The Black Heart Crypt Page 4

  “Norman, if you don’t mind, could you run down to the cellar? Mrs. Floyd is looking for an eight-foot stepladder.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Thank you. Stephen?”

  “Yeah, Herm?”

  “Perhaps you can lend Norman a hand with the ladder?”

  “Nah.” He popped a fistful of candy corn into his mouth. “I’m on my break.”

  “Oh. I see. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “Yeah, well now you do.”

  “Right.” Norman’s dad peeled another antacid tablet off his foil-wrapped roll. “Well, I’ll be in my office.”

  “Great,” said Snertz. “I’ll be in the back. With the appliances.”

  Norman rolled his eyes. That meant Snertz would be watching college football on TV for the rest of the afternoon while Norman hauled stepladders up from the cellar.

  Ten minutes later, Norman was ringing up Mrs. Jessie Floyd at the cash register.

  Stephen Snertz was in the back of the store, screaming at the TV screens.

  Apparently, one of the referees was an idiot.

  Norman’s dad was still in his office. With the door locked. He liked to hide in there a lot.

  “Can you help me carry this to my car?” asked Mrs. Floyd, who was about sixty years old.

  “I guess,” said Norman. He came out from behind the counter and hoisted the eight-foot stepladder off the floor. The thing felt like it weighed five hundred pounds, even though the sticker on its side claimed it only weighed twenty-six point two. “Stephen? Watch the register. I’m helping Mrs. Floyd.”

  “What?” Snertz shouted, unable to hear him over the roar of eight different football games on eight different TVs.

  So Norman swung around to repeat himself.

  The ladder swung with him and took out the display racks in front of the counter. Rolls of duct tape went flying.

  Norman spun back around.

  This time, he took out everything stacked on top of the counter: washers, wing nuts, the disco-dancing Frankenstein doll, the plastic pumpkin, and the entire key and key ring rack.

  “Smooth move, Ex-Lax!” shouted Snertz. “What a wimp. Just like your old man!”

  Head down, Norman Ickes shuffled out the front door, toting Mrs. Floyd’s ladder.

  She was snickering at him, too.

  Norman’s shoulders sagged.

  Stephen Snertz was right.

  He was a wimp. Just like his father.

  They should call their hardware store Wimp & Son. Better yet, Wimp & Wimpier.

  People were gawking at Jenny Ballard as she drifted up the sidewalks of Main Street.

  They weren’t used to seeing anyone walking around North Chester in a hooded cape. She passed two young boys, maybe ten or twelve years old, sipping soft drinks and straddling their bikes.

  “Hey, witch lady,” said the chubby one. “Aren’t you a little early? Halloween isn’t until Monday!”

  Jenny turned to glare at the boys. Smiling devilishly, she wondered what the chubby one might look like as a honey-baked ham or, perhaps, a donkey.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned those spells yet.

  Besides, she had work to do. For the voice!

  She continued up Main Street, past the town clock tower, past the Hedge Pig Emporium (a shop that sold herbs and extracts to crunchy granola–type people), past the North Chester Book Nook and Yankee Doodle Dry Cleaners.

  All the stores had posters in their windows for something called Nightmare on Main Street—a Halloween Fun Fest. Sounded pretty lame to Jenny.

  When she reached the Ickes & Son Hardware store, she suddenly stopped.

  “Bring him to us on All Hallows’ Eve!” whispered the strange crow’s voice in her head.

  She glanced through the plate-glass window.

  Saw a nerdy guy in an ugly tie cleaning up a mess on the floor.

  “Bring him to us!”

  “Him?” Jenny said out loud.

  “Him!”

  “They land first thing tomorrow morning,” said Zack’s father. “Bradley Airport.”

  “It’ll be good to see them again,” said Judy. “Um, could you remind me of their names? I met so many people at the wedding.”

  “Sure. Aunt Hannah—she’s the oldest—Aunt Sophie, and Aunt Ginny. Ginny’s the youngest.”

  “How young?” asked Zack, who vaguely remembered meeting three little old ladies at his real mom’s funeral and then at his dad and Judy’s wedding.

  “Aunt Ginny is seventy-seven.”

