The Black Heart Crypt

“Open it,” snarled Jack the Lantern as Father Abercrombie fumbled through his heavy key ring, searching for the skeleton key to the hardened steel lock on the empty Ickleby crypt.

“M-maybe,” the priest stammered, “you might find what you seek inside the church?”

“No. The crypt is where I hid my two strongboxes many, many years ago.”

“Two?” said Father Abercrombie, sounding surprised.

Jack put a hand on Father Abercrombie’s shoulder. The squirmy old man looked up, fear filling his eyes.

“Tell me, Padre, did you or your predecessors happen to chance upon my buried treasures?”

Father Abercrombie swallowed hard. “Just the one.”

“I see,” croaked Jack, icy calm in his voice. “Which one? The guns or the gold?”

“I didn’t mean to. I swear by all that is sacred. I was simply—”

“Which one? The guns or the gold?”

Another hard swallow.

“The gold.”

“I see. And how much did you leave for me?”

“This was fifteen, twenty years ago. After my wife died. After my congregation dwindled and there wasn’t enough money in the collection plate to—”

Jack grabbed Father Abercrombie by the collar and raised him off the ground. The longer he remained inside Norman Ickes’s body, the stronger the young man became, his muscles fueled by Barnabas Ickleby’s surging hatred and rage.

“How much is left, old man?”

“None! I spent it all!”

Jack opened his hand and let the priest fall.

“Very well,” he said, the calm returning to his croaking voice. “ ’Tis but a minor setback. For as long as there are children to kidnap and hold for ransom, Jack the Lantern can always acquire more gold. However, to do so, I will most assuredly need my old weapons.”

“Your weapons?”

“Yes. Unlock the lock, you sniveling worm!”

The priest did as he was told.