She trailed off finally into silence as Pops stood there contemplating. Finally, he took a last gulp of lemonade and set the glass down on the counter. Then he nodded decisively.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he said. “The Polizzi place, you say?”
Cheryl stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying Pops’s assumption of location—which was quite fortuitously located on the other side of Wiggins and so not a place Pops could just amble on over to in order to check out the truth of the tale.
“I don’t know the Polizzis very well …” Pops mused, rubbing his chin, his gaze drifting over to the telephone hanging on the kitchen wall. “Maybe I should just give them a ring, see if there’s anything I can send over for the party—”
“Capital idea! I’ll dial!” Cheryl exclaimed, relieved that Pops wouldn’t actually pay the Polizzi abode an in-person visit. She fairly leaped across the room and, standing between Pops and the phone, dialed a number. When it started to ring on the other end, she stretched out the cord and handed over the receiver, holding her breath.
“Hello?” The voice was muffled by the press of Pops’s ear but Cheryl could still make out the slightly nasal tones saying, “Polizzi residence. Mr. Polizzi, proud father of Hazel and loving husband to—er—Missus Polizzi, definitely speaking.”
Pops blinked for a moment, then held his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Cheryl, “Sounds like an English fella. I thought the Polizzis were Italian.”
“Isn’t Italy pretty close to England?” Cheryl asked with an innocent shrug. “They’re both on the other side of the ocean …”
Pops returned the shrug and uncovered the phone. “Why, hello there, Mr. Polizzi,” he said jovially. “My name is Jefferson Pendleton—most Wiggins folk call me Pops—and I don’t know that we’ve ever been rightly introduced, but I run the Starlight Paradise Drive-In theatre here in town. I understand you and your missus are very kindly hosting a slumber shindig for some of the Wiggins girls tonight?”
“Right you are, my good gentleman purveyor of celluloid entertainments!” said the voice.
Pops blinked at the phone. “Uh … right. Well, I was wondering if there was anything you’d like me to send along with the girls?”
“Popcorn and jujubes! Maybe some of those cellopacks of licorice ropes! Milk Duds! Also … one moment please … ah, right! Might come in handy if you can send along any glow tape, road flares, bicycle pumps and any old spare rapiers you might have lying around for the purposes of duelling. Ow! What?” There was a pause, punctuated by garbled whisper-mutters, then the voice came back on the line. “Sorry, old chap! The little woman gets a bit gabby at times—ow! Stop poking!— you know how it is … Well, gotta toddle! We’ll have your girls back to you all in one piece come sun-up— heh heh, I hope! Ow!”
5 HARRIED AT THE HOUSE!
‘‘Huh.” Cheryl swung her leg over the seat of her trusty ten-speed bike as she dismounted. “This is it, I guess …”
“Y’know,” Tweed said, braking into a dramatic gravel-throwing side slide, “I never noticed this big ol’ iron gate here.”
“Yeah … me neither.”
“Not surprising, I guess, considering that we never actually noticed a whole darn road here …”
“Well, Wiggins Cross is an awfully big place …” Cheryl giggled at her own expansive sarcasm.
Tweed cracked a smile at the joke and hefted her knapsack higher up on her shoulders. Pops had mir- aculously said yes to the sleepover and even supplied the girls with provisions—granola bars instead of Drive-In Snak Shak goodies—but, sadly, he’d drawn the line at rapiers and flares. Cheryl hefted her pack, too, made heavier by the weight of one (so far quiet and well-behaved) Drive-In speaker.
“44678,” Tweed said, brushing the overgrown ivy from the numbers on the gate. “That’s the right address.”
“Funny that. I mean, far as I can see, this house is the only house on the street. You’d think they’d just number it 1.”
“Enh. Rich people are weird. Let’s go.”
The gate creaked like the lifting of a coffin lid in one of the girls’ monster movies. Which probably would have sent chills up their spines if they weren’t so darned used to the sound. All that was missing, really, was the sound of an organ playing a hollow, haunting strain as they walked their ten-speeds up the overgrown path toward the stone manor. All along the path, in nooks carved into a cedar hedge, classical-style marble statues stood frozen in elegant poses, their once-gleaming white surfaces faded with neglect and tinged green in places with mossy growth. On the leaf-strewn path, a pair of garden lizards ambled along, oblivious to the twins’ presence. And at the end of the path stood the imposing edifice of the house of Hector Hecklestone. The darkened window arches above the massive double door seemed to glare down at the girls like the empty eye sockets of a skull, and the creepy silhouettes of winged gargoyles perched on the roof peaks.
