The Black Heart Crypt

Zipper led the way up Haddam Hill to the cemetery.

Zack, Judy, and Aunt Ginny were right behind him; the other two aunts were right behind them.

Aunt Ginny was carrying her stuffed carpetbag, which looked like something Mary Poppins would bring on a nanny job. Zack figured it was full of sage candles, potions, and powders—plus all the pliers he had grabbed from his dad’s toolbox out in the garage.

“Aunt Ginny?” said Zack.

“Yes, dear?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Back in 1979, why didn’t you guys just toss a bunch of sage grenades into that first Ickleby crypt, the one at Saint Barnabas church, and get rid of all the evil spirits?”

“Sage only stuns ghosts who have fully materialized.”

“So you have to see ’em to freeze ’em?”

“Well put, Zack. That’s exactly why we need to make a new sealing stone—to lock up all the evil Ickleby souls who have not yet found a blood relative to dybbuk. As for Crazy Izzy—well, I suppose we’ll need to do an exorcism on Norman Ickes the minute the police arrest him.”

“How long will it take to make a new black heart stone?” asked Judy.

“Several days, I’m afraid. Creating the outer shell is actually the easy part. We simply need to acquire the services of a sculptor who knows how to work with obsidian. The blacker heart at the center, that’s a bit more complicated.”

“Because it’s so tiny?” said Zack.

“It’s not the size that makes the process difficult. What’s hard is capturing and distilling the essence of a family’s soul.”

“Wow,” said Judy. “How do you do that?”

“Well, first we must obtain a tooth from the eldest ancestor available to us—in this case, Barnabas.”

“A tooth?” Zack and Judy said at the same time.

“That’s right. Teeth last a very long time after death and retain the traits passed on from generation to generation.”

“You mean a family’s genes and DNA?” said Judy.

“That and all the good and bad carried across generations. The kind words spoken as well as the evil thoughts bit back. The holy prayers uttered and the foul curses sworn. Any tooth decay will, of course, hint at an evil festering beneath a deceptively bright and shiny surface. Oh, yes, when you extract a tooth from a dead man’s skull, you glean much, much more than a molar or a bicuspid. You see, teeth, just like families, have deep roots. Extract a tooth and you will extract a family’s true identity.”

“Oh-kay,” said Judy. “If you say so.”

“Um,” said Zack, “have you told any dentists about this?”

“No, dear. It might give them delusions of grandeur. Now, once you have the tooth, you must smelt it with certain acids and mix it with onyx crystals while you chant a few very powerful words only … herbologists … know. And, you must be very, very careful while handling the finished onyx heart.”

“How come?”

“If that heart shatters, the soul of the man whose tooth you used to create it will be sent straight to the underworld.”

“Barnabas, right?”

Aunt Ginny nodded.

“But he was a good guy.”

“Exactly. That’s why we must be careful. We don’t want to accidentally send a good soul like Barnabas … downstairs. We simply used his tooth because he was the oldest Ickleby we could locate in America.”

Zack’s foot slipped in a muddy furrow.

“Wow. Check out all these tire tracks,” he said, looking down and studying the graveyard’s rutted dirt road.

“This is where the police cars were, I’ll bet,” said Judy.

“Maybe this is the only hideout Crazy Izzy knew,” said Zack. “Maybe he brought Norman’s body up here to hide.”

“I don’t know, Zack,” said Judy. “There were a lot of police. They would’ve found him. Right?”

She sounded unsure.

Zack could relate.

What if Crazy Izzy, who, after all, had been a gangster, had outfoxed Sheriff Hargrove? What if he’d crawled into a crypt, opened a casket, shoved aside a skeleton, and lowered the lid or something?

Judy swung her flashlight from side to side; its beam cut across headstones and marble crosses and weeping angel statues.

No Norman, thank goodness.

Zack looked at the Ickleby crypt.

The heart-shaped lock had been busted open. It was dangling from its hasp between the two wooden doors.

He heard a squishy noise behind him.

“Oh, dear,” said Aunt Ginny, bracing her hand against a gravestone so she could examine her shoe. “I believe I just stepped in horse poop.”

Zipper trotted over to sniff the sole. Zack could see a big glob of straw-flecked muck at the base of Aunt Ginny’s heel. Horse poop.

“Aunt Ginny?” said Zack.

“Yes, dear?”

“When we accidentally opened the black heart stone, would that automatically make the lock on the Ickleby crypt pop open, too?”

“No, dear. The black heart stone functions on a different metaphysical plane than an actual lock.”

“Then somebody broke open the real one, because it was clamped shut the last time I was up here.”

Judy gasped. “Horse poop!”

“I beg your pardon?” said Aunt Hannah.

“The TV said Norman stole a horse.”

“Oh, my,” said Aunt Sophie.

“Zack’s right,” said Judy. “The dybbuk could still be here. We need to call the police.”

Just then, a ghost materialized—at the entrance to the Ickleby crypt!