The Haunting of Heck House (21 page)

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:

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

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

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

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

THE KIDS SCATTER! OVERLAPPING JUMP-CUT SEQUENCE of SHOTS:

SCRAPPY KID yanks a tablecloth –- magician-style -- out from under a dozen place-settings and tall candelabras on a long table (unsuccessfully). The awesome '80s music is momentarily drowned out by the CRASH OF BREAKING CROCKERY!!

In the background, SHRIMPY KID WORKS THE JUMP ROPE.

CUT TO:

GOTH KID maniacally brews coffee using MAD-SCIENTIST LAB EQUIPMENT.

In the background, SHRIMPY KID WORKS THE PUNCHING BAG.

CUT TO:

BRAINY KID fills a CHALKBOARD with INSANELY COMPLICATED EQUATIONS.

In the background, SHRIMPY KID GOES A FEW ROUNDS WITH A SIDE OF BEEF.

CUT TO:

OVERALLS KID hauls on a ROPE-AND-PULLEY SYSTEM attached to HEAVY MACHINERY.

In the background, SHRIMPY KID LIES FLAT ON HIS BACK IN THE MIDDLE OF A BOXING RING WITH ANIMATED “TWEETY-BIRD” GARGOYLES CIRCLING HIS HEAD.

CUT TO:

WIDE SHOT of the room. It is ORGANIZED CHAOS!! BRAINY SCRIBBLES MADLY, GOTHY AND OVERALLS TINKER FRANTICALLY, SCRAPPY RUN/DANCES CRAZILY ON THE SPOT, SHRIMPY DOES ONE-ARM PUSH-UPS ...

CUT TO:

EXTREME CAMERA CLOSE-UP on a PLASMA GLOBE, CRACKLING WITH TENDRILS OF ENERGY.

CUT TO:

LONG, HIGH-ANGLE SHOT OF THE TEAM, THE MIRACULOUS MACHINE –- A CRAZILY EMBELLISHED FILM-PROJECTOR-LIKE CONTRAPTION SURROUNDED BY A CIRCLE OF PLASMA GLOBES, CONNECTED BY WIRES, AND FOCUSED ON THREE TALL STANDING MIRRORS.

IT IS MAGNIFICENT IN ITS IMPOSSIBLENESS.

CUT TO:

THE TEAM STANDS, ADMIRING THEIR ACCOMPLISHMENT.

CAMERA CRANES UP as THE TEAM, in a circle, THROW THEIR ARMS IN THE AIR TRIUMPHANTLY!!

FADE OUT AS THE MUSIC DRIFTS TO SILENCE ...

“Aaaaaand … cut,” Tweed said with quiet satisfaction.

“Cut, indeed.” Cheryl nodded, arms crossed over her chest.

“Wow,” Feedback whispered into the silence following the frenzied activity of the ACTION!! sequence. “That almost felt like we
were
possessed …”

“The magic of the movies, pal.” Pilot grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I can't believe it.” Simon the mystic speaker's voice was hushed in awe.

“You
better
believe it.” Tweed wiped her brow with the sleeve of her jacket.

“Yeah!” Cheryl tugged her pigtails straight. “
That's
the most important part!”

“You did it,” Simon said. “You
really
did it.
We
did it! It's done. Huzzah! Bravo. Yadda yadda. Now could someone
please
take this fishbowl off my head? I'm suffocating here!”

“You know you don't actually have lungs anymore, right?” Pilot said, lifting the globe off and setting it aside.

The speaker made a gasping sound nonetheless.

Cheryl picked Simon up and tucked him under her arm, and together the team turned to survey the Machine of Awesome. It was like a cross between the inside of a madman's projection booth and Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory, criss-crossed with wires linking up all sorts of precariously cobbled-together cogs and wheels and gears and electrodes and … and …
things
. Pilot and Feedback
had done an admirable job of at least making the thing look like it did in the pictures. It actually hadn't proved that hard, if only because pretty much all of the widgets and whatnots in Sir Hecklestone's basement had been manufactured at roughly the same time period as the book was written.

The Astral Projector stood at one end of the long dining room and the dressing-room mirrors, which had been brought downstairs, now stood at the other. They had decided to give their creation that particular name to correspond nicely with the Starlight projector. And once Simon Omar had pointed out that the words
astral
and
star
meant pretty much the same thing, well, of course, that just convinced the whole crew that they were really onto something with this whole crazy idea. Surrounding the projector in a half-circle, the plasma balls were wired up and flickering away, their dancing miniature streaks of lightning mimicked by distant flashes through the tall windows. A storm was coming.

Cheryl checked her watch. “Holy moly—it's almost pushin' midnight! The second movie on the bill should be almost over by now. I sure hope the Drive-In doesn't get rained out on the last reel!” she worried, her priorities, as always, firmly in check.

Pilot did some last-minute tinkering with the giant ON/OFF lever-switch box he'd bolted onto the end of the long dining-room table, attached to the projector by a length of coloured cables. Then he checked the
placement of the Drive-In's burnt-out tungsten filament. Feedback fiddled with the focus lens. Artie, for his part, just paced back and forth in front of the Hecklestone kids in their mirrors, giving pep talks like a pre-game coach. Finally, Cheryl and Tweed realized that everyone was pretty much just stalling.

“Okay, okay,” Cheryl said, setting Simon down on the table, pointing at the mirrors. “Let's get this show on the astral road. I mean … uh …” She cleared her throat and enunciated precisely, and with grand gesturing. “Ladies and Gentlemen, shall we?”

“Mr. Omar?” Tweed said formally. “If you would please do the honours and initiate contact with the astral plane in preparation for our takeoff and travel?”

Really, they were all just winging it, procedure-wise, but they figured the more structured and, well, Victorian they could make things, the better. Put on a good show and all that. Even the Heck kids had all ghost-morphed into what looked like their Sunday best.

“Delighted to, oh lovely and talented assistants,” Simon said graciously.

“Assistants …?” Cheryl muttered, but let it slide, under the circumstances.

The air in the room began to shudder and Simon's jewel illuminated the end of the room with a bright, crimson light. For a long moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Then the air grew misty.