The girls tucked their bikes in behind a tall wall of cedar hedge, grown shaggy and in need of pruning to the extent that it looked as though it might actually come to life—some kind of terrible green monster that might devour the girls’ bikes while they were inside. A rusted rake and an abandoned pair of hedge trimmers added to the effect. It looked as if the house’s last hapless gardener had, perchance, fallen victim to the leafy monster, mid-trim.
A chill breeze raised the small hairs on the back of the twins’ necks.
Yes. A chill breeze. That was it.
“Right.” Tweed cleared her throat. “So.”
Cheryl glanced around uneasily. “Think Cindy and Hazel are here yet?”
“I don’t see their bikes …”
“Maybe the hedge ate them.”
“Heh. Heh …”
A spooky silence descended, broken only by the sound of the hedge rustling in the aforementioned chill breeze. Neither of the girls so much as took a step forward toward the house.
“Hey,” Tweed said, eventually. “Why don’t we work up a quick game of ACTION!! to get us into our groove?”
“Capital idea.” Cheryl nodded vigorously, gesturing at the overgrown hedge. “Swamp monster scenario? Jungle epic? Mutant plant-life invasion?”
“I have a better idea,” Tweed said with a grin.
“You do?”
She pointed first at the marble statues, then at the gargoyles on the house and the pair of garden geckos. “We’ve never really done a classic stop-motion-style sequence before, have we?”
Cheryl returned her cousin’s grin, instantly seeing where she was going with this. One of the staples of the B-movie genre was, of course, the time-honoured art of stop-motion special effects. Epic battles fought between brave warriors and enchanted stone monsters—or mythic warriors or skeletons brought to life or impossible winged creatures—were shot using tiny models that were photographed frame by frame and then combined in a sequence with live actors. Such scenes were often combined with giant-creature smackdowns where the filmmakers used to dress up iguanas or turtles in pointy, scaled hats or glue spikes to their shells and shoot them in extreme close-up on papier-mâché sets to make them look like enormous prehistoric dinosaurs or mutant monstrosities instead of run-of-the-mill garden critters.
Jason and the Argonauts, the Sinbad movies and the original Clash of the Titans all employed the glories of the lost art of stop-motion. And the front yard of the Hecklestone House seemed as if it would benefit from some likewise fanciful action. Really liven up the old place. And with the appropriate props already in place, all it needed was …
Cheryl cracked her knuckles. “Cameras rolling …”
Tweed flipped her hair back over her shoulders. “Aaaaand …”
“... ACTION!!”
EXT. ANCIENT ISLAND TEMPLE -- DUSK
CAMERA PANS DOWN from a HIGH OVERHEAD SHOT of a TINY ISLAND in an AZURE SEA, ZOOMING IN on the ELEGANT COLUMNS, OLIVE TREES and CLASSICAL STATUES that dot the crest of the ISLAND’s ONLY HILL.
CUT TO:
A PAIR OF ADVENTURER-WARRIORS, dressed in TUNICS and SANDALS and CRESTED HELMETS, carrying SWORDS and SHIELDS. They leave their ship and approach the silent steps leading up to a MOSAIC TERRACE fronting the temple.
WARRIOR TEE
(in a tense whisper)
We must be careful. This island was cursed by a powerful sorceress. None who have ventured here have lived to reveal its secrets ...
WARRIOR CEE
(in a confident whisper)
That’s because they were them and not us.
WARRIOR TEE
Good point. We’re the only us there is.
WARRIOR CEE
That we are.
As they pass a STATUE of ARES the WARRIOR GOD, the vacant marble eyes GLOW TO LIFE and FOLLOW THEIR MOVEMENTS!
CUT TO:
CLOSE-UP on the WARRIORS: They are ferociously fearsome.
The WARRIORS step forward confidently, ready to face any challenge. Except, maybe, this one.
CAMERA PANS suddenly back toward the STATUE, which has COME TO LIFE!! WITH A SOUND LIKE AN AVALANCHE, ARES’s FEET break loose from the statue’s marble base!
