The Haunting of Heck House by Lesley Livingston Page A

deep in his throat.
    â€œOh, relax, Feedback.” Tweed rolled her eyes and slipped her knapsack off her shoulders. She fished out a bag of Fancy Beast Seafood Deelite Kitty Treats she had stashed in there for (sort of) just such an occasion. Whenthe girls had expanded their sitter services to include pets, they’d stocked up and always carried a bag or two in their supplies, just in case.
    â€œSo …” She raised an eyebrow at Artie. “Ramshackle, huh?”
    She tossed a fish snack toward the beast and he leaped for it, snapping it out of mid-air with his sharp beak. But one batwing flapped awkwardly, and a clumsy attempt at a barrel roll ended with him cartwheel-crashing to land in a heap. The little monster lurched to his feet and shook his head, with an expression on his face like a cat who, having done something dumb, adopts an “I meant to do that” kind of air. He licked his beak and purred, “Rrr-yumm.”
    Artie shrugged. “Kind of fits, right?”
    They could see that the membrane that stretched between two of the critter’s wing points was ragged along the edge.
    â€œHe’s got a bum wing,” Artie said. “I think he musta been hit by lightning or something when he was stone and it chipped his flipper.”
    â€œPoor little guy,” Cheryl said, kneeling down so Ramshackle could amble over and sniff at her outstretched hand.
    â€œPoor little guy?!” Feedback sputtered. “He’s a monster! And … and … impossible and stuff! You all know that, right? I mean—how is … that … even possible?”
    â€œWell …” Tweed tried to phrase her answer carefullyso that Feedback wouldn’t freak out any more than he already had. She exchanged a glance with Cheryl, who nodded for her to continue. After all, they were, it seemed, in this together. And withholding vital information from Feedback wasn’t fair. “Remember when you said you thought Cindy and Hazel might be pranking us on all this stuff and we said—”
    â€œThis house is not haunted!” he protested before Tweed could even bring up the idea. “There’s no such thing!”
    â€œWell, see …” Cheryl grimaced. “That’s what I said, too. But that’s the trap. In every haunted house movie ever made, someone always says, ‘That’s impossible! There’s no such thing!’ which, of course, is always the dead giveaway that it is possible and there is such a thing.”
    â€œBut …”
    â€œWe’ve fallen for the oldest horror movie trope on celluloid.” Tweed sighed. “We’re Freddy and Marlene on a trip up into the attic during a power failure.”
    â€œYou’re who?” Feedback blinked in confusion.
    â€œWe are indeed, partner.” Cheryl nodded sagely. “Oh, the irony.”
    â€œ Seriously .” Feedback turned to Artie. “What are they talking about?”
    â€œBeats me.” Artie shrugged. “But whatever it is, they’re probably right. I say go limp, roll with it, do whatever they say. With luck, the scales and fangs disappear in time for dinner. Or, maybe, bedtime!”
    â€œI … I don’t even …”
    â€œIf our working theory is correct and this is, in fact, a haunted house, then that”—Tweed pointed to Ramshackle—“being one of the gargoyles from the roof of the house, is equally haunted. Or, at least, animated by some kind of residual essence of the structure.”
    â€œOkay. That’s it.” Feedback began his doorway-bound edging along the wall again. “Like I said, it’s been fun, but I’ma really gedoutta here!”
    â€œMMRroowr-rrgg …” Ramshackle suddenly sprang to his feet, growling and hissing, staring at the empty air just to the left of where Feedback was slowly making a break for it.
    SLAM!!
    The door slammed shut and the sound of a key turning in a