  Oh, yeah, thought Zack. She’s practically an infant.

  Zack, Judy, and his dad were sitting in the dining room, passing around a pizza box. This was their usual Saturday dinner. It was easy for Judy to fix; all she had to do was pick up the phone. Zipper was hunkered down beneath the table, ready to pounce on any stray pepperonis that fell his way.

  “I guess you should probably call them Aunt Hannah, Aunt Sophie, and Aunt Ginny, too, Zack,” his dad said, “even though, technically, they’re your great-aunts. And, Zack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re nothing like Aunt Francine.”

  Aunt Francine was his real mother’s sister. She had always hated Zack.

  “These three are your good aunts.”

  Zack smiled. “I thought you said they were my great aunts.”

  His dad laughed. “They are. Especially Ginny. You’ll see. They’ll stay with us for a few days and then head back to Florida.”

  “Um, Dad?”

  “Yeah, Zack?”

  “Why exactly are they coming?”

  “Remember how I told you I used to see ghosts when I was your age?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Aunt Ginny was the only one I could talk to about it.”

  “How come?”

  “My mother had already passed away and my dad was too busy, being sheriff and all. Besides, I figured he’d just think I was a big baby if I told him the truth.”

  Zack could relate. He’d felt the same way. It was why he only told his dad about his “gift” after his father had already seen it in action.

  “Anyway, after I talked to Aunt Ginny—poof! The ghosts left me alone.”

  “I thought that happened when you turned thirteen,” said Judy.

  “Right. Aunt Ginny and I talked on my birthday; dead people never bothered me again.”

  “Zack?” said Judy.

  “Yeah?”

  “We know you don’t need Aunt Ginny or anybody to babysit you. But with Halloween coming, your dad and I figured we should take some extra precautions. Besides, Aunt Ginny’s family. She’ll have your best interests at heart.”

  Zack raised an eyebrow.

  Judy knew about Zack’s real mother. How she had belittled and berated him. Susan Potter Jennings had never, ever had Zack’s best interests at heart.

  “I think Aunt Ginny will be different, hon,” said Judy.

  Zack nodded. “Okay.”

  “Great,” said his dad.

  “We’re going to need the two guest bedrooms plus your room while they’re here,” said Judy. “You and Zipper okay with camping out down in the rumpus room?”

  “Sure,” said Zack.

  The rumpus room was where he had his video games hooked up to their old TV. There was also a mini-fridge stocked with soft drinks and chocolate milk, plus a microwave oven for popcorn.

  “I guess Zip and I can rough it on the couch down there for a couple nights.”

  “Great,” said Judy.

  “Their plane lands at nine,” said his dad. “You want to ride out to the airport with me, Zack?”

  “Sure.”

  His father chuckled. “They’ll probably have a ton of luggage. They always do. They might even bring their cats.”

  “Cats?” said Judy.

  “Yeah. They each have one.”

  Under the table, Zipper grumbled.

  He sounded like he was looking forward to this visit about as much as Zack was.


  On Sunday morning, Zack and his dad stood in the baggage claim area at Connecticut’s Bradley Airport, waiting for the aunts to arrive.

  All sorts of people were milling around, staring up at the arrivals monitor or over at the hallway where the passengers on flight 33 from Miami would soon appear.

  Zack saw a strangely dressed young airplane pilot wandering around the empty baggage carousel. Judging by his uniform, Zack knew he didn’t work for any of the airlines.

  The guy was wearing a World War II flight suit and a goggled helmet. He also had a cockpit seat strapped to his butt. Whenever he walked past someone in the crowd, they would shiver like they just drank a Slurpee too fast.

  Nobody but Zack saw the ghost of the World War II flying ace.

  Well, the dog working with the security patrol probably saw him, but it was too busy sniffing stuff to snarl at the antique aviator.

  Zack’s dad, who the guy almost bumped into as he loped around the baggage carousel, didn’t see the pilot, proving that he had once again lost his ghost-seeing abilities.

  “Georgie?” yodeled a sweet voice. “Yoo-hoo. Georgie?”

  The ghost vanished.

