The Black Heart Crypt

The young woman in the hooded cape stood transfixed, staring up at the name engraved above the entrance to the crypt.

ICKLEBY

Jenny Ballard was hanging out in yet another graveyard at midnight because she had decided she was tired of being a waitress at the Bob’s Big Boy out near the interstate.

She wanted to become a witch.

And not the airy-fairy, goody-goody kind that floated around in bubbles. She wanted to be a bad witch, the old-fashioned wicked kind from fairy tales. She wanted to cast evil spells on all the popular girls who had made fun of her when she wore her retainer to middle school. She wanted to turn all the bad tippers at Bob’s Big Boy into toads.

She fluffed out her corkscrewy hair and moved one step closer to the massive mausoleum.

She felt a deep chill. Goose pimples popped up on the soft undersides of her pale arms.

“Jenny!”

There was no one else in the graveyard, yet she clearly heard a man with a scratchy voice whispering her name.

“Jenny!”

Her breathing came faster.

“He is one of us,” the ominous voice continued. “Bring him here on Halloween. Reap your reward!”

Jenny had no idea who or what the voice was talking about or why she was hearing it.

“Bring him unto us, Jenny, on All Hallows’ Eve.”

Okay. The invisible dude with the monster-movie voice had to be some kind of ancient, disembodied soul. Who else would call Halloween by its old-school name: All Hallows’ Eve?

“I will bring him,” Jenny mumbled.

She decided to ask for more information.

“Who is it that thou seek?”

But the bird voice was gone.

In its place, all she heard was the thick fluttering of wings.

She looked up. An inky black raven sat perched atop the head of an angel statue at the peak of the tomb’s steeply slanted roof. The bird glared down at Jenny with glowing black eyes.

“Haw!” it croaked.

Jenny bent into a slight bow. “Yes. Of course.”

The bird was right. It was time for her leave.

Time for her to go find the man the evil voice in her head said it needed so desperately.