The Black Heart Crypt

by Chris Grabenstein

  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.”

  The other two kids, the girl and the skinny one, did the same thing: They carefully selected two each. The dog just stood there, wagging his tail.

  “Oh, Norman,” said Malik. “I brought this for you. Thought you might find it challenging.” He reached into his candy sack and pulled out a shiny black stone sculpted into the shape of a heart. “It’s a 3-D interlocking puzzle.”

  “Interesting,” said Norman, even though he was much more interested in the mysterious Jenny waiting for him out on the sidewalk.

  Malik handed him the black stone heart.

  “Once you pry it apart, you’ll find a tiny black heart in the center of the black stone.”

  “We think it’s onyx,” said the girl. “That’s a gemstone.”

  “Great,” said Norman distractedly. “Can I keep it for a while? I’m kind of busy tonight.”

  “Um, I guess so,” said the “B” with the glasses.

  “This is my friend Zack,” said Malik. “Zack Jennings. The black heart stone belongs to his aunt.”

  “Tell her thanks,” said Norman as he slid the hefty heart into a side pocket of his cargo pants.

  He’d play with it later.

  After the Halloween party with Jenny and the Icklebys, whoever the heck they were.

  Zack sensed that Malik’s friend Norman was nervous about something.

  He had beads of sweat all over his shiny forehead.

  “Hey, Norman?” A man with a shaved head and a tiny triangle beard on his chin stomped up to the counter. “Your father just called, said I could take the night off, seeing how it’s Halloween and I have a party to go to and you don’t because you’re such a loser so who’d invite you to their Halloween party except a bunch of even bigger losers?”

  When the big guy stopped to snort some wet snot up his snout, Zack thought he looked and sounded like a college-aged version of Kurt and Kyle Snertz, the two bullies at his middle school (one of whom was now actually a friend of Zack’s).

  “W-well, um,” stammered Norman Ickes, kind of cowering behind the cash register. “Okay, Steve. Have fun.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.” He leaned down and yanked an extension cord out of its wall socket. “Your blinking jack-o’-lanterns are blinking stupid. I told your old man they’re a waste of electricity. He agreed. Happy Halloween, loser!”

  Laughing, the big jerk strode out the front door as some new trick-or-treaters came pouring in. They were all wearing very cool costumes but Zack’s eyes were riveted on the man who came in right behind them.

  He had an old-school mullet haircut and was wearing a dark-blue peacoat with the collar turned up, like tough guys used to do in movies.

  He also walked straight through a gum ball machine.

  Because ghosts can do that sort of thing.

  “Hello, Jennings,” the guy sneered. “Pleased to meet ya, you little cheese weasel.”

  Zipper growled.

  “Who are you?” asked Zack.

  “Uh-oh,” said Malik.

  “Um, Zack? Who are you talking to?” asked Azalea.

  He pointed toward the gum ball machine.

  “Do we have a live one?” whispered Azalea.

  “Actually,” Zack whispered back, “it’s a dead one. Judging by his hair and clothes, I’m guessing he died sometime in the seventies.”

  “What’s he want?” said Malik.

  Zack shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Well, ask him,” suggested Azalea.

  “What do you want?”

  “You, kid. Your family and mine? We got a score to settle.”

  The ghost strolled closer, jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Course, I couldn’t come at you earlier, not with all them jack-o’-lanterns glowing in the window. Those things ward off ghosts, man. But now, guess what? They’re all dark and you’re all mine!”

  The ghost dude with the bad hairdo struck a kung fu pose.

  “Your family has dishonored mine, Jennings!”

  Zack rolled his eyes. In his experience, ghosts, no matter how much they threatened you, couldn’t really do anything to hurt you; they could only scare you into doing something stupid to hurt yourself.

  But then again, tonight was Halloween. The regular rules might be suspended for the ghost world’s big night on the town.

  “Hi-YA!” The guy jumped into a sideways flying kick.

  To be safe, Zack shoved Azalea and Malik
out of harm’s way. “Watch out!”

  Good thing he did. Karate man knocked over a whole display of saw blades, hammers, and screwdrivers. Hardware clattered across the floor. Zipper yelped and skittered sideways to avoid getting stabbed.

  Oh, yeah. The rules were definitely different on Halloween.

  “Hey!” shouted Norman Ickes from behind the cash register. “What’s going on?”