  Zack turned around and saw three white-haired ladies toddling up the wide terminal in a flying wedge formation. The yodeling one, the one in the middle, was wearing a flowery dress and hiking boots. Smiling and laughing, she stretched her arms out wide.

  “Oh, Georgie! Let me look at you. You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

  “You too, Aunt Ginny!” They hugged. Zack smelled petunias. Aunt Ginny must like flowery perfume.

  “Hello, Zachary,” said the tall aunt on the left. She looked as brittle as stick candy and had more wrinkles on her face than Zack had in his pajamas.

  “Oh me, oh my,” giggled the chubby one on the right, who had bazoombas the size of Paproski’s prizewinning pumpkins. “Hello, Zachary, hello!” She squeezed his cheeks. “You’re so cute, I could gobble you up.”

  Zack smiled even though she looked like she might actually eat children for breakfast. With syrup and lots of butter.

  “You’ve certainly grown since the wedding,” said the tall one very matter-of-factly.

  “He sure has, Aunt Hannah,” said Zack’s dad.

  “Must be eating right,” said the pudgy one with the pillow chest.

  “Zack, you remember Aunt Ginny, Aunt Sophie, and Aunt Hannah?”

  “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

  “And how’s Judy?” gushed Aunt Ginny.

  “Great. She’s at home.”

  “Is she fixing breakfast?” asked Aunt Sophie, eagerly fluttering her eyelids behind her gigantically round glasses. “They only fed us sugar cookies and peanuts on the plane. Will there be snacks in the car, Georgie?”

  “First things first,” said Aunt Hannah, who Zack figured was the boss. “Where is our luggage?” She glared at the unmoving baggage conveyor belt. “We had to pay to check our bags. Having paid, you’d think—”

  An air horn blared three times and an alarm bell rang.

  The conveyor belt started up. Suitcases immediately slid down the chute.

  “Oh, goody!” said Sophie. “Here come our trunks.”

  “Come on, Zack,” said his dad. “Give me a hand here.”

  Zack and his dad stepped up to the conveyor belt. Three antique footlockers, the kind magicians and cruise passengers pack their gear in, trundled down the chute.

  “Those are ours,” decreed Hannah.

  “And those, too,” said Aunt Ginny, gesturing toward three hefty satchels made out of paisley-swirled carpet and clasped at the top with fancy brass hardware.

  “You sure you ladies packed enough?” Zack’s dad asked as he heaved the first trunk off the carousel.

  “Well,” said Ginny, “we didn’t know exactly what we might need, so we packed everything.”

  “What Virginia meant to say,” said Aunt Hannah, “is that your weather up here is rather unpredictable, much different from what we enjoy down in Florida.”

  “Oh, yes,” Aunt Sophie chimed in. “That’s what Virginia meant to say. It’s the weather. We brought several different wardrobes.”

  “By wardrobes, do you mean furniture?” Zack’s dad joked. “These things are heavier than a chest of drawers!”

  Zack helped his dad lug the second trunk onto a rolling cart.

  “And here comes our most precious cargo!” chirped Aunt Ginny as an airline porter rolled a wagon carrying three pet carriers toward them. “Our kitties!”

  “So you brought all your cats?” said Zack’s dad.

  “Heavens, no,” sniffed Hannah. “Just the three who aren’t afraid to fly.”

  Once the trunks and bags and cats were loaded into the back of the family van, Zack and his dad helped the elderly aunts step up into the vehicle.

  Aunt Hannah, claiming seniority, would be riding shotgun.

  Zack sat in the back on the bench seat, sandwiched between ginormous Aunt Sophie and smiling Aunt Ginny. Actually, Sophie was so wide-bottomed, Zack and Ginny were basically sharing the right half of the bench.

  “ ‘Bradley Airport,’ ” said Aunt Ginny, reading the big road sign as they drove past it. “ ‘Welcome to Connecticut. The Constitution State. Enjoy Your Visit.’ Do you read billboards, Zack?”

