Chris Grabenstein - The Black Heart Crypt

She of course hadn’t spent nearly as much time cooking as she had decorating, because she was less likely to set off the smoke detector decorating. Judy had picked up dinner at the closest chain restaurant where they brought your food to the parking lot.

“I have now read all of your Curiosity Cat books, Judy,” said Aunt Ginny. “They’re quite good. I would imagine it’s not easy telling an amusing, entertaining, and educational tale with so few words.”

“That’s right,” said Zack’s dad. “That’s why Judy’s won so many awards.”

“Well, this garlic herb chicken deserves an award, too,” said Ginny. “It’s scrumptious. Absolutely scrumptious.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” added Aunt Sophie, her mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Scrumdillyicious.”

“Thank you,” said Judy. “It’s our neighbor Mrs. Applebee’s secret recipe.”

“And where does this Applebee family live?” asked Hannah, who, Zack had quickly discovered, didn’t have much of a sense of humor. (Hannah hadn’t liked it much when Aunt Ginny and Zack swapped gross-out jokes on the ride home from the airport.)

“So,” said Zack’s dad, trying to change the subject, “are your rooms okay, ladies?”

“Fine,” said Sophie, tearing open a roll.

“They’ll do,” said Hannah.

“The pillows could be fluffier, I suppose,” said Sophie, slathering a gob of butter on her roll.

“And, of course, I’m allergic to feathers,” added Hannah.

“Well, my room is marvelous!” said Ginny.

“You got my bedroom,” said Zack.

“Really? Where are you sleeping?”

“Downstairs. With Zipper.”

Zipper was out in the backyard, probably hunkered down inside his doghouse, strategizing the best way to do battle with the newly arrived cats, all of which came equipped with the “claws of fury” feature.

“We may need to do some shopping,” pronounced Aunt Hannah. “After all, tomorrow is Halloween.”

“We already have candy to hand out,” said Judy. “Miniature Butterfingers and Baby Ruths.”

“And where do you store those?” asked Aunt Sophie, fluttering her eyelids again.

“Sophia?” scolded Hannah.

“Sorry.”

“We need to purchase certain items at the Hedge Pig Emporium to aid Zachary with his paranormal proclivities.”

Zack figured “paranormal proclivities” meant he could see ghosts.

“I trust the Hedge Pig is still open, George?”

“Yes, Aunt Hannah,” said Zack’s dad. “I think so. I haven’t thought about that old place in ages.”

“Good. That is how it should be.”

“Oh, yes,” echoed Sophie. “Indeed. As it should be.”

“We went to the Hedge Pig Emporium on your birthday once. Remember, Georgie?” said Aunt Ginny.

“Really?”

“The ladies in the back made you a milk shake. Chocolate, if I recall.”

“Oh, right. When I turned thirteen.”

Aunt Ginny winked at Zack again.

His dad’s thirteenth birthday was when he had stopped seeing ghosts. Zack wondered if it was just a coincidence or if the Hedge Pig people used Ghostbusters ice cream in their milk shakes.

Malik andAzalea came over to Zack’s house around six.

It was already dark out.

They joined Zack and Aunt Ginny downstairs in the rumpus room, where Zack was teaching the seventy-seven-year-old how to play Madden NFL Football on his PlayStation 3. Judy and Zack’s dad were at the mall with Aunts Hannah and Sophie, hoping to find “more suitable pillows.”

And a hot water bottle.

Aunt Sophie wanted one of those, even though Zack had no idea why anybody would want to drink their water hot.

Zipper was down in the basement, too—basically lying low. When a cat slapped you five, it hurt. Especially if they slapped you a face five.

“I need help putting together my Halloween costume,” said Azalea, slumping down into a beat-up old recliner, while, on the couch, Aunt Ginny thumbed her controller and power-smacked Zack’s quarterback into fumbling the ball.

“I’m all set,” said Malik, who was sitting on the floor, Zipper’s head in his lap. “I’m going as a killer bee.”

“Huh?” said Zack, watching Aunt Ginny’s lineman on the TV screen as he scooped up the fumbled football and scored a touchdown.

“I cut a big letter ‘B’ out of yellow poster board and splattered it with red paint. I will, of course, also carry a bloody rubber knife.”

“Clever,” said Azalea. “A killer ‘B.’ Wish I’d thought of that.”

Aunt Ginny put down her game controller. “So, Azalea. What would you like to … be ?”

Azalea chuckled. “I dunno. I was thinking about maybe a gypsy or the bride of Dracula.”

“Both very good choices, dear. I have an idea: Why don’t you three run upstairs and rummage through my trunk? I brought along all sorts of scarves and skirts, bangles and baubles.”

“May I ask why?” inquired Malik.

“Well, dear, I never unpack my footlocker. Just keep stuffing new items into it as I continue my journey through life’s grand adventure. Why, I haven’t emptied that trunk since the 1970s! It’s filled with things I have long since forgotten.”

“So why do you keep them, then?” asked Azalea.

“Because, dear, you just never know when a new friend might need a quick Halloween costume.”

It lookedlike an underwear bomb had gone off in Zack’s bedroom.

A gigantic bra was draped over his desk chair. A pair of flowery underpants, the size of a bathroom rug, lay on the floor. Some other lacy stuff, embroidered with flowers and butterflies, spilled out of his dresser drawers.

Azalea found a crystal spray bottle on top of Zack’s bedside table and spritzed it.

Then she started coughing and choking.

“Old-person perfume alert,” she gasped. “Total gag juice.”

“Look at all this neat junk!” said Malik, who was merrily rummaging through the summer-camp-sized footlocker, the sides of which were stickered with decals from exotic locations. “Scarves, hats, costume jewelry, a turban of some sort, leather-bound books, a pouch full of sparkling powder, a whole box of white candles or flares or something …”

Zack and Azalea knelt down on the carpet beside Malik and started going through the stuff with him. Zipper hadn’t joined them on the trek upstairs. He was on cat-attack alert down in the rumpus room with Aunt Ginny, who had announced that she might take a quick “snoozle on the couch,” which, she explained, was the same thing as a nap.

Pyewacket, Aunt Ginny’s cat, who had been sleeping in a lump under the bed’s comforter, came padding over to the trunk and hopped inside the box to help the three friends paw through the layers of fascinating junk.

“Don’t tell Zipper,” said Azalea, “but I think cats are awesome.”

“Me too,” said Malik, stroking the pink-nosed cat on her head.

“This is so cool,” said Azalea, pulling out a turban and trying it on. “I could be like a gypsy mind reader.”

“Yeah,” said Zack. “Look—here’s a deck of tarot cards to go with it.”

“And this star necklace would work, too,” said Malik. “It’s a pentagram, because it has five points, the same way a pentagon has five sides.”

Azalea draped the pendant around her neck. “So, Zack?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to go as for Halloween?”