Who's Your Mummy?

  We stepped up to the door and peered inside. The room was brightly lit. It looked sparkling clean, with white walls and a white ceiling.

  I saw electronic equipment lined up against the back wall. Metal tables. Oxygen tanks. It looked kind of like a hospital operating room.

  I jerked my head back when I saw Jonathan.

  He stood behind a long metal table. He was leaning over a mummy.

  The mummy was on its back. Its arms hung over the sides of the table.

  Carefully, I peeked back into the room. Jonathan had his head down. He didn’t see Peter and me.

  I didn’t breathe. I didn’t move. I stared in disbelief at my uncle as he leaned over the mummy. His eyes were wild. His face was red with excitement.

  He tugged up his shirtsleeves. Shook his hands as if shaking off water.

  He slowly, carefully began to unwrap the ancient bandages.

  Then he dug his hands into the mummy’s belly.

  He dug both hands in deep — and pulled out a glistening dark purple organ. A kidney? A liver?

  “Ohhhh, sick!” I moaned.

  And then I watched him raise the disgusting wet mummy guts to his mouth — and start to eat them!

  My stomach heaved. My throat tightened. I started to gag.

  How could he eat mummy guts? How could there be guts inside the mummy?

  I stumbled back from the door and almost knocked Peter over. I shut my eyes but I could still see him … Uncle Jonathan shoving the raw purple guts into his mouth … liquid running down his chin … chewing it, chewing the ancient mummy guts so hungrily … his eyes wild, rolling around in his excited face.

  “Sick,” Peter muttered, holding his stomach. He let out a groan. “I think I’m going to be sick. Really.”

  “No time for that,” I whispered. “We have to get out of here — now! He’s crazy! He’s totally nuts! Peter — hurry. We have to get help!”

  We turned and ran. Our footsteps thudded loudly through the big room of mummies.

  The mummies moaned as we ran between them toward the door. And again, I thought I heard more than one of them murmur, “Please — let me die! Let me die!”

  We burst through the door and ran down the long hall. My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely breathe.

  Did Jonathan hear us? Was he coming after us?

  I glanced back. No. No sign of him.

  Peter and I ran into my bedroom. I closed the door behind us.

  “Don’t panic. Don’t panic,” I said breathlessly. I guess I was trying to calm myself down. Because I was totally freaking out. I’d never been so frightened in my life.

  “How could he eat that stuff?” Peter asked in a tiny voice. His face was green. He held his stomach again. “It … it must taste so rotten. He … he was eating a DEAD PERSON!”

  I felt sick, too. I raised a hand. “Stop,” I said. “Stop thinking about it.”

  He dropped onto the edge of my bed. He shook his head. “What are we going to do? He’s a maniac. We can’t stay here.”

  My head was spinning. Don’t panic. Abby, don’t panic, I told myself again.

  I grabbed my cell phone off the bed table. “I’ll call 911,” I said. “The village police. They have to have police in the village — right?”

  I flipped open the phone and started to punch in the number.

  Then I uttered a startled cry. “The battery! Peter — look!”

  I held up the phone. “The battery is gone! Someone stole the battery from my phone!”

  Peter’s mouth dropped open. “He … he doesn’t want us to call anyone,” he stammered.

  I grabbed my jacket. Then I tugged Peter to his feet. “Come on. Get your coat. We’re outta here.”

  He held back. “But — where can we go?”

  “To the village,” I said. “Maybe we can find the police station. Or maybe there will be a train, and we can get out of here.”

  I poked my head out into the hall. Empty. No sign of Jonathan or Sonja. “Let’s go!”

  We hurried to Peter’s room. He grabbed his hoodie and slipped it on. Then we made our way down the stairs.

  “The kitchen phone!” I said, pointing to the black phone on the wall. I grabbed the receiver off the hook and raised it to my ear.

  Silent.

  Dead.

  I pulled Peter toward the front door. “We have no choice. We can make it down the hill. I know we can. It’s only a couple of miles to the village.”

