.

And totally freaked out a truck driver, who drove his rig into a ditch when he saw Eddie Boy’s ghost materialize in the middle of the highway. So Eddie went back to being invisible and walked into town. It didn’t take too long, maybe fifteen minutes. When you’re a ghost, you move fast. Very little friction.

Since it was Halloween, kids were out everywhere, dressed up as characters Eddie didn’t recognize. Back in his day, the big costumes were Casper, Kiss, and Charlie’s Angels. He did see one kid dressed up as a Star Wars Stormtrooper.
Dy-no-mite
. Eddie had dug that movie back in 1977. He wondered if they had ever made a sequel.

Soon he was on Main Street.

No one could see him, because he did not wish to be seen.

He stuffed his hands into his wool peacoat and watched three “Bs” in sombreros scoot into Ickes & Son Hardware, where dozens of jack-o’-lanterns glowed in the windows.

A jet-black raven, wings outstretched, swooped down out of the darkness, then perched on a street sign.

“Haw!” it croaked.

And suddenly, Eddie recognized one of the kids going into the hardware store. The one wearing glasses.

It was the punk who had brushed up against their crypt.

It was Zack Jennings!

At that
very same moment, up in Boston, Zack’s other aunt, Francine Potter, was standing at her front door, reluctantly doling out pennies to a group of trick-or-treaters.

“Candy rots your teeth,” she said as she unwrapped another roll of copper coins. “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

The children who weren’t wearing masks looked disappointed.

Francine Potter could not care less. She hated Halloween, a holiday that turned bratty little boys and girls into something even worse: beggars.

“That’s it,” she said, plinking five pennies into the last outstretched plastic bag. “Happy Halloween.” There was vinegar in her voice. “Now, go home. All of you!”

The children shuffled down her front steps and rejoined their parents on the sidewalk.

“What’d you get, hon?” asked one of the mothers.

“Nothin’,” said her son, a boy dressed like a turtle in karate clothes.

“That’s a lie!” Francine shouted. “I gave that child money. He can use those coins to help pay for college if he ever makes it past kindergarten.”

The parents all gave her dirty looks. She gave them an even dirtier one back.

“Move along. You’re loitering. I’ll call the police!”

The clump of candy beggars hurried up the sidewalk.

Except for one mother, who just stood there in the lamplight like an idiot.

“What’s your problem?” said Francine. “Move along.”

A few of the grown-ups escorting the trick-or-treaters looked back.

“Who’s she yelling at now?” said one.

“I don’t know,” said another. “There’s nobody there.”

Francine Potter
clearly saw a tall woman with a mop of curly hair standing beside the lamppost where the sidewalk met the pathway up to her stoop.

The woman appeared to be in her twenties and was wearing a long, flouncy dress that fluttered in the breeze.

“Why are you standing there gawking at me?” Francine demanded.

The curly-haired woman drifted closer.

“Hello, Francine.”

“What? Do I know you?”

“Of course you do, Franny.”

“What did you call me?”

“Franny.”

“Nobody calls me that. Not since my sister …”

The curly-haired woman nodded slowly.

Francine Potter took one step backward. “No. My sister is dead.…”

The woman gave her another eerie nod.

“Susan?”

“Hello, Franny.”

“Ha! That’s impossible. When was your hair curly like that?”

“When I was happy. When I was an actress at the Hanging Hill Playhouse.”

“Acting was a foolish waste of your time and education. Father and Mother both said so.”

“Acting made me happy.”

“Well, Susan, none of us are put on this earth to be happy. We are put here to do our jobs.”

Francine couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

“Who are you? Why are you pretending to be my dead sister?”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Impossible.”

“Everything is possible on Halloween.”

“No. You are not my sister.”

“Yes. I am. I need you, Francine.”

“What?”

“I need your body.”

“What? Go away. And next Halloween put together a better costume. You don’t even look the way my sister did when she died.”

“You mean like this?”

In a horrifying flash, the curly-haired woman shriveled into a withered husk of ashen flesh and bone. Her paper-thin
skin shrank tight against her jagged face. The mop of curly hair wormed its way down into her scalp.

