The Haunting of Heck House by Lesley Livingston Page B

lock echoed loudly in the wake of the noise. Feedback lurched for the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. He put an eye to the keyhole and hollered for Cindy and Hazel to cut it the heck out and open the darn door! When that didn’t work, he ran through the French doors and out onto the balcony. The twins could see him peering into the darkness below. After a few minutes of pacing and peering, he came back in, a defeated slump to his shoulders.
    â€œWe’re really high up,” he said. “And there’s a killer thorn hedge all the way along under the balcony. We’re stuck.”
    â€œYup.” Artie nodded sagely. “In a definitely haunted house.”
    An ominous rumble of thunder sounded in the distance outside and a freshening breeze blew the curtains and rattled the windows.
    â€œHaunted.” Feedback shivered. “That’s heavy. I mean … I’ve never even had a measly déjà vu, let alone a full-on paranormal experience.”
    â€œNo problemo.” Cheryl clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll talk you through it as we go.”
    â€œYou guys sound like this kind of thing happens to you all the time.”
    â€œRecently?” Tweed shrugged.
    Cheryl nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of a long story. Speaking of which, why are you dressed up like that, Shrimpcake? And how’d you get in here?”
    â€œI got into the house in the first place down one of the chimneys,” Artie explained.
    â€œYou what?”
    â€œYeah. All the outside doors and windows were locked up tight, but we figured if you guys had found a way in here, so could we.”
    â€œWho’s ‘we’?” Cheryl asked.
    â€œMe an’ Armbruster.”
    â€œPilot’s here?!” the twins exclaimed in tandem.
    â€œOh, sure,” Artie said. “We shimmied up a drainpipe, straight up the side of the house to an old widow’s walkon the roof, and then Pilot lowered me down through a chimney flue with a rope. I landed in a big old pile of soot and was black from head to toe, so I popped into the first bathroom I could find and had a quick bath.”
    â€œYou had a bath in a strange house?” Cheryl asked.
    â€œWell, it’s not like I used bubbles or nothin’,” he protested.
    Tweed rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess that makes it perfectly normal, then.”
    â€œRight?” Artie looked to Feedback for support. “Only … when I got out of the tub, all my clothes were gone. Shoes, everything. I locked that door—I swear I did. But suddenly it was wide open and there I was, with not a stitch to preserve my modesty except these snappy duds I found hanging in the closet in the adjoining room. Pretty swell threads, huh?”
    â€œSo what were you doing out on that balcony then?” Tweed wondered.
    â€œI went out to signal up to Pilot that I was in and stuff, but I couldn’t see him,” Artie said. “And then I got stuck out there when the doors closed shut and locked behind me!”
    Cheryl walked over to the hall door and jiggled the handle. Still locked. “Am I the only one who feels like we’re babysitting for a buncha spooky little brats who like to play games?” she asked.
    Before anyone could answer, they were startled by noises that sounded like they were coming from insidethe wall. Cheryl ran back and picked up her trusty putter from where she’d left it over by the trap door and hefted it like a club. Tweed crouched over her knapsack and emptied it out to find her Nerf crossbow. Together, the twins took up defensive postures in front of the empty bookcase that seemed to be the source of the sound. Artie motioned for Feedback to take cover and assumed his best approximation of a karate stance.
    Silence fell on the room.
    Then came a sound like a lever tripping. The bookcase wall suddenly shifted and moved, sliding to the side, and a cold shaft of moonlight illuminated a