breath.
“That’s it, Norman,” said Jenny. “Breathe. Nice and easy.”
A smirk curled Norman’s lip. “What’s your name again?”
“Jenny. Remember?”
Norman stood up. His legs seemed kind of rubbery as he dusted off his pants. “Sure, sure. Jenny. You’re the dame Barnabas has been bossin’ around.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s this?” Norman, more uncoordinated than usual, dug into his pocket and pulled out a black stone shaped like a heart. “Well, ring-a-ding-ding. Your Norman was a swell egg. Scamming the charm off the witches? That’s smooth.”
“Huh?”
“This here’s the warden’s key, toots.” The man who looked like Norman tossed the shiny stone up and caught it as if it were a black apple. “So, did you bring the knife?”
“Yes, Norman. I did everything the raven voice told me to do.”
“Atta girl. Fork it over.”
Jenny handed the weapon, which had a curved blade on the bottom and jagged saw teeth on the top, to the man who really wasn’t Norman anymore.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Are you one of Norman’s deceased ancestors?”
“That’s right. My friends used to call me Izzy. Crazy Izzy Ickleby.”
“When did you die?”
“About seventy years before you.”
“What? I’m not—”
Before Jenny could say “dead,” the man who used to be Norman jammed the knife blade into her stomach and twisted it sharply to the right.
“Say hello to all my pals on the other side, toots.”
And those were the last words Jenny Ballard ever heard.
Around ten , Judy sat down in the breakfast nook with a second cup of coffee and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was the morning after Halloween. Zack and the whole family had survived. Yes, there would be some expenses related to the damages at Ickes & Son Hardware and they’d need to fix up the porch railing where it had been scarred by a ghost’s extremely lethal knife, but all in all, things could have been worse.
Now it was November 1, the sun was shining, George had gone down to New York City on the 7:10 train, Zack had taken the bus to school, and Judy had the house to herself. Well, except for George’s three aunts, who seemed to be sleeping in.
Zipper sank into his doggy bed and let out his own long sigh. Poor guy looked bushed.
“Relax, Zip,” said Judy. “Halloween is officially over.”
That was when George’s three aunts bustled through the kitchen, making a beeline for the back door.
“Good morning, Judy,” chirped Aunt Ginny as she bobbled by.
Aunt Hannah and Aunt Sophie were right behind her.
“Good morning, ladies,” said Judy. “Hey, I was wondering—should we talk some more about last night and all these Icklebys?”
“We were wondering the same thing,” huffed Aunt Hannah. “Sisters? Outside. Now!”
“Can I come with you?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Aunt Sophie. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Huh?”
“Enjoy your coffee, dear,” said Aunt Ginny. “We really don’t have anything to talk about besides this lovely weather.…”
“Oh, yes we do, Virginia!” said Hannah.
The three sisters, trailed by their three cats, scuttled out the back door.
Judy gave the ladies a few seconds and then slipped over to the sink so she could spy on them through the curtains.
The three of them were standing in a circle around the kettle-shaped barbecue grill.
“Perhaps we should eat breakfast first?” said Aunt Sophie.
“No,” fumed Aunt Hannah. “Virginia, you did this, didn’t you?”
“I did not!” said Ginny. “But now that they’re out, we need to act swiftly. I think we should—”
Suddenly, Ginny glanced at the kitchen window.
Judy hurriedly retreated from the sink, returned to the breakfast nook, and snapped on the countertop TV so she could pretend that was what she’d been doing all along if Aunt Ginny came back in.
“And in local news,” said the television anchorwoman, “police suspect foul play in the Haddam Hill Cemetery outside North Chester, where,
“That’s it, Norman,” said Jenny. “Breathe. Nice and easy.”
A smirk curled Norman’s lip. “What’s your name again?”
“Jenny. Remember?”
Norman stood up. His legs seemed kind of rubbery as he dusted off his pants. “Sure, sure. Jenny. You’re the dame Barnabas has been bossin’ around.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s this?” Norman, more uncoordinated than usual, dug into his pocket and pulled out a black stone shaped like a heart. “Well, ring-a-ding-ding. Your Norman was a swell egg. Scamming the charm off the witches? That’s smooth.”
“Huh?”
“This here’s the warden’s key, toots.” The man who looked like Norman tossed the shiny stone up and caught it as if it were a black apple. “So, did you bring the knife?”
“Yes, Norman. I did everything the raven voice told me to do.”
“Atta girl. Fork it over.”
Jenny handed the weapon, which had a curved blade on the bottom and jagged saw teeth on the top, to the man who really wasn’t Norman anymore.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Are you one of Norman’s deceased ancestors?”
“That’s right. My friends used to call me Izzy. Crazy Izzy Ickleby.”
“When did you die?”
“About seventy years before you.”
“What? I’m not—”
Before Jenny could say “dead,” the man who used to be Norman jammed the knife blade into her stomach and twisted it sharply to the right.
“Say hello to all my pals on the other side, toots.”
And those were the last words Jenny Ballard ever heard.
Around ten , Judy sat down in the breakfast nook with a second cup of coffee and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was the morning after Halloween. Zack and the whole family had survived. Yes, there would be some expenses related to the damages at Ickes & Son Hardware and they’d need to fix up the porch railing where it had been scarred by a ghost’s extremely lethal knife, but all in all, things could have been worse.
Now it was November 1, the sun was shining, George had gone down to New York City on the 7:10 train, Zack had taken the bus to school, and Judy had the house to herself. Well, except for George’s three aunts, who seemed to be sleeping in.
Zipper sank into his doggy bed and let out his own long sigh. Poor guy looked bushed.
“Relax, Zip,” said Judy. “Halloween is officially over.”
That was when George’s three aunts bustled through the kitchen, making a beeline for the back door.
“Good morning, Judy,” chirped Aunt Ginny as she bobbled by.
Aunt Hannah and Aunt Sophie were right behind her.
“Good morning, ladies,” said Judy. “Hey, I was wondering—should we talk some more about last night and all these Icklebys?”
“We were wondering the same thing,” huffed Aunt Hannah. “Sisters? Outside. Now!”
“Can I come with you?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Aunt Sophie. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Huh?”
“Enjoy your coffee, dear,” said Aunt Ginny. “We really don’t have anything to talk about besides this lovely weather.…”
“Oh, yes we do, Virginia!” said Hannah.
The three sisters, trailed by their three cats, scuttled out the back door.
Judy gave the ladies a few seconds and then slipped over to the sink so she could spy on them through the curtains.
The three of them were standing in a circle around the kettle-shaped barbecue grill.
“Perhaps we should eat breakfast first?” said Aunt Sophie.
“No,” fumed Aunt Hannah. “Virginia, you did this, didn’t you?”
“I did not!” said Ginny. “But now that they’re out, we need to act swiftly. I think we should—”
Suddenly, Ginny glanced at the kitchen window.
Judy hurriedly retreated from the sink, returned to the breakfast nook, and snapped on the countertop TV so she could pretend that was what she’d been doing all along if Aunt Ginny came back in.
“And in local news,” said the television anchorwoman, “police suspect foul play in the Haddam Hill Cemetery outside North Chester, where,
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