It was truly her sister. Susan Potter Jennings. The way she had looked when she died.

“We are flesh of the same flesh,” gasped the hideous creature. “Blood of the same blood.”

Francine stumbled backward into her house. Slammed the door shut.

Suddenly, her body was wracked with spasms of pain.

A voice echoed inside her head:
“I have unfinished business with Zachary.”

Francine slumped to the carpeted floor. Her mind and memories swirled down a darkening sinkhole toward oblivion.

Zack’s mother was alive again.

Norman Ickes
was stuck behind the front counter of his father’s stupid hardware store, handing out stupid candy bars to stupid kids in stupid costumes.

A very pretty girl his own age stood behind the clump of children. She was costumed in a black hooded cape, like a witch or a wizard.

“Um, d-do you want a candy bar?” Norman stammered. The girl had kinky blond hair and piercing green eyes.

“No,” she said, her voice husky. “I want you.”

Norman started to perspire. “Uh, excuse me?”

“I find I am strangely attracted to you …” She paused. “Norman Ickes.”

She sounded like one of those prerecorded messages that fill in a blank with your name. Norman didn’t care. No girl as pretty as this one had ever showed him even this much attention.

She pushed forward, leaned on the counter. Her hair smelled like vanilla ice cream.

“I sense that you and I are soul mates, Norman,” she whispered.

“Really?” Norman blinked. Slid his aviator-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Yes. A little birdie told me where to find you.”

Norman dabbed his sweaty forehead with the tip of his necktie. All of a sudden, he loved birds, wanted to study ornithology, maybe rescue a pelican.

“What time do you get off work?” the girl asked.

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight. Halloween.”

“Uh, about seven. Seven-thirty. My dad put me in charge of the candy.”

“Your father is a coward. Afraid to embrace his destiny.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him a—”

“I would. The bird told me all about him, too.”

“Oh-kay.”

“I’ll wait for you. Outside.”

“Huh?”

“When you are finished here, you and I are going for a ride.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I need to take you up to the graveyard. Haddam Hill Cemetery.”

“Really?” Cemetery Road on Haddam Hill was North Chester’s “lovers’ lane,” the spot where all the high school and college kids went.

Norman tried not to let his nervousness show. He
pretended he was smooth and suave. He leaned on the counter to gaze into the witch girl’s dreamy green eyes. “You want to take me up to Cemetery Road? On our first date?”

She nodded. “Yes, Norman. Everybody will be waiting.”

“Oh. Is it a party?”

Her smile broadened. “Yes. A Halloween party hosted by the Icklebys.”

A new group of kids rushed up to the counter.

“Trick or treat!”

“I’ll wait outside,” said the girl, moving toward the door as Norman robotically dished out the candy bars.

“Wait a second,” he called out. “I don’t know your name.”

“Jenny.”

“Cool. Oh, by the way, Jenny, I love your costume! It’s very … bewitching.”

She smiled and Norman could already tell: This was going to be the most amazing night of his life!

“Trick or
treat, Norman!”

It was young Malik Sherman with two friends. And a dog. The kids were dressed up like the letter “B.” The dog kept wagging its tail and scooted under the counter to sniff Norman’s shoes.

He probably should’ve put on clean socks that morning.

“Don’t worry,” said one of Malik’s friends, a kid wearing glasses. “Zipper is very friendly.”

The dog gave the toe of his right shoe a double snort, whimpered a little, and trotted back to stand beside his owner.

“Neat costumes,” Norman said to Malik. “Are you guys characters from
Sesame Street
or something?”

“No,” said Malik. “We be the killer bees!”

“
Sí
, senor!” said the skinny “B” wearing glasses.

“Give us candy or we’ll sting you!” said the girl.

The dog growled.

“Here you go, guys.” Norman held up the plastic
pumpkin bowl filled with candy bars. “Take as many as you want.”

“I think two will do,” said Malik, reaching into the bowl. “We want to make sure you have enough for those who come after us.”