The Haunting of Heck House

by Lesley Livingston

  “Huh. At least someone around here recognizes our superiorness-ness.” Cheryl flipped a pigtail over her ear and squared her shoulders. “Right. So I guess this is where we get on with the mission, then.”

  “What?! What mission?” Feedback sputtered. “Are you seriously considering helping set these three loony spooks loose on an unsuspecting Wiggins?”

  The twins exchanged a glance with Artie and Pilot. Well? Were they?

  “Uh … yeah,” Tweed said after a moment.

  “Yup.” Pilot nodded.

  “Heck yes!” Artie enthused, always up for a healthy dose of looniness.

  “Look …” Cheryl explained. “It’s okay if you don’t want in on this. That’s cool. But … last time we met somebody we thought was a dangerous, supernaturally souped-up evil nutcase, it turned out she was just a lonely kid looking for a bit of help.”

  “I …” Feedback blinked, frowning. “I …”

  “Attaboy, Feedback!” Cheryl clapped him on the shoulder and turned briskly back to the matter at hand, as did the others.

  “How’d Ramshackle find our barn?” Tweed wondered.

  “Guys.” Pilot rolled his eyes. “You’ve put flyers on pretty much every power pole and mailbox in the whole town. Couldn’t have been too hard—”

  “BUT I DON’T WANNA BE POSSESSED!” Feedback suddenly blurted at the top of his lungs.

  In the silence that followed, everyone turned to look at him.

  “I mean …” he continued, red-faced, “okay. I’ll help. But a guy’s gotta draw the line somewhere.”

  Cheryl had to stifle a snort of amusement and Tweed bit her lip.

  Artie just rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s nuthin’.”

  “And you don’t need to worry about it now anyway,” Roderick said sourly. “It turns out we don’t actually know how to possess people. This ghostly business is really rather harder than it looks.” He nodded at Artie. “I tried and was almost able to possess that one when he was standing there in my suit, in front of my mirror. It didn’t work. Instead, I think I just managed to class the chap up a bit.”

  “Hey! You stole my clothes!” Artie exclaimed.

  “I gave you dapper new ones!”

  “And you threw this book at me!”Artie brandished the tome. “And that was definitely not any old piano-pushing illusion! That hurt! D’you know how heavy this thing is? You coulda broke my schnozz!” He pointed to his still slightly pink nose.

  Roderick blinked. “I didn’t do that. I mean— bravo!—but it wasn’t me.”

  “One of you sure as heck did.” Artie glared at the mirrors accusingly.

  “Mrwr.”

  “Ramshackle?!” He turned to gape at the mini-monster, whose mini-monstrous face bore a somewhat sheepish look. “I thought we were pals,” Artie said in a hurt tone. “What didja do that for?”

  The little monster huffed and furrowed his horned brow. As much as it seemed that the gargoyle and Artie shared a certain kind of rapport, it was clear that, judging from the expression on Ramshackle’s face, there was only so much information he could coherently convey to his human buddy through his repertoire of gurgles and growls. Kind of like, if you knew how to speak Cat, you could talk to a cat. But you couldn’t necessarily have a deep and meaningful philosophical argument or a discussion on how to rebuild the carburetor on a 1964 Mercury Comet. Still, Ramshackle was clearly trying to make a point. He flapped a little ways into the air, snatched the book with his front paws and reared back. It looked like he was going to go for Artie’s head again.

  “Whoa there, little fella!” Cheryl lunged and plucked the book from the gargoyle’s grasp before he could lob the thing.

  “I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Tweed said.

  Ramshackle turned and gave her a distinctly “ya think?” expression.

  “Here,” she said to Cheryl. “Hand me the book.”

  Cheryl handed over the antique volume and Tweed flipped it around so that they could all see the lettering on the ornately embossed leather of the front cover. The ghost kids in the mirror crowded against the glass and Ramshackle made excited purring noises of encouragement as Tweed read the title out loud.

  14 THE REALLY GREAT ESCAPE

  ‘‘Idon’t get it,” Artie said.

  “I do,” Tweed said. “Ramshackle was trying to help.”