  We stepped outside, into a gray, dark day. Clouds had covered the sun.

  I felt a cold drizzle on my head and shoulders. A thick fog had swept over the hill. The fog was so thick, I couldn’t see the village down below.

  I shivered and zipped my jacket to the top. A cold raindrop landed on my nose. I wiped it away. The swirling fog felt icy and damp.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Peter said. “This fog is like smoke.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “If Jonathan comes after us, he won’t see us. It’ll be easy to hide.”

  Staying close together, we found the road that curved down the steep hill. Peter pulled the hood over his head. We started walking, fast, almost jogging.

  But the old road was pitted with holes and deep ruts. I tripped and stumbled to the ground. Peter helped pull me up. My knee throbbed with pain, but I forced myself to keep moving fast.

  I kept glancing back to see if Jonathan was following us. But I couldn’t see a thing in the heavy fog.

  The fog brightened, grew so bright I had to squint. Then it swirled and grew dark again, until it felt as if we had gone from day to night.

  Suddenly, Peter stopped. He tilted his head. “What’s that sound?”

  A few seconds later, I heard it, too. A helicopter flying above us?

  I squinted into the dark fog blanket. I heard a shrill, chittering sound. And then I saw them.

  Bats.

  Like black shadows in the fog. Darting low over our heads, then swooping back up, disappearing in the layers of mist.

  “The bats are following us!” Peter cried.

  I ducked as a shrieking bat flapped right over my head. I could feel the wind off its wings, and then it vanished into the fog.

  The road curved around a thicket of scraggly pine bushes. Peter and I made the turn. I had my hands over my head, trying to shield myself from the screeching bats. My legs ached from the long downhill trek.

  And I kept turning back, watching the road behind us. Listening for Jonathan’s car. Once he discovered we were gone, I knew he’d come after us.

  It seemed to take hours. The bats screeched and chattered and swooped. They followed us all the way down the hill.

  The trees gave way to tall grass and weeds. And the fog finally lifted as we neared the village of Cranford.

  Peter and I trotted down the center of Main Street, past the small shops and houses. A black cat stared at us through a store window, and I thought of Cleopatra.

  In my mind, I saw it all once again. Saw the cat’s look of surprise when I squirted it with water. Saw the cat fall to pieces … to powder. A shudder ran down my body.

  We stopped across from the little train station. No one on the platform. No one in the street.

  “Where is everyone?” Peter asked. “Someone has to help us. I —”

  We both saw the man at the same time. He came around the corner of the train station. His eyes went wide when he saw us.

  I recognized him — and gasped.

  The evil-looking bald man with the scar on his forehead. The intruder from last night.

  “There you are!” he growled.

  He stretched his arms out wide as if he was ready to capture us. And he came rushing toward us!

  “Nooooo!”

  A scream burst from my throat.

  Peter and I turned and took off running across the street. We ducked into a narrow alley between a barbershop and a dry cleaners.

  The alley was dark and cold. Our footsteps thudded on the hard pavement.
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  We reached the end of the alley and ran into a small park.

  “Come back here!” the big man bellowed. His deep voice echoed off the alley walls. He wasn’t far behind.

  We ran over the wet grass of the park and ducked behind a row of low evergreen shrubs.

  The man saw us. He picked up speed, his big legs churning. His face was bright red. His eyes were wild and desperate.

  Peter glanced around frantically. How could we escape him?

  No place to hide. No place.

  I darted away from the shrubs and ran back to the narrow alley. Peter was close behind me. I could hear his wheezing breath. We couldn’t run much longer.

  A few seconds later, we found ourselves back on Main Street, in front of the train station.

  Now what?

  I glanced up and down the street. No one around. No one to help us.

  I was so desperate to find someone, I didn’t see the black car pull up. It stopped beside us, and the driver’s window slid down.

  “Get in!” a voice called. “Hurry!”

  I squinted into the car. It was Crazy Annie! She waved to us frantically.

