The Black Heart Crypt

Zack was standing closest to the ghost.

This one was wearing a three-piece striped suit, a necktie with hula girls painted on it, and an old-fashioned fedora. He looked like the mobsters in black-and-white movies. He also looked like he’d just lost a boxing match or something.

“Go ahead, you dirty rats,” the ghost groaned, doubled over with pain. “Call the coppers. See if I care! That grifter turned me into a stinking patsy.”

“Um, are you Crazy Izzy Ickleby?” Zack asked, remembering the name from the TV news.

“Yeah, kid. That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

“Crazy Izzy!” shouted Aunt Sophie. “That’s our Ickleby! The one we’re looking for!” She sparked the tip of a sage flare and tossed it at Crazy Izzy’s feet. “Hurry, girls! We’ve got him!”

“Wait,” coughed Izzy, who, thanks to the sage, couldn’t budge. “Cut me some slack, toots.…”

Aunt Sophie started chanting.

“It is time for you to leave here.”

Hannah and Ginny joined in.

“All is well. There is nothing here for you now.”

Crazy Izzy was starting to fade. “You ditzy dames. Why you doin’ this to me? I ain’t done nothin’ to youse!”

The three sisters chanted faster.

“Itistimeforyoutoleavehere. Alliswell. Thereisnothinghereforyounow.”

“I ain’t the one you want!”

Crazy Izzy vanished.

“Quick,” said Aunt Ginny. “Look for Norman Ickes. The dybbuk was foolish enough to exit his body. Hopefully, the real Norman is somewhere close by and is still in possession of the original black heart stone!”

“Mr. Ickes is most likely exhausted by his unwelcomed possession,” said Aunt Hannah. “He could be sleeping it off.”

“The crypt!” said Aunt Sophie. “He’s probably inside the crypt, taking a nap!”

“Hurry,” said Aunt Ginny. “If he still has the charm, we can lock them all away again!”

Zipper barked.

Zack bolted for the mausoleum doors.

Before he could grab the handles, another ghost materialized—right on the front step!

Zack yanked back his hand. His arm prickled with icy goose bumps as it passed through the specter’s materializing form.

This Ickleby ghost looked like a riverboat gambler.

“My goodness, Zachary, back again? You certainly are a bothersome brat, much like a booger we simply can’t thump off.”

“Where’s Norman Ickes?” said Zack.

“The hardware-store clerk?”

“Yeah. We need to talk to him.”

“Oh, Norman’s not talking to anyone tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Barnabas won’t let him.”