The Haunting of Heck House by Lesley Livingston

shiny-shodfoot. “You a creature of evil again? All minioned up? Possessed? Cursed? What’s the deal?”
    â€œDon’t be foolish, my little cauliflower,” he said and laughed a devil-may-care laugh. “I’m my same old, same old self.”
    â€œUh-huh …”
    He licked the tip of his baby finger and ran it along the quirked contour of his eyebrow, above his horn-rimmed glasses—which somehow suddenly looked chic when paired with the tailored duds. “Clothes make the man, don’tcha know?” Artie said, and grinned.
    At that point, Feedback crawled out from under the desk. He brushed some carpet lint off his cargo pants and straightened the headphones circling his neck.
    â€œHey, hey, Feedback!” Artie said with a smooth wave. Helping out at Bartleby’s Gas & Gulp, his mom’s gas station and general store, meant that Artie knew pretty much everyone in the town of Wiggins Cross.
    â€œThat’s my name, don’t wear it out!” Feedback offered Artie a wobbly grin and air-guitared a riff on his phone that ended with a screech of crunchy amplifier feedback.
    The distorted noise bloomed out, echoing loudly in the high-ceilinged room, and there was an answering screech from over near the French doors. A blur of flappy, growling movement surged toward them and Cheryl suddenly remembered the winged shadow that had preceded Artie into the room and lent him the illusion of vampirosity.
    The thing flew at Feedback, who dropped to the floor and covered his head. Grey, bat-like wings slapped at the air, obscuring glimpses of red gleaming eyes, a sharp-hooked beak and talons—all attached to something the size of a large house cat!
    â€œRamshackle!” Artie yelled. “Down, boy! Girl! Thing!”
    Tweed looked at him in astonishment.
    â€œI haven’t really had a chance to figure that out yet, okay?”
    â€œShrimpcake!” Cheryl was trying to shoo the whirlwind-scrabbling creature away from poor Feedback, who cowered in a ball. “What on earth is that thing?”
    â€œI found him out on the balcony!” Artie said. “He’s harmless! C’mere, buddy …” He darted forward and grappled with the hissing, spitting mini-monster, pulling it away by the scruff of its neck. “Sit!” he said, admonishing him with a pointing finger.
    The thing cocked its head and regarded him sideways.
    â€œSiiiitt,” he said again.
    â€œGrr-mrowf,” Ramshackle murmured and, after a moment, sat.
    â€œWhoa …” Karl said in almost a whisper. “What the heck is that?”
    â€œUh … house cat?” Artie tried unconvincingly, seeming to have just realized that maybe Feedback wasn’t as used to weirdness as Cheryl and Tweed. “Exotic breed.Millionaires, y’know.” He waved vaguely at the opulent architecture all around them.
    â€œArtie”—Tweed took a step forward, peering at the little monster—“is that a gargoyle ?”
    â€œWell, I dunno.” Artie shrugged. “I think it’s probably a safe bet, though. He was perched on the roof of this creepy old house when I found him.”
    â€œMrrr-ackk-k-rrowr …?” the gargoyle burbled inquiringly and ruffled his batwings.
    â€œWait.” Cheryl frowned, sifting through hours and hours of monster movie flotsam that had settled in her brain. “Aren’t there legends that tell of stone carvings— household guardians—that come to life after sundown?”
    â€œYou got that from an old Saturday morning cartoon show!” Feedback protested.
    â€œWell, where do you think they got the idea from?” she shot back.
    â€œRight. Okay. Y’know what?” Feedback said, trying to be casual, but edging along the wall toward the open door that led out into the corridor. “This was fun. But I’ma gedoutta here …”
    Ramshackle issued what sounded like a warning growl,