  In the alley, I saw the big man lumbering toward us. He was waving, too. Waving both arms as he ran.

  “Get in!” Annie cried. “Hurry! I warned you! Get in! I’ll take you away from that madman!”

  I held back. Did Jonathan tell the truth? Was Annie really crazy?

  If so, we shouldn’t get in the car with her.

  But the big man with the scar was just too scary.

  I pulled open the back door of the car and pushed Peter inside. Then I dove onto the seat. My legs were still dangling out of the car when Annie floored the gas pedal and the car roared forward.

  The big man leaped in front of the car to stop us.

  I screamed.

  Annie swerved hard. I felt myself falling out through the open door. Peter grabbed my hands and held on with all his strength.

  The car shot around the man and sped down the main street.

  I saw the man shaking his big fist at us.

  As the car roared away, I pulled myself onto the seat and slammed the back door. Peter and I sat there, shivering, silent. We were too frightened and too exhausted to speak.

  “Annie, thank you for helping us,” I said finally. I looked out the window. Whoa. Wait. Annie was driving us back up the hill.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Why are you taking us up the hill?” Peter demanded.

  “I told you,” Annie said. “I live on the hill, too.”

  Peter and I exchanged glances. He had a strong grip on the door handle. His face was tight with worry.

  “Are you taking us to your house?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  The car followed the curving road, bumping over the ruts and holes. A short while later, Uncle Jonathan’s house rose up in front of us.

  “Hey! What’s the big idea?” I shouted angrily.

  Too late.

  Annie stopped the car at the front door. Jonathan and Sonja stood waiting on the walk. Jonathan had a pleased smile under his black mustache.

  He opened the back door. “Well, well,” he said softly, “look who has returned.”

  Peter and I had no choice. We slid out of the car and stood facing Jonathan.

  My heart was racing. I couldn’t speak. I knew we’d been tricked. But — now what?

  Annie stepped out from behind the wheel. Jonathan patted her on the shoulder. “Good work, Annie,” he said. “I told you we needed someone in the village. Someone they trusted. Just in case they tried to escape.”

  “No problem, boss,” Annie said, grinning.

  “I … I don’t understand,” I stammered. “I don’t —”

  “You will soon,” Jonathan replied.

  He grabbed Peter by the shoulders. Sonja and Annie took me as their prisoner. They forced us into the house.

  “Where are you taking us?” Peter cried.

  “You’ll recognize it,” Jonathan said. “I saw you this morning. I know you’ve already visited my mummy museum.”

  They pushed us up the stairs, then guided us to Jonathan’s private quarters. Jonathan opened the door, and we stepped into the brightly lit mummy room.

  The room rang out with loud moans and groans from the three rows of mummy cases. It sounded like a choir of sad, tortured voices.

  I wanted to cover my ears. Were they suffering? Were they in pain?

  How could two-thousand-year-old mummies be wailing and moaning in their cases?

  I could feel all of my muscles tighten in fright. Beside me, Peter’s face had gone green. I could see that he was terrified, too.

  “Come along,” Jonathan said brightly. He led us through the aisle of mummy cases to his white room at the back. “Come along. We have work to do.”

  Those words sent a cold shiver down my spine.

  “Work?” I cried in a high, shrill voice. “Why are you doing this, Jonathan? What do you WANT?”

  “I want your hair,” Jonathan replied.

  He turned and stared at me, and his eyes flashed with excitement. “I need your hair,” he said. “The first time I saw it — in a photograph — I knew it would be right. But I tested it this morning. I cut off a lock and tested it. And it’s PERFECT!”

  My missing lock of hair. Jonathan cut it off?

  “P-perfect?” I stammered.

  The white room was spinning in front of me. I grabbed the edge of the metal table to keep from falling.

  I felt dizzy. And confused. And terrified.

  Jonathan was insane! Out of his mind. What did he want with my hair?

  I reached up and pulled it behind my head, as if trying to protect it.

  “What do you mean?” I cried. “Why do you want my hair?”

