“Train how?”
“Well …” Tweed attempted to frame an explanation in a way that Feedback would understand. “You’re always playing those zombie-smasher games, right?”
“Right,” Feedback said warily.
“Well, if a real zombie apocalypse happened, you’d most likely have an advantage over regular, non-gamey people, right?”
“I guess …”
“Well, it’s kind of like that with us. We know monsters because we watch monster movies.”
“They’re like training videos with popcorn!” Cheryl grinned.
“Oh, man … I could totally go for popcorn right now!” Feedback lamented.
Wordlessly, Tweed fished a chocolate-chip granola bar out of her knapsack and handed it over to Feedback, who seemed to have come to the Hecklestone Great Sitter Challenge expecting to raid the fridge in epic sitter style.
“Thanks!” he said, and unwrapped the bar, devouring it in only a few bites. “You know, it might sound kinda selfish, but I’m glad you guys are all trapped in here, too. I mean, I’d hate to be in here all by myself.”
“I wonder if Cindy and Hazel are saying that very same thing right now,” Tweed mused, wondering that the rival duo had yet to really put in an appearance.
Cheryl slapped the index card against her palm, lost in thought. “So …” she said. “Ectoplasm, huh?”
“Yessiree,” Simon said.
“Which is … what again, exactly?” Pilot asked.
“Hard to describe,” Simon said. “It’s sort of a weird sticky residue they used to find at seances or in haunted houses. Evidence of the spirit realm left behind from close encounters with the astral plane.”
“You know,” Cheryl said, “ghost goop.”
“Spectral slime,” Tweed elaborated.
Artie grimaced. “Yuck.”
“Like … uh … that stuff?” Feedback pointed to the corner of the room, where a creeping grey film of gelatinous goop was starting to drip menacingly from the ceiling.
10 THE LEAGUE OF AWESOME
‘‘Please tell me this is just one of the sitter challenges,” Feedback said, backing away, wide-eyed, from the creeping ooze. “This place really isn’t haunted. And that’s not ecto-goop. It’s just … Jell-O, right? Harmless, right?”
“Eeww …” Cheryl shuddered as a thick glop of ectoplasm hit the black-and-white carpet with a noise like a giant slug belching. The carpet began to sizzle and tendrils of vaporous smoke began to rise like fog. The stench was overwhelming—like rotten eggs and burnt rubber. “Challenging, yes,” she said. “Harmless … I wouldn’t go that far.”
“We’ve gotta get outta here!” Tweed exclaimed.
“Look!” Artie pointed at the bookshelves behind them, which had been empty only moments earlier, but were now filled floor to ceiling with heavy, leather-bound books, bronze ornaments and scientific oddments. Where the little round table had been bare before except for a cloth covering it, there now sat a large, gleaming crystal ball on an elaborately decorative brass base.
“Holy moly,” Cheryl said, pointing to the glassy globe. “The old Heckster must have held a whole buncha seances in here. This room is probably crawling with spectral whammitude …”
“How are we going to get out of here?” Artie asked nervously.
“We’ll have to work as a team!” Pilot said.
“I can’t do that!” Feedback yelped. He’d gone very pale and was starting to shift nervously from foot to foot. “I’m a loner! I hate multi-player games!”
Cheryl and Tweed exchanged a glance with Pilot. They were going to have to figure out a way to keep Feedback from a complete meltdown.
“I got it! Grab our gear and follow my lead, guys …” Cheryl whispered. Then she turned to Feedback and said, “D’you like superheroes, Feedback?”
“Of course I do,” he said, almost climbing one of the suddenly stocked bookshelves in his anxiousness. “What self-respecting nerd doesn’t like superheroes?”
“Well … Batman’s kind of a loner,” Cheryl said, “and so’s Superman, but they still get together with the Justice League sometimes, right?”
“I’m not a superhero.”
“Not yet.”
As the dripping ooze crept ever closer, Cheryl and Tweed explained the concept of ACTION!! to Feedback. Cheryl figured if they could take Feedback’s mind off the realities of their present predicament, then maybe they could all work together to solve their present predicament.
“You got it?” Artie asked when the brief briefing wrapped up. He’d been a participant—willing and unwilling—in the twins’ bouts of ACTION!! for years and knew the drill. So did Pilot.
“I think so …” Feedback swallowed nervously.