The ground trembles as he strides forward, swinging his GREAT STONE SWORD!!
WARRIOR TEE
Great Zeus!
She LEAPS out of the way, as the sword whistles over her head!! The two do BATTLE!
WARRIOR CEE
(shouting)
Leaping lizards!
WARRIOR TEE
(over her shoulder as she fights)
Hey! You’re quoting Little Orphan Annie! Wrong movie!
WARRIOR CEE
No! I meant -- LEAPING LIZARDS!
She points to where a pair of GIANT-SIZED DINOSAUR-LIKE CREATURES AWKWARDLY LURCH TOWARD THEM. The creatures HISS and SCREECH. They BRISTLE with GIANT SPIKY SCALES. The WARRIORS are cut off from the TEMPLE.
The reptiles lumber in pursuit ... but are distracted by the sudden appearance of a GIANT VENOMOUS TOAD!!
The monsters FIGHT!
The WARRIORS dodge between them.
WARRIOR TEE dive-rolls over the spiky, swishing tail of one of the reptiles.
WARRIOR CEE ducks and runs straight through -- BETWEEN THE FRONT LEGS OF ONE OF THE CREATURES!
They almost reach the temple steps ... Suddenly, WARRIOR TEE points to the skies with her sword!
WARRIOR TEE
Look! Doom from above!!
WARRIOR CEE
Doom from above ... meet death from below!
WARRIOR TEE blinks at her companion.
WARRIOR TEE
Ooh. Nice quip. I say we run for it.
OVERHEAD CAMERA shot frames the WARRIORS as the SHADOWS OF GIANT BAT-WINGED CREATURES SWEEP OVER THEM. They bound up the TEMPLE steps ...
Right into the STICKY TRAP OF A GIANT SPIDERWEB, STRUNG FROM PILLAR TO PILLAR.
WARRIORS CEE + TEE
EEEEeeeewwww ...
They untangle themselves. WARRIOR TEE is paler than usual. WARRIOR CEE is all fired up. Her eyes narrow and she points her sword at something over WARRIOR TEE’s shoulder.
WARRIOR CEE
Ah. The “piece of resistance.” The climactic Giant Tarantula battle.
CAMERA CLOSE-UP ON: WARRIOR TEE’s eyes –- saucer-wide beneath the brim of her helmet.
WARRIOR TEE
Climactic ... Giant ... What ...?
CAMERA WIDENS OUT to show a GIANT HAIRY SPIDER LEG, POISED TO TAP WARRIOR TEE on the SHOULDER.
WARRIOR TEE
Cut. CUT. CUTCUTCUTCUUUUUUTTT!!!
Cheryl gaped at her cousin, as Tweed gyrated across the porch in a dance of sheer, flappy panic, screeching “CUT!! CUUUTTT!! Yikes! Cut!”
“Whoa! Tweed!” Cheryl lunged for her and grabbed her by the shoulders before she toppled off the porch and into the shrubbery. “TWEED! While-O-Wait, partner! While-O-Wait!”
Tweed froze, compelled by the power of the W-O-W chant. Her hands were clenched into fists in front of her, and her eyes were squinched tight. “Get it off!” she squeaked. “Getitoff getitoff getitoff … GET IT OFF!”
“Er … okay …” Cheryl assumed she meant the itty-bitty spider that was sideways-creeping across the top of her head, and so she reached up and gently plucked the wee thing from Tweed’s dark hair and carried it over to the porch railing, shooing the bug from her palm with a breath of air. “Scoot,” she said and waited until the spider had scuttled out of sight. Then she turned back to her cousin, trying her best not to stare in shocked surprise at Tweed’s monumental freak-out.
“Is it gone?” Tweed asked, cracking open one eye.
“It’s gone.”
She opened the other eye and a blush of embarrassment crept up to displace the normal pallor of her cheeks.
“So.” Cheryl cleared her throat. “Spiders?”
“It’s true. I’m arachnophobic.”
“I just thought you were afraid of spiders.”
“That’s what that means.”
“Oh. Right. I just—”
“I looked it up.” Tweed kicked at the surface of the porch with the toe of her black, many-buckled boot. “It’s embarrassing. I’m supposed to treasure the macabre, revel in the creepy, delight in the freaky-outy. You know. Things exactly like, well, spiders.”
