The Black Heart Crypt

“Shouldn’t you be out there with the rest of your class?” Judy asked Zack.

“Why should he be out there when the answers he seeks are in here?” said Mrs. Emerson.

Judy smiled. “You’re right. Come on, Zack. Let’s figure this thing out.”

Judy swiveled around to clack a computer keyboard.

“I was just doing an Internet search on ‘Ickleby family crypt.’ I think I found the connection.”

“The connection to what, dear?” asked Mrs. Emerson, peering over her reading glasses at the computer screen.

“How the Jenningses and the Icklebys are related.”

“Oh, my. Your husband’s family is related to these nefarious miscreants?”

“No. Look at this: In 1979, right after the funeral for Edward Ickleby …”

Judy scrolled down through the newspaper article. A picture popped up of a nasty-looking man with a mullet haircut.

“That’s him!” said Zack. “Eddie Boy! The guy Aunt Ginny and I had to, you know, take care of on Halloween night.”

“I take it this Eddie Boy was a ghost?” said Mrs. Emerson.

“Yeah,” said Zack. Mrs. Emerson was a big believer in supernatural stuff, so it was okay to tell her the truth. “He looked just like that picture until Aunt Ginny stunned him with the sage stink bomb and started chanting at him. Then he disappeared.”

“Interesting. The Native Americans often used white sage in a sacred smoke bowl blessing to dispel evil spirits from their midst. I see that the Jennings sisters are still dabbling in spiritual herbology.”

“Did you know them?” asked Judy. “When they lived here in North Chester?”

“Not very well. They are, after all, several years older than me. But one did hear stories.”

“What kind?” said Zack.

“Oh, several of the local gossips claimed that the Jennings sisters were, well … different. They were known to dabble in herbs and potions. Spent a good deal of time at the Hedge Pig Emporium on Main Street, where they sell all manner of nontraditional remedies.”

“They also make a mean milk shake,” said Zack.

“Indeed? Never heard that.”

“Aunt Ginny told me.”

“I see. She’s quite a character, your great-aunt. They say in her youth, Virginia Jennings would spend many nights out in the woods, talking to owls and raccoons—communing with their spirits. She and her two sisters, Sophie and Hannah, liked to dance in the misty meadow out near Spratling Manor whenever the moon was full. I am told they danced au naturel.”

“Excuse me?” said Zack.

“They would dance about naked.”

Zack closed his eyes and tried not to think about what that might’ve looked like.

“And of course,” said Mrs. Emerson, “none of the Jennings girls was ever without a cat or two. One of which was always black.”

“Did people say they were witches?” blurted Zack. “Because that’s what I think. When Aunt Ginny did the sage deal and started chanting at the ghost, that’s when I said, ‘Yep, Dad’s aunt is a witch.’ ”

He heaved a sigh of relief. He was glad he’d finally said it out loud.

“Oh-kay,” said Judy, “let’s just say George’s aunts are a bit peculiar. Here’s how the Jenningses and the Icklebys get all tangled up together.”

She clicked the computer mouse and brought up the next page of the newspaper article.

Zack just prayed it wasn’t a story about naked moon dancing.