“All right then.” Cheryl nodded decisively. “Cameras rolling … aaaaand …”
“... ACTION!!”
EXT. THE ORBITING HEADQUARTERS OF THE LEAGUE OF AWESOME. Start of a classic “SUPERHERO TEAM ROLL-CALL SEQUENCE.”
MUSIC BEGINS A SLOW BUILD. CAMERA CLOSE-UP on a HAND CLENCHING A MONKEY WRENCH FADING INTO VIEW (SFX: SPARKLY ATOM-TRANSPORTER EFFECT), ONE FINGER BEARS THE LoA INSIGNIA RING. AN IMPRESSIVE VOICE-OVER (I.V.O) VOICE IS HEARD.
I.V.O.
(impressively)
Once a mild-mannered airplane mechanic by day ...
CLOSE-UP shot as HANDSOME YOUNG MECHANIC turns to CAMERA and offers a grin, wink and thumbs-up ...
I.V.O.
A freak lightning storm and a tank of experimental high-test jet fuel combined to create ... FLYBOY!! He soars through the skies zapping evil with his Supersonic Monkey Wrench!
LIGHTNING FLASHES, revealing FLYBOY! In awesome winged costume and mask, brandishing a GLOWING WRENCH.
FLYBOY
(in “catch-phrase” voice)
Fly the friendly skies!!
ATOM-TRANSPORTER SPARKLE is activated again ... revealing a hand, holding a SMARTPHONE with a screen showing detailed techno-schematics, wearing the LoA insignia ring.
I.V.O.
(impressively)
Super-genius, tech-startup multi-gajillionaire by day ...
CLOSE-UP shot of HIP, FUNKY YOUNG DIGITAL ENTREPRENEUR, thumbs a-blur, tapping away on the screen of his device. He makes a FIST, presses his LoA RING to the screen, and GREEN ENERGY CRACKLES UP HIS ARM! ...
I.V.O.
He dedicated his life, super-genius-brain and gajillions of dollars to goodness, fair play and evil-bashing. He is LITHIUM! Battery-powered pro-TECH-tor of the people!
DIGI-ARMOUR encases his lanky frame, FLESH AND TECH BLENDING TOGETHER INTO ONE AWESOME CYBERNETIC SUPER-DUDE.
CAMERA CUTS TO CLOSE-UP of his glowy-eyed helmet, which almost seems to wink.
LITHIUM
(in “catch-phrase” voice)
Level ... UP!!
ATOM-TRANSPORTER SPARKLE is activated again ... revealing the girlish, freckled knuckles of a hand, clenched in a fist, wearing the LoA insignia ring.
I.V.O.
(impressively)
Dynamic, spitfire tomboy to her friends, no one knows the monstrous secret that lurks beneath her freckled skin ...
CLOSE-UP shot of PRETTY, PERKY, FRECKLED YOUNG LASS, TEETH BARED IN A SCARY GRIMACE.
I.V.O.
A million-dollar movie stunt gone wrong, an unmarked toxic waste dump and a hopelessly lost transport truck fully loaded with illegal fireworks combined to create ... THE TOXIC REVENGER!!
TOXIC REVENGER
(in “catch-phrase” GROWL)
KA-BLAAAAMO!!
ATOM-TRANSPORTER SPARKLE is activated yet again ... revealing a pale hand with a black lacquered manicure, fingers splayed, wearing the LoA insignia ring.
I.V.O.
(impressively)
Adventurous expert in the occult, on a journey to investigate an archaeological find in a spider cave deep in the Amazon jungle –-
OFF-CAMERA VOICE
(interrupting)
I don’t like where this is going –-
I.V.O.
(more impressively)
This shy young lass was bitten by a highly venomous, conveniently mutated super-spider –-
OFF-CAMERA VOICE
(interrupting)
Seriously?? I’m not –-
I.V.O.
(even more impressively)
Only to become TARANTU-LASS!!
TARANTU-LASS
(glowering at TOXIC REVENGER)
A spider? We need to talk.
TOXIC REVENGER
(giving a brutish thumbs-up)
RAAAGGHRR!!
ATOM-TRANSPORTER SPARKLE is activated yet one last time ... revealing a white-gloved hand beneath a crisp cuff, embellished with an elegantly stylish cufflink. The LoA insignia ring is visible on one gloved finger as another gloved hand tugs the cuff straight beneath a stylish jacket sleeve.