Cheryl shook her head, somewhat astonished that she’d never known this about her cousin. The girls had always just taken it for granted that they knew everything about each other. But as close as they were—as close as if they were actually twins with each other—they didn’t.
“I never would have guessed,” she said.
Tweed winced. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Heck, no.”
“If this got out to the general populosity, it would totally destroy my spooky street cred.”
Cheryl put a hand on Tweed’s shoulder, casually removing a second little bitty spider that was harmlessly perched there, without drawing Tweed’s attention to what she was doing. “Your secret’s safe with me, pal. Nice to know we can still surprise each other,” she said, nonchalantly depositing the bug on a branch out of Tweed’s line of sight.
“Thanks, pal.”
6 OPERATION: DING DONG
‘‘Okay, then,” Tweed said as she squared her shoulders and turned to face the door of the house. “Enough excitement. Ring that bell!”
“Right!” Cheryl turned to the door of the house and raised a hand, one finger extended. Then she paused and looked around. “Huh.”
“What is it?” Tweed asked. “Not another spider?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” Her gaze swept the frame surrounding the door. “Just that … there’s no doorbell.”
“Huh.” Tweed peered closely, confirming the absence of buzzer or bell.
Cheryl frowned. “Does this mean we have to change the mission name?”
“I say keep it.” Tweed shrugged. “I like ‘Operation: Ding Dong.’ We’ll just say it’s ironic. Besides, ‘Operation: Knockers’ might give people the wrong idea.”
“Right.” Cheryl nodded. “Okay. So … what do we do now?”
For some reason, both the girls were still feeling somewhat reluctant, even after their bout of ACTION!! Now that they were really there, standing on the threshold of the old manor house, Cheryl glanced nervously at the sky. She knew that her imagination was a pure and potent force to be reckoned with, but even she had been surprised by how real their ACTION!! game had felt. Especially when the winged shadows had swept over them. She’d actually thought she’d felt a chill.
But that wasn’t the real reason for her reluctance.
“What if ol’ Heckenwhozits sends us away?” she asked. “I mean, we are kinda crashing this party. The invite specifically said—”
“I know what it said!” Tweed said, rather more snappishly than she intended. She took a breath. “Sorry. I mean, I know what it says, but we’re here to convince him we’re up for the job, right? And we are, right? We can do this?”
Cheryl had neve
r really heard her cousin sound unsure of herself before. The spider encounter must have shaken her up more than she would admit. “Of course we are,” Cheryl said firmly. “And of course we can.”
She gave Tweed the C+T Secret Signal (patent pending). Tweed grinned, some of the usual grimly gleeful sparkle returning to her eyes. She gave Cheryl the Signal back, turned toward the door, lifted her fist … and lowered it again.
“Knock,” she said to Cheryl.
“You knock,” Cheryl said back.
Tweed’s mouth disappeared in a thin line. “Okay, Fine. I’ll … um …”
“Just get on with it already!” Simon Omar’s voice startled them both.
Frankly, both girls had quite forgotten he was there.
“You’re killing me with all this suspense!” he continued. “No, wait … I’m bored. So bored. You’re boring holes in me!”
Cheryl reached into the mesh side pocket of her knapsack and brought the speaker up to her face. “Now listen here, Speaker Boy, we’ll run this mission how we see fit. We don’t need some exploded old-timey Ouija-board substitute giving us orders.”
The speaker started making noises that sounded distinctly like a chicken clucking. Cheryl and Tweed exchanged a glance. Maybe having spent all those years trapped in a gaudy bauble and unable to communicate had damaged the ex-magician’s sanity.
“Bo-ock … bock-bock-bock-bock …”
Or maybe Simon Omar was just calling them chicken.
“Hey!” Cheryl exclaimed upon the realization.
Tweed grabbed the speaker from Cheryl and held it out toward the enormous, heavy-looking oak front door. It looked like something transplanted from a medieval castle. It had heavy bronze hinges on one side and a large, ornate bronze doorknob right in the middle of the carved wooden surface. It was strange … the hinges were dull with tarnish, but the doorknob seemed almost to glow, as if it had been recently polished.
The Haunting of Heck House Page 5