  “Uh, sorry,” said Malik. “I bumped into this display.…”

  “I’m gonna cream your two little friends, Jennings!” boasted the ghost. “And the dog? He’s dead meat!” He leapt into another flying kick.

  “You guys!” Zack shouted. “On your left! Paint!”

  Azalea and Malik jumped out of the way just as the ghost hit a rack stacked with paint cans.

  Six shelves loaded with gallon buckets came tumbling down. A couple of lids popped open. Paint splashed across the floorboards.

  “Hey! Why are you guys trashing my dad’s store?” shouted Norman Ickes. “I gave you candy bars!”

  “It’s not us,” said Malik. “Honest. It’s …”

  “An earthquake!” shouted Azalea. “Everybody out! Earthquake!”

  Kids screamed. Norman screamed. Then, in a panic, everybody except Malik, Azalea, and Zack streamed, screaming, out onto the sidewalk.

  “Go, you guys!” Zack said.

  “You sure?” asked Azalea.

  “Go to the van! Zip? Get help!”

  Azalea, Malik, and a snarling Zipper bolted out the door.

  “Far out,” said the ghost. “Just you and me, kid. Ickleby versus Jennings. Can you dig it?”

  They circled each other.

  “Who are you?”

  “Your worst nightmare,” said Mullet Man with a sneer.

  Zack backed up a few steps and realized he was standing in the worst possible place—right underneath a Peg-Board loaded with box cutters, knives, and scissors, all with their blades pointed down!

  “Cool it, Eddie Boy,” warbled a familiar voice from the door.

  It was Aunt Ginny, in her purple tracksuit, a white tube clenched in her fist. Beyond her, Zack could see his dad, Malik, Azalea, and Zipper out on the sidewalk.

  “You!” said Eddie Boy Ickleby. “Where are your two grody sisters, you old hag?”

  “At home, Edward. Packing flares just like this one.” She popped a plastic cap off the white stick. Struck it against the doorframe. Sparks sizzled. Smoke spewed. Aunt Ginny tossed the smoldering stick at the ghost’s feet.

  “No!” The ghost sounded stunned. He stood stock-still, frozen in place.

  “Aunt Ginny?” shouted Zack’s dad from outside. “Is that a stink bomb?”

  “No, Georgie. It’s a smudge stick. Garlic, clove, thistle, peppermint, and of course sage. Lots and lots of sage.”

  “Hate … sage,” gasped the petrified ghost. “Can’t … move …”

  “Yep,” said Aunt Ginny. “Breathe it and weep.”

  Thick white clouds billowed up out of the sizzling tube.

  “You … wretched … old … witch!” The ghost choked as he clutched his throat. He seemed to be fading. Zack could see clear through him, like the ghosts in cartoons.

  “What’s going on in there?” cried Zack’s dad.

  “Just dealing with a nasty troublemaker from 1979.”

  “What? Who’s in there besides Zack?”

  “Nobody, dear,” said Aunt Ginny, moving closer to the gasping ghost. “Not for long, anyway.”

  Aunt Ginny bent forward and spoke directly into the dematerializing man’s ear.

  “It is time for you to leave. All is well. There is nothing here for you now.”

  The ghost’s eyes went wide as he fought against the incantation.

  “Go now, Edward. Complete your passing.”

  And with one last whimper, the ghost vanished.

  Zack looked at Aunt Ginny, his eyes filled with awe and amazement.

  “Wow. That was incredible.”

  “Is the ghost gone?” asked Azalea from the door.

  “Yes, dear,” said Aunt Ginny as she briskly swiped her hands clean a few times. “One down. Eleven to go.”

  “Is Zack okay?”

  Judy, at George’s suggestion, had put the phone on speaker. George’s aunts Hannah and Sophie were standing in the front hallway, mouths hanging open, listening.

  “Zack’s fine,” said George. “Malik and Azalea, too. According to Aunt Ginny, it was one of the Ickleby ghosts.”

  The two elderly aunts gasped.

  “What’s an Ickleby ghost?” Judy asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said George. “Aunt Ginny said she’d tell me more once we make certain Zack and his friends are safe and take care of the mess we made here at the hardware store. Oh, she did mention that there are eleven more of these ‘evil Icklebys.’ ”

  “Eleven more?”

  Now the two elderly sisters were nodding. Sophie was also nervously nibbling on a bite-sized Baby Ruth.