I.V.O.
(impressively)
Suave, mysterious, impeccably dressed and a hit with the ladies in all the best nightclubs, he is Mister Mysterioso, Master of Shadows!
CLOSE-UP SHOT of a debonair face, half-shrouded in shadows and wearing a black mask over his eyes. He WINKS at the camera.
I.V.O.
With his winged-minion companion at his side, Mister Mysterioso commands the Power of the Night!
MISTER MYSTERIOSO
(in super-suave “catch-phrase” voice) Say good night, evildoers. It’s past your bedti -- GLAACK!!
CLOSE-UP SLO-MO SHOT OF MISTER MYSTERIOSO GETTING UNEXPECTEDLY SMACKED RIGHT IN THE KISSER BY A BIG OL’ LEATHER-BOUND BOOK!!
TARANTU-LASS AND TOXIC REVENGER
Cut! CUT!! Cut! CUT!!
“Artie!” Tweed yelped at the sight of him flat on his back, with his glasses knocked off and his nose buried— literally!—in a book.
“Shrimpcake!” Cheryl exclaimed. “Are you okay?!”
“Who did that?” came the pained, muffled reply. “Also …? Ow.”
“Hey!” Feedback exclaimed as the corner of an encyclopedia volume grazed his shoulder. Another one narrowly missed his head.
The French doors slammed shut and books flew through the air, banging against them with loud heavy thuds that didn’t break the thick glass, but left behind splotches of ectoplasmic glop dripping down the panes. A heavy brass kaleidoscope launched itself off its oak stand and nearly took Cheryl’s eye out! She shoved Simon back in the pack for safety and dropped to crouch on all fours.
“And Hecklestone thought he could control this stuff?!” she exclaimed, covering her head. Books and paperweights and decorative knick-knacks continued to zip perilously through the air, smashing into walls and windows in explosions of sticky ecto-glorp. “Sure! What could possibly go wrong?”
“Whoa!” Pilot exclaimed as a copy of Olsen’s Standard Book of British Birds ricocheted off the fireplace mantel, exploding in a cloud of flapping pages. “A little light reading, guys?”
Ramshackle looped and dove above Artie’s head, batting away a flurry of flying tomes as Artie scrambled to find his glasses and staggered to his feet. The gargoyle’s off-kilter manoeuvres actually seemed to help him avoid getting pummelled by the literature, and he was hissing angrily and meow-barking at the projectile-launching bookcases.
“We’ve seriously got to get out of here!” Tweed exclaimed, crab-crawling her way across the floor toward her cousin. “Before a rogue dictionary pulverizes one of us into alphabet soup!”
“Or we’re smothered in ecto-goop!” Cheryl agreed.
“The door’s still locked!” Feedback shouted as he kicked at it. “Jammed tight! What do we do?”
Cheryl and Tweed exchanged a glance. It seemed as if the ghost house had pretty specific ideas as to which way they should go. There was, after all, only one way out of that room that wasn’t a door or a window or a locked-from-the-other-side secret staircase.
“An old stage magician’s trick it is, then,” Tweed said grimly.
“We don’t know what’s down there!” Cheryl protested.
“No. But we know what’s up here.”
The sounds of ectoplasm SPLAT-SIZZLE were almost louder now than the sounds of book and knick-knack impacts. Options were limited.
“All right, all right,” Cheryl muttered nervously. “Here’s hoping for laundry chute over tiger pit …”
“Here’s hoping!” Tweed agreed fervently. When Cheryl hesitated, Tweed gripped her by the shoulder. “We can do this, partner. Just think of it as another challenge! After all, you’re the Toxic Revenger, right? And I’m … I’m …”
Cheryl blinked at her, waiting.
“I’m Tarantu-lass!” Tweed said, finally.
Cheryl grinned fiercely. “You are?”
“I am!” Tweed said decisively. “And we’re founding members of the League of Awesome!”
That was all it took. That moment of decisiveness. The girls exchanged the C+T Secret Signal (patent pending) and Cheryl spun around to see the boys on the other side of the room in various poses of crouch/huddle/flying-book-avoidance.
“Right! Okay, League!” Cheryl called. “Hit the dirt! Stay low! Don’t stop! And follow us!”
Crawling on her elbows, Cheryl slithered across the floor like a snake in a shooting gallery. When she got to the square in the carpet that marked the trap door, she shifted all her weight forward and heard a surprised yelp from Feedback as she tumbled forward and vanished.