  “What, exactly, was he trying to help with?” Cheryl asked, considering the matter with all due caution. “I mean, isn’t he, y’know, part of the house? And isn’t it the house that’s keeping our charming threesome in thrall, here?”

  “I think,” Tweed mused, “and I agree that this is a bit of wild speculation, but I think it might have something to do with his wing. Maybe the chip is more than just superficial. Maybe the energy surge actually caused a kind of rift between him and the house itself. I mean, when we got here, we saw other gargoyles up on the roof but none of them seem to have taken on a life of their own …”

  “I remember when the little stone bat-kitty got hurt,” Edwina said. “It was the night Mumsy got the zap! Bat-kitty got the zap, too! Naughty storm.”

  Cheryl shivered at the casual way the little girl mentioned the lightning strike that had resulted in the untimely demise of her mother but, she supposed, when you’re a ghost yourself, maybe stuff like that didn’t bother you quite so much.

  “See?” Artie said. “I was right! He did get hit by lightning.”

  “Mrrf.” Ramshackle screwed up his face in distaste and ruffled his ragged wing.

  “Okay,” Pilot said. “So we’re sure the little dude’s definitely playing on the right ball team. What’s his pitch?”

  Tweed flipped open the book and they all crowded around. There was a flowery chapter of introduction, describing the wonders of the spirit plane and how the author had magically unlocked the mysteries of how to not only get there, but navigate one’s way back again. Entire sections were devoted to what sounded like a bunch of New-Agey go-with-the-flow mystical stuff. But then there was page after page of diagrams with strange mechanical and mathematical notations. On one of them, there was a star and arrows and handwritten notations in the margins, scribbled there in pencil that was almost too faded to read. It was a page that displayed detailed instructions on how to build a device that, once activated, would super-boost your average, sparkly floaty spectral signal and focus it like a laser beam.

  Frankly, it all sounded like a whole lotta hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo techno-babble to Cheryl and Tweed. Feedback and Pilot, however, both got the same kind of gleam in their eyes as they flipped through the schematics. Mechanics and gadgets sang a siren song to the two boys.

  “T. A. Anonymous.” Simon chortled to himself, casting his ruby eye beam on the book. “I’ll bet dollars to doorknobs—even mystically infused ones—that book was written by Thomas Alva Edison, the old Wizard of Menlo Park, himself. Attaboy, Tommy!”

  “Gimme the cheat notes version,” Artie said. “What does it say?”

  “The book says, basically,” Feedback summarized, “that astral projection and spectral manifestation are not only possible, they’re kinda a breeze. It’s all about … er, hmm …”—he ran his finger along the sentences on a page—“a ‘strong emotional connection supported and enhanced by the latest in modern technology.’ All you need to power the machine is an energy source, and a … the author calls it a ‘lodestone.’ A ‘physical object replete with emotional resonance strong enough to act as a homing beacon.’ That’s the catch. Having a strong enough connection to this plane to be able to come back to it.”

  Tweed beckoned Cheryl over into a corner of the dressing room, away from the mirror where the Hecklestone kids still floated, waiting patiently to be set free of their ectoplasmic constraints (mostly patiently— Roderick looked like he might be starting to fashion a tiny slingshot out of a shoelace and a tie clip). “We have a problem,” Tweed whispered. “The only connection the Heck kids have is to this place. Even if we figure o
ut a way to build this thing so we can leave, they couldn’t. They’d just wind up right back here.”

  “We can take them with us,” Cheryl whispered back.

  “Where?”

  “Uh … C+T headquarters?” Cheryl shrugged help- lessly. “The Moviemobile? The mini-golf range?”

  “Any of those would do, I guess,” Tweed said. “Except we’d need something to use as a lodestone.”

  The twins thought about that. Tweed had Nerf darts (and garlic powder) from headquarters and Cheryl had her putter, but neither of those things seemed to have the kind of heartfelt oomph needed for both girls to ensure they could pull everyone along with them.

  “We don’t have anything like that,” Artie was saying.

  “Like heck we don’t!” Pilot said triumphantly. “Like heck you don’t!”

  The twins turned to gape at their best friend, wondering what on earth—or the earthly plane, exactly—he could possibly be talking about.

