The Black Heart Crypt

“We three declare it so, the uninvited visitor must now go,” said Azalea with a shrug, because, Zack could tell, she had no idea why she had committed such nonsense to memory.

But she kept on going. “Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.”

Since they didn’t have a cat, Zack gave Zipper the hand command for “Speak.”

Zip howled.

Zack tucked the tiny black heart into his shirt pocket and motioned for Malik to move closer, for Azalea to take a step to her left.

The three friends were forming a circle around the frozen highwayman.

“Round the dybbuk now we go,” chanted Azalea, doing the whole thing from memory. “Leave this body by the toe. Spirit, under cold stone lie; you have had your chance to die.”

“Sprinkle the powder,” Zack said to Malik, who flung the whole sparkling contents of his open jar at the back of the bandit’s head. Glittery clumps landed in the gullies on all three sides of his hat.

Zack stretched out his hands. Malik and Azalea understood. They linked hands with Zack and each other and started circling Jack the Lantern, ring-around-the-rosy style.

“Eye of newt and hoof of cow,” Azalea said dramatically, nearing her big finish. “Leave this body, leave it now!”

Zack pulled out the tiny tin party horn and blew sour trumpet blasts like it was a World Cup soccer match.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Azalea, scrunching up her shoulders in an attempt to cover her ears.

“Yeah. The sour notes jar the soul out of the body.”

“Look!” said Malik.

Jack the Lantern started to quiver.

And shimmy.

And shake.

His body slumped to the floor.

A purple mist seeped up out of his crumpled form.

The violet cloud quickly took shape.

The ghost of Barnabas Ickleby rose beside the body of Norman Ickes.