The Black Heart Crypt

Norman Ickes’s father had fired him.

“It was an earthquake,” Norman had tried to explain. “A kid panicked and knocked over some display racks. We had to evacuate the store.”

His father wouldn’t listen.

Now Norman and the strange girl, Jenny Ballard, were sitting in her car at the dead end of the dirt road that snaked up the back of Haddam Hill.

They parked in a moonlit patch of asphalt and stared at the eerie cemetery.

After several minutes with no sound but the creak of skeletal trees dancing with the wind and an angry cat’s moaning at the moon, Norman finally spoke: “My father probably wishes I had never been born.”

Jenny cuddled closer. “I’m very glad you were, Norman. You are the heir to an awesome line of amazing men.”

“What?”

“You, Norman, are an Ickleby!”

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s an Ickleby?”

“Your real name.”

“Ickleby Ickes?”

“No, silly. Norman Ickleby.”

“Says who?”

“The voice.”

“The voice?”

“It speaks to me. In here.” She tapped the side of her head. “It told me to find you, to bring you here. It told me to bring this!”

She held up a very sharp hunting knife.

“Did you steal that from my dad’s store?”

She nodded.

Norman sighed. “It was in a locked display case!”

“I unlocked it. While your father was firing you.”

“Great. You stole a very expensive hunting knife. How stupid are you? My dad’s going to know it’s missing.”

“So?”

“He’ll blame me for that, too!”

“Who cares? You were meant for greater things than hawking hardware.”

“Oh, really? Like what? Polishing Steve Snertz’s shaved head?”

Jenny pulled up on her door handle. “Come, Norman.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“To fulfill your destiny!”