  “I suppose I should explain,” Jonathan said. He motioned to the table. “Sit down, Abby. I’ll explain it all to you and your brother.”

  “Just let us go home!” Peter cried. “You can’t keep us here.”

  Annie closed the door to the white room. She put her back against it, as if guarding it. Sonja stood stiffly beside her, hands at her waist.

  Jonathan shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “You’re wrong, Peter. I’m afraid I have to keep you two here — forever.”

  Peter swallowed. “That’s one of your jokes — right?”

  Jonathan turned to me. “You killed my cat, Abby,” he said. “You saw her crumble to dust.”

  “Listen, I’m really sorry —” I started.

  He raised a hand to silence me. “Cleopatra was an ancient cat,” he said. “She was my cat for two thousand years. And you saw her crumble. You and Peter saw too much, Abby. That’s why I couldn’t let you leave — even if I didn’t need your hair.”

  I just stared at him. Did any of this make sense?

  Was he TOTALLY insane?

  “I’m not crazy,” Jonathan said.

  Could he read my mind?

  He pulled out his pipe and tapped it against the table. His eyes locked onto mine. “Sonja, Annie, and I don’t come from your time,” he said. “We are ancient Egyptians. We have found the secret of immortal life. We know how to stay alive forever.”

  “That’s awesome,” Peter said sarcastically. “Can we go home now?”

  He started for the door, but Annie still stood in the way.

  “You saw me in here with the mummy, didn’t you, Abby?” Jonathan stepped up close to me. So close I could see the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “And so you know how we stay alive,” he continued. “We stay alive by eating the insides of mummies.”

  I pictured it again. Jonathan pushing that blobby, wet purple organ into his mouth. Once more, I felt my stomach lurch.

  Jonathan opened a door at the back wall. He motioned for Peter and me to follow him.

  He led us into a long, narrow white room with tall shelves on both sides. It seemed to be a storage room. As my e
yes adjusted to the light, I saw mummies on the shelves.

  The mummies lay on their backs. Two rows of them. Jonathan led us down the rows.

  I pressed my hand to my mouth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  Their wrappings had all been opened.

  Their insides were half eaten!

  “Impossible!” I cried. The word burst from my throat. “You can’t eat their insides. In two thousand years, their organs would all dry up. They’d be nothing but powder!”

  A strange smile spread over Jonathan’s face. “Two thousand years ago, I found the secret to keeping these mummies alive!” he cried. “I kept them alive all these years. Kept them alive so their organs would stay fresh!”

  Down the rows, the mummies groaned and uttered sharp cries of pain. They didn’t move. But the horrifying sounds rose from beneath their covered mouths.

  “We won’t tell anyone about this,” Peter said in a tiny, frightened voice. “I promise. Not a word. Please — let us go.”

  “Yes, we’ll just go home. We won’t say anything,” I said. I raised my hand. “I swear.”

  “You don’t understand,” Jonathan said softly. “The mummy organs keep us alive. But we need one special ingredient to keep the organs fresh enough to eat. Can you guess what that is?”

  My hands flew up to my hair. “Oh, nooo,” I moaned.

  “Yes. You guessed it. I need a special protein from the hair of certain people. Our supply is running low. It’s so lucky you two came along.”

  He pulled me out of the storage room and led me to the metal table. “Not just any hair. It has to be straight, jet-black hair with the special protein. You and your brother both have the protein I need.”

  “No, please —” I said.

  Jonathan was surprisingly strong. He grabbed me under the arms and lifted me onto the table.

  “You’re going to grow beautiful hair for me,” he said softly. “Beautiful hair to keep Annie, Sonja, and me alive. I’m so sorry, Abby. But I’m going to keep you and Peter here a long time — until your hair turns gray.”

  He pushed me down onto my back. He held me by the shoulders.

  Across the room, I saw Sonja raise a big pair of silvery shears. As big as gardening shears! A grim smile spread across her wide face as she came toward me, holding the shears high.