  “Well, not out loud …”

  “Oh, it’s an excellent way to sharpen one’s reading skills, don’t you think?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you know why they call this Bradley Airport?” Aunt Ginny was beaming at Zack the way a good teacher does, the kind who wants you to learn everything she already knows.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s all right. Very few people in Connecticut do. You see, the airfield was named after a World War II fighter pilot named Eugene Bradley, a young man from Antlers, Oklahoma, who, during a training exercise, crashed his plane in the woods just north of here.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Lieutenant Bradley was the first fatality at what, in 1941, was a brand-new army air base.”

  “Neat. So, how come you know all this stuff?”

  “Don’t forget, dear: Hannah, Sophie, and I grew up in North Chester with your grandpa Jim.”

  “Right.”

  Now Aunt Ginny leaned in closer and covered her mouth so she and Zack could share a secret.

  “I also think the plane crash is why Lieutenant Bradley is forever pacing around that baggage carousel. He must be looking for his lost flight bag.”

  Zack’s eyes widened.

  Aunt Ginny winked.

  She’d seen the pilot with the seat strapped to his seat, too!

  “Oh, my!” gushed Aunt Sophie. “This food tastes delicious! Mmm!”

  The whole family, all six Jenningses, was seated around the big dining room table, which Judy had decorated with gourds, a couple of carved pumpkins, and dried leaves to give it a real Halloween feel.

  She of course hadn’t spent nearly as much time cooking as she had decorating, because she was less likely to set off the smoke detector decorating. Judy had picked up dinner at the closest chain restaurant where they brought your food to the parking lot.

  “I have now read all of your Curiosity Cat books, Judy,” said Aunt Ginny. “They’re quite good. I would imagine it’s not easy telling an amusing, entertaining, and educational tale with so few words.”

  “That’s right,” said Zack’s dad. “That’s why Judy’s won so many awards.”

  “Well, this garlic herb chicken deserves an award, too,” said Ginny. “It’s scrumptious. Absolutely scrumptious.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” added Aunt Sophie, her mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Scrumdillyicious.”

  “Thank you,” said Judy. “It’s our neighbor Mrs. Applebee’s secret recipe.”

  “And where does this Applebee family live?” asked Hannah, who, Zack had quickly discovered, didn’t have much of a sense of humor. (Hannah hadn’t liked it much when Aunt Ginny and Zack swapped gross
-out jokes on the ride home from the airport.)

  “So,” said Zack’s dad, trying to change the subject, “are your rooms okay, ladies?”

  “Fine,” said Sophie, tearing open a roll.

  “They’ll do,” said Hannah.

  “The pillows could be fluffier, I suppose,” said Sophie, slathering a gob of butter on her roll.

  “And, of course, I’m allergic to feathers,” added Hannah.

  “Well, my room is marvelous!” said Ginny.

  “You got my bedroom,” said Zack.

  “Really? Where are you sleeping?”

  “Downstairs. With Zipper.”

  Zipper was out in the backyard, probably hunkered down inside his doghouse, strategizing the best way to do battle with the newly arrived cats, all of which came equipped with the “claws of fury” feature.

  “We may need to do some shopping,” pronounced Aunt Hannah. “After all, tomorrow is Halloween.”

  “We already have candy to hand out,” said Judy. “Miniature Butterfingers and Baby Ruths.”

  “And where do you store those?” asked Aunt Sophie, fluttering her eyelids again.

  “Sophia?” scolded Hannah.

  “Sorry.”

  “We need to purchase certain items at the Hedge Pig Emporium to aid Zachary with his paranormal proclivities.”

  Zack figured “paranormal proclivities” meant he could see ghosts.

  “I trust the Hedge Pig is still open, George?”

  “Yes, Aunt Hannah,” said Zack’s dad. “I think so. I haven’t thought about that old place in ages.”

  “Good. That is how it should be.”

  “Oh, yes,” echoed Sophie. “Indeed. As it should be.”

  “We went to the Hedge Pig Emporium on your birthday once. Remember, Georgie?” said Aunt Ginny.

  “Really?”

  “The ladies in the back made you a milk shake. Chocolate, if I recall.”

  “Oh, right. When I turned thirteen.”

  Aunt Ginny winked at Zack again.

  His dad’s thirteenth birthday was when he had stopped seeing ghosts. Zack wondered if it was just a coincidence or if the Hedge Pig people used Ghostbusters ice cream in their milk shakes.