Chris Grabenstein - The Black Heart Crypt

After Main Street Sweets & Treats, the killer “Bs” and bumblebee Zipper (who was allowed into all the stores except the ones that sold meat) headed up the sidewalk toward Ickes & Son Hardware.

“Last year, the Ickeses gave out Almond Joys and Snickers, I heard,” said Malik. “We might want to skip the dentist’s office, however.”

“How come?” asked Zack.

“Last year, he gave out floss.”

“Was it at least spearmint-flavored floss?” asked Azalea.

Malik shook his head. “Plain. Unwaxed.”

“Lame,” said Azalea.

“Totally,” said Zack.

A Frankenstein and a Star Wars Stormtrooper brushed past them, followed by three kids in bedsheets.

“Killer bees!” shouted one of the bedsheets. “Awesome!”

“Thank you,” said Malik, pleased to have his wacky idea appreciated by a total stranger.

“So, Zack,” said Azalea, “were those real ghosts?”

Zack laughed. “Uh, no, Azalea. That was Sammie Smith. From history class?”

“Wow. You have X-ray vision, too?”

“Nope. I recognized her voice.”

“So what do ghosts wear on Halloween?” asked Malik, sounding genuinely interested.

“Well,” said Zack, “most of the ones I’ve met are usually wearing what they wore when they were alive. That’s one way you can tell they’re, you know, not from here or now. They look old-fashioned. Like the people you see in movies.”

The Ickes & Son Hardware store windows were illuminated by an impressive display of a dozen or more carved jack-o’-lanterns. Instead of candles, the hollowed-out pumpkins were lit up by low-wattage bulbs that flashed on and off in a random sequence.

“Pretty cool,” said Zack.

“Yeah,” said Malik. “I bet my buddy Norman rigged it up. Oh!” He reached into his Halloween sack and pulled out the black heart puzzle. “You’re sure it’s okay that I let Norman borrow this?”

“Yep. I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to play with it tonight.”

“Come on, you guys,” said Azalea. “There’s loot to be had. Let’s go inside and score a few Snickers bars!”

Barnabas wantedone 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 thatvery 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 Potterclearly 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?”