The Black Heart Crypt

At that very 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.”