  “Never mind astral projection,” he said, excitedly. “What about an astral projector? The one back at the Starlight Paradise? You need an object? Something with powerful emotional—whaddayacallit—resonance?” He turned to address the others in the room, the Heck kids included, and pointed a finger at the girls. “Well, I don’t know anything that’s got a stronger bond than the one between the Drive-In and these two girls, except maybe me and my plane. Now I don’t have a piece of my plane handy, but I’ve got this!” Pilot reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a piece of silver metal blackened on one end.

  He held it aloft like a beacon of hope.

  A befuddled silence fell on the room.

  Artie cleared his throat and said, “And that thing … is?”

  Pilot rolled his eyes. “It’s a tungsten electrode from the xenon bulb that was in the Drive-In 3D movie projector that got hit by lightning during that storm a while back!” he explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Pops and I did the repairs on it earlier today and I put this in my pocket and forgot about it. He’s running that very same projector tonight because your double bill was over capacity yesterday.” He checked his watch. “We’ve been here long enough that they’re probably halfway through the second feature by now!”

  “Ding Dong, You’re Dead!” Cheryl exclaimed. She and Tweed beamed at each other. Even in the midst of a paranormal crisis, the girls were proud of their programming success. “It’s perfect!”

  “But …” Tweed frowned, momentarily unsure. She nodded her head in the direction of the mirrors and whispered to Cheryl, “What if we pull them out of this place with us and they … you know … stay ghosts?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Daphne said, having overheard them in spite of the whispering. “Either way, we’ll be free to move on. We won’t be trapped anymore. That’s all we want—however it turns out.”

  “And maybe a bang-up, good old-fashioned explosion to send us on our way!” Roderick enthused.

  Edwina just nodded in placid agreement with her sister and brother.

  “Whaddaya think, Mr. Omar?” Feedback asked the speaker. “Could we use something like that electro-thingy in the book to get home?”

  Simon harrumphed. “Why are you asking me?”

  Feedback shrugged. “You are the resident expert on—”

  “On blowing myself to smithereens!” Simon protested. “Or have you pack of marauding ragamuffins forgotten that?”

  “Yeah, but,” Cheryl said, “you’ll be better at it this time. Practice and all. And you have us to help you. And the book!” She stabbed at the diagram on the page with a freckled finger. “I mean look at these diagrams. The ones with the pencil scribbles beside them! There’s a whole basement full of gadgets and gears just like this stuff. I even saw a half-built something-or-other under a sheet that looked almost identical to Figures 6-a through 7-c right here on page 42. Only … it might’ve been missing some key bits and pieces here and there …”

  “Are you saying that Hector Hecklestone already tried to build one of these things?” Tweed asked.

  “Maybe.” Cheryl shrugged. “Could be he was trying every way possible to get in touch with the dearly departed missus, and just didn’t get the chance to finish the gadget before the house went BOOM. And if that’s the case, then all we have to do is, y’know, add some bits and tighten some bolts, get Old Heck’s focusy-whatchamy-thingy up and chugging and Bob’s your uncle!”

  And that’s when the enthusiasm for the project ground to a screeching halt.

  Pilot and Feedback exchanged a glance.

  “Who are we kidding?” Feedback said, staring down at the complicated spiderweb lines of the mechanical schematics. “We could never finish building a thing like this by ourselves. We’re kids.”

  “Yeah …” Pilot nodded reluctantly. “This is way out of our league.”

  “Bite your tongue, Yeager Armbruster!” Cheryl said. “And you too, Karl!”

  “Yeah,” Tweed agreed in a fierce, determined monotone. “You want league? We’re the League of Awesome!”

  “Yes!” Cheryl enthused. And then, “No!”

  “What?” Tweed blinked at her.

  There was a gleam in Cheryl’s eye as she said, “No … I don’t think the superhero scenario is quite going to cut it on this one …”

  “Well, what then?” Tweed leaned forward in anticipation of what her feisty cousin had come up with. “What should we do?”

  “What does anyone do in a movie when they have to accomplish a seemingly impossible task in a limited amount of time?” Cheryl asked. “You know, something big like … like building a barn in a day. Or learning smokin’ moves in time for the big dance. Or getting totally pumped up before the heavyweight champion title fight!”