  “Hang on, hon,” said George. “Aunt Ginny wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Judy? Am I on speakerphone, dear?”

  “Yes, Aunt Ginny. What happened?”

  “Oh, we just had an unfortunate incident. Everything’s fine now, just fine. Hannah and Sophie? I packed some extra sage candles in my trunk. Maybe you two should run upstairs and retrieve a few.”

  “Sage candles?” asked Judy.

  Judy saw Hannah and Sophie exchange worried glances.

  “Well, dear,” said Ginny on the phone, “they’re actually more like portable smudge pots, if you will.”

  “They stun evil spirits into submission,” said Hannah, sounding upset. “Come along, Sophie. It seems our baby sister has been up to some sort of mischief.” Hannah started trudging up the staircase to the second floor.

  Sophie looked at Judy. Fear filled her eyes. “Will you be giving away all of the Butterfinger bars?”

  “Sophia?” shouted Hannah from the steps.

  “Coming.” Sophie followed Hannah up to the second floor.

  Right after Judy slipped her a Butterfinger.

  The doorbell rang as a new group of kids stormed up the front porch steps and screamed, “Trick or treat!”

  Judy just hoped they weren’t little Icklebys.

  “Trick or treat!”

  “Oh, my. Look at all these goblins and ghouls. Here you go, kids.” Smiling, Judy started doling out the candy bars. “Neat costume, Alistair.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Jennings. I like your pumpkins.” The boy gestured at the six flickering jack-o’-lanterns lined up along the porch railing.

  As soon as the kids were gone and the door closed, the phone began to ring again.

  “Hello?” Judy answered.

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  More silence.

  “George? Is that you?”

  “No,” replied a weak voice. “This is … Francine.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This is Zack’s aunt. Francine. I’m his mother’s sister.”

  “Oh, right. Francine. Hi.”

  Judy had never met the woman, but from what she had gathered from George, Francine Potter-Kressin-Venable-Greene was a very wealthy, extremely crabby, exceptionally angry middle-aged woman.

  From Zack, Judy had learned that “Aunt Francine hates me even more than my mother did. She blames me for killing her sister.”

  All in all, Aunt Francine didn’t come very highly recommended.

  “Is there a number where I can call you back?” asked Judy. “We’re kind of busy here tonight.…”

  “Are you Judy? The woman who took my …”

  There was a long pause. “… my sister’s place?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind. I’m on my way.”

  “On your way where?”

  “Tell Zack it’s Halloween, so I’m coming to take care of him.”

  Norman Ickes
’s father had fired him.

  “It was an earthquake,” Norman had tried to explain. “A kid panicked and knocked over some display racks. We had to evacuate the store.”

  His father wouldn’t listen.

  Now Norman and the strange girl, Jenny Ballard, were sitting in her car at the dead end of the dirt road that snaked up the back of Haddam Hill.

  They parked in a moonlit patch of asphalt and stared at the eerie cemetery.

  After several minutes with no sound but the creak of skeletal trees dancing with the wind and an angry cat’s moaning at the moon, Norman finally spoke: “My father probably wishes I had never been born.”

  Jenny cuddled closer. “I’m very glad you were, Norman. You are the heir to an awesome line of amazing men.”

  “What?”

  “You, Norman, are an Ickleby!”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s an Ickleby?”

  “Your real name.”

  “Ickleby Ickes?”

  “No, silly. Norman Ickleby.”

  “Says who?”

  “The voice.”

  “The voice?”

  “It speaks to me. In here.” She tapped the side of her head. “It told me to find you, to bring you here. It told me to bring this!”

  She held up a very sharp hunting knife.

  “Did you steal that from my dad’s store?”

  She nodded.

  Norman sighed. “It was in a locked display case!”

  “I unlocked it. While your father was firing you.”

  “Great. You stole a very expensive hunting knife. How stupid are you? My dad’s going to know it’s missing.”

  “So?”

  “He’ll blame me for that, too!”

  “Who cares? You were meant for greater things than hawking hardware.”

  “Oh, really? Like what? Polishing Steve Snertz’s shaved head?”

  Jenny pulled up on her door handle. “Come, Norman.”

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “To fulfill your destiny!”

  The ghosts of Barnabas Ickleby’s eleven descendants gathered around him outside the family crypt.

  An oily black raven sat perched on the peak of the mausoleum’s gabled roof.

  “They sent Eddie Boy into oblivion,” reported Barnabas.