The Haunting of Heck House Read Online Free PDF Page B

exactly been the life of the party for the last hundred years or so, y’know. All I could do was lie there like a piece of cheap costume jewellery on that ratty old velvet. That, at least, seems to have changed.”
    â€œWell …” Tweed considered that, her head tilted to one side. “I think it might have been the mystical shockwave blast from opening that portal into the Egyptian afterlife. You remember, Cheryl?”
    â€œSure.” Cheryl nodded. “That explosion lit up the sky like a firecracker going ka-boom!”
    â€œRight! And remember how the portal kinda spat out all of Dudley’s carnival junk that didn’t belong to the princess?”
    â€œOh yeah.” Cheryl nodded. “It was like a mini meteor shower. There must be Duds—y’know, carnival bits and bobs—all over town! Tweed’s right—that must havebeen what happened to you, Mr. Speakie! That blast shot you through the air with enough force to jam you into that speaker. Well, not you. Your turban-bauble thing.”
    Tweed peered at the speaker closely. “That was some pretty powerful magic … maybe it gave you the ability to talk, too.”
    â€œMaybe it’s just ’cause he’s a ‘speaker’ now!” Cheryl tried not to snort in amusement at her own pun. The speaker sort of glared at her. “Um. Heh. Kinda neat that you managed to keep that funny accent and all …”
    â€œNow, listen here, missy—”
    Suddenly, there was a knocking on the barn door. The twins jumped.
    â€œHide the squawk box!” Cheryl hissed, shoving the stack of note cards into the front pocket of her knapsack, which was hanging on a hook on the work table, and flapping her hands at Simon Omar. “It’s probably Pops!”
    â€œRoger, roger!” Tweed whispered as Cheryl ran for the door.
    â€œHey!” the speaker protested. “Mfff!”
    â€œShh!” Tweed said as she grabbed the thing, muffling the sound grill with one hand. “Be quiet now or you’ll get us in a heap of trouble!” She stuffed it in a drawer, slamming it shut just as Cheryl pulled back the bolt and a bright flood of sunshine spilled through the doorway, buttering the dusty floor of the shadowy interior like a fresh-popped piece of toast.
    It wasn’t Pops. It was Pilot.
    â€œOh, hey there, Flyboy!” Cheryl said brightly, tossing a relieved wave at Pilot as he stepped through the door. “Howzit goin’?”
    â€œWell, my day was going along just fine,” Pilot said with a crooked grin, “right up until Pops asked me to check if you girls needed a hand with anything …”
    Cheryl and Tweed noticed then that there was a hopelessly knotted bit of bubblegum-pink skipping rope tangled around Pilot’s ankle. In one hand, he carried a beat-up-looking pool noodle, and there was a Nerf dart stuck to the brim of his baseball cap with its suction cup. A light dusting of something that resembled powdered sugar coated one shoulder of his jacket and the side of his face.
    Pilot had obviously run afoul of the twins’ ACTION!! set-up out in the lot.
    â€œWhere in the Sam Heck did you two find a giant Styrofoam mini-donut, might I ask?” he asked, brushing at the fake sugar.
    Cheryl grinned and waved in the direction of the empty field across the road from the Drive-In. “Carnival leftovers,” she said.
    â€œAh.” Pilot plucked the baseball cap off his head— and the Nerf dart off his cap—and with the sleeve of his jacket wiped his brow, pushing the sweat-damp blond hair back from his face. The day was already growing hot and he wandered over to the big old fridge that satchugging away in the corner of the barn and fetched himself a cold bottle of soda. “That repair job is thirsty work but I think we’ve almost licked it. Anyway, Pops wanted me to ask you two if you’d managed to take care of that tweaky