Tweed followed close behind. As the twins disappeared headfirst into darkness, they heard the boys dropping to the floor and scurrying in their wake.
“If this was a video game,” Feedback lamented, “I’d be online looking for cheat codes right now! This is craaaaaaaazy ………”
11 THE MAGNIFICENT TWO THREE FIVE SEVEN
One by one, Cheryl, Tweed, Pilot, Artie and Feedback fell headfirst through the trap door, down a steeply angled narrow passage and out into a gloomy, cavernous room in a rain of books and knick-knacks. One by one, they tumbled out onto a bare stone floor. Groaning and rubbing at a variety of bruised knees and elbows, the quintet slowly got to their feet and looked around.
As Feedback stood, the last of the books that had accompanied them on their mad dash down the chute dropped on his head, sending up a little cloud of dust. Feedback sneezed loud enough to rattle the small, barred windows set high up in the walls. They were, quite obviously, in the basement of the house. Feedback sneezed again.
“A-zoom-tight!” Artie said.
“I think you mean gesundheit, Art-Bart,” Pilot said, straightening his hat.
“I’m not up on my Greek.” Artie waved the matter away, and turned to examine the opening they’d all just tumbled through. Which was, of course, now closed. “Guess we’d better start looking for another way out again. Again.”
Artie bent down and picked up a book. It looked to be the one that had initially bashed him in the beak and he glared at it reproachfully. But, realizing that it was hefty enough to use as a bashing implement in case of another spectral attack, he tucked it under his arm. Then he turned and started knocking on walls and pipes and squinting at cracks in the plaster with one eye squeezed shut.
“Hey, guys?” Feedback stopped Cheryl and Tweed for a moment. “Uh … thanks.”
“For what?” Tweed asked.
“For letting me in on that ACTION!! game thing. That was cool.”
“No problem,” Cheryl said. “We find it kinda helps get you motivated in situations like that one.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it did. Like … playing a video game, only for real.” He grinned, looking a little more at ease. “And I’ve never had my own alter-ego and catch-phrase!”
They spread out, tentatively exploring the shadow-shrouded space. Truthfully, it did sort of look a bit like a laundry room, only without anything that even remotely resembled a modern washer/dryer set. A wide wooden doorway covered with a curtain was set into one wall. Cheryl pushed the curtain aside and then jumped back, in case something leaped out at them.
The curtain jus
t swayed ominously in a non-existent breeze. But at least that was all that happened, for the time being. The twins stepped over the threshold into the other room, Feedback following close behind. He didn’t really seem to want to let the twins out of his sight. The room beyond was dimly lit by the flickering purple glow of a half-dozen or so clear glass globes filled with fiery, dancing filaments of energy that looked like lightning captured in a ball. They were scattered around the place, on stands or on the long tables that took up most of the space and held a vast jumbled assortment of wacky-looking, mad-scientist-y, laboratory equipment.
“Coooool!” Feedback said, trotting over to the nearest light-ball, all thoughts of immediate peril once again driven from his techno-head at the prospect of examining some funky gadgetry. “These things are plasma globes! I tried to order one off the internet but my folks said it was a waste of my babysitter money.”
He touched a fingertip to the curved surface of the glass globe, and the glowing filaments inside all gathered into one tendril and followed his fingertip around like an eager puppy. “You know you can power a fluorescent light tube just by touching it to the surface of one of these things?”
Cheryl and Tweed nodded absently as Feedback chattered excitedly. They might not have known the proper names or real-world applications for the weird fixtures scattered about the room, but they instantly recognized them as B-movie standard-issue mad-scientist-lab accoutrements—including a machine bristling with a pair of antennae that crackled with threads of electricity zipping upward at regular intervals. To Cheryl it looked like something right out of the lab from the original black-and-white Frankenstein movie, and it was surrounded on all sides by coiled glass tubes and beakers and flasks filled with greenish, smoking liquids, bubbling atop the Bunsen burners that furnished the room. In one corner, a bulky shape stood shrouded by a ghostly looking dropsheet. When Cheryl peeked beneath a corner of the cloth, all she could make out were cogs and wheels and gears and machine-y bits all half-jumbled together, mid-assembly, into some kind of diabolical-looking device.
The Haunting of Heck House Page 10
