The Black Heart Crypt

“Where is Squire Stephen Snertz?” Azalea heard the masked man snarl at the crowd outside the hardware store.

In the mob were a bunch of TV reporters with microphones and cameras. They swung around to aim their gear at the shaved-head goon who had harassed Norman Ickes on Halloween night—the dude who had pulled the plug on all the pumpkins.

In the distance, Azalea could hear the wail of police sirens.

“What is going on?” the masked man whispered tensely. “What is making that high-pitched squeal? Why are all these townsfolk idling about? I am Jack the Lantern. I lurk in the shadows, where none can find me.…”

“Sorry, sir,” said Azalea. “Somebody must’ve alerted the authorities.”

“The king’s soldiers are coming?”

“Uh, no. The police.”

The masked man pulled her closer to his chest.

Great. To shoot him, the cops would have to try to miss her.

“Where is Stephen Snertz?” the guy who called himself Jack shouted again. This time, he brandished a new weapon: a very modern, very lethal-looking pistol.

Azalea was eager to hurry things along.

“That’s him. The bald dude with the chin goatee.”

Stephen Snertz brought his hand up to his chin, trying to hide his facial hair.

“Sir Snertz,” said the kidnapper, “know that I hold your scion as my hostage!”

“M-m-my w-w-what?” said Snertz, who was trembling pretty bad and looked like he might wet himself.

“He means your nephew,” said Azalea. “Kurt? He’s on the bus.”

Stephen Snertz sort of squirmed and snorted some snot up his schnozz before he said, “So?”

“We two must come to terms,” said the man in the mask.

“About w-w-what?”

“Young Kurt’s ransom!”

“R-r-ransom? What are you talking about, Norman?”

“My name is Jack the Lantern!”

Snertz put a hand on his hip and tried to look tough.

“Really? I thought it was Crazy Izzy Ickleby.”

“That was yesterday. This is today.”

“Man,” Snertz chortled, “you are nuttier than all the pecan pies in Georgia!”

Azalea heard a pistol hammer cock back right next to her ear.

“Hey! Th-th-that’s my pistol!” said Snertz.

“Indeed it is!” said the masked man. Then he started mumbling to himself. “No, Norman. Not yet.” He cleared his throat and loudly addressed Snertz again: “If, sir, you do not meet my demands and present me with twenty pounds of solid gold bullion within the hour, I shall be forced to sell young Master Snertz to certain ship captains I know of in these parts.”

Azalea raised an eyebrow. Pumpkin Head was definitely living in the past. There hadn’t been any ship captains living in North Chester since the nineteenth century.

“Drop your weapons!” cried a brusque voice through a bullhorn.

Azalea looked left. Sheriff Hargrove and six of his deputies had their guns up and aimed at Pumpkin Head, which meant they were also, more or less, aimed at her.