The Black Heart Crypt

“So, this is Spratling Manor?” said the nervous priest as he drove the stolen car under the arched gates at the entrance to the estate.

“Yes,” croaked his masked passenger.

“They’re the ones who had the spare burial chamber,” Father Abercrombie prattled on. “The Spratlings. Unusual name. One you remember. Spratling.”

“Pull up to the carriage house.”

A black raven cawed at them from its perch on the building’s roof.

“A crow sitting on a house is an evil omen,” commented the priest. “It means someone will die here. Tonight.”

The masked man gestured with his twin pistols. “Step out.”

“It’s late. I really should head back to—”

“Out! Now!”

The priest stepped out of the car. The raven swooped down to land with a hollow thud on top of the automobile. Jack the Lantern extended his arm. The bird hopped over to it like a falcon to a falconer.

“Fly, my dark friend. Seek out the Jennings boy. Bring me word of his whereabouts, for come the new day, I shall head out to strike him down.”

The bird took off like a shot, its broad black wings blocking out the moon as it circled overhead.

Much to Father Abercrombie’s surprise, the masked man brought a hand up to his jagged mouth hole and yawned.

“I must rest. I have become uncomfortably drowsy. I had forgotten how human bodies wear down on a daily basis.”

“Yes,” said Father Abercrombie urgently. “Sleep will do you good. It’s so quiet and peaceful here, you should sleep quite soundly. No noise at all …”

“There is no noise because we are surrounded by forest, Father. The trees swallow up all sound.” Jack the Lantern once more raised his double pistols. “By the by, that evil omen you spoke of will prove true. Someone will, indeed, die at this house tonight. You.”

The devil squeezed the triggers. Two flints sparked.

Father Abercrombie heard the roar of the twin gunpowder blasts.

And then he heard nothing.