  Tweed clenched her fists, ready for a challenge. “You mean …”

  “I do.” Cheryl nodded seriously. “Heckle-dude had a book and he had a blowtorch. But we have what he didn’t: one handy-dandy powerful mystic-in-a-speaker-in-a-jar, three ghosts-with-the-mosts, a mythical magical house pet with wings and a whole houseful of ecto-magic just waiting to be tapped for that little extra whammy we might need to get the job done. Plus we have the guts, we have the grit, we have the gumption.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Only one thing stands in our way.”

  “I know.” Tweed furrowed her brow and slapped her fist into her palm in frustration. They were so close. “If only we had some ’80s music.”

  “Uh …” Feedback lifted his hand. “I got that.”

  Artie blinked at him. “You do?”

  “Sure.” He brandished his phone. “I gotta whole playlist of that stuff.”

  The others crowded around as Feedback’s fingers zigged and zagged over the little glowy screen of his smartphone, calling up a list of power ballads and synth-heavy, soft-rock croon tunes and drum-machine-driven pop-rock anthems.

  It was perfect.

  The twins high-fived triumphantly.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourselves the ingredients for an ’80s-style movie montage sequence that’ll bring the house down!” Cheryl crowed. “Literally!”

  “Shrimpcake!” Tweed exclaimed. “Bring that book over here!”

  “Pilot!” Cheryl called. “Get that monkey wrench up to speed!”

  “Feedback! Get ready to hit Play!”

  The boys jumped to do the girls’ bidding, caught up in their infectious enthusiasm. Ramshackle took to the air above their heads, swooping and diving in excited, if somewhat erratic, loop-de-loops.

  The air in the room crackled with anticipation.

  This, the twins knew, might very well prove to be their most challenging bout of ACTION!! to date. It would take fierce concentration, razor-sharp precision, laser-like focus, cracker-jack timing, guts, grit, luck, skill and a healthy dose of imagination overdrive.

  The twins exchanged their C+T Secret Signal (patent pending)—not quite so secret now, as the others joined in—and gave the order.

  “Cameras
rolling …”

  “Aaaaand …”

  “... ACTION!!”

  INT. THE STATELY DINING ROOM OF A HAUNTED MANSION, CIRCA 1983 –- NIGHT

  CAMERA CLOSE-UP on a LARGE, LEATHER-BOUND BOOK. A hand flips the book open and the pages begin to flip, faster and faster ... and then, stop! The hand points to a diagram on a page.

  OFF-CAMERA VOICE

  Eureka. That’s it. Let’s get to work.

  SFX: ’80s POP-ROCK MUSIC WITH A DRIVING BEAT STARTS UP, PLAYS THROUGHOUT. This is the classic ’80s-STYLE MOVIE MONTAGE SEQUENCE.

  CAMERA ROTATES IN A 360° SWEEP TO REVEAL A FIERCELY DETERMINED RAGTAG AGAINST-ALL-ODDS TEAM OF ’80s MISFIT KIDS ON A MISSION TO BUILD AN ASTRAL PROJECTOR AND SAVE THE DAY. CAMERA PANS over each member of the TEAM. First, the REBELLIOUS GOTH KID, in HEAVY EYELINER:

  GOTH KID

  I’ll put the coffee on.

  THE SCRAPPY KID, wearing a HEADBAND, OFF-SHOULDER SWEATSHIRT AND LEG WARMERS:

  SCRAPPY KID

  I’ll clear some work space!

  THE BRAINY KID, dressed in a MICHAEL JACKSON THRILLER-ERA JACKET:

  BRAINY KID

  I’ll start on the equations!

  THE OVERALLS KID, dressed in, er, OVERALLS (ACID-WASH, ONE STRAP UNDONE):

  OVERALLS KID

  I’ll do something useful with this wrench!

  THE SHRIMPY KID, inexplicably dressed in HEAVY SWEATS AND KNIT CAP WITH A TOWEL AROUND HIS NECK:

  SHRIMPY KID

  I’ll get started on the skipping rope and punching bag!