The Black Heart Crypt

Near midnight, a young woman, maybe twenty-four, scaled the cemetery fence and approached the Ickleby crypt.

“Hey,” said the youngest soul trapped inside, the one the others called Eddie Boy, the Ickleby who had been gunned down by the Massachusetts State Police during a convenience store robbery gone bad in 1979. “Who’s this chick? She is loo-king goooood!”

The girl had ringlets of wild blond hair curlicuing out from under the peak of her hooded cape. Her cloak was made of black velvet and lined with deep-purple silk. A pentagram pendant, a five-pointed sterling silver star, dangled on a chain around her neck.

“She,” said Barnabas, his voice a sinister squawk, “is one who can be of much use to us. Her name …”

He strained to suck thoughts from the young woman’s mind. Having been a ghost for over 260 years, Barnabas Ickleby had honed telepathic powers few other spirits possessed.

“… is Jenny Ballard, and, children, it seems she fancies herself a witch. She longs to fill her mind with evil thoughts. Miss Ballard should prove quite receptive to all my subconscious suggestions!”

The other twelve souls sniggered at the remark.

“I shall infest her mind with wickedness!” Barnabas gloated. “And then—I shall send her forth to seek out our new earthen vessel!”