by Duncan Ball
Dr Trifle put on his glasses to see the writing that was painted on the lid of the mummy case which lay on the floor of the room.
“I’d be happy to help,” he said, “but I’ve forgotten all the ancient mummy writing I ever knew.”
“That’s a pity,” Professor Krakpott said, “but I’m sure, between the two of us, we’ll work out what it says.”
“Who sold it to you?”
“One of those mummy dealers who goes crawling around in ancient tombs wearing a sheet around him and a turban on his head. Trevor’s his name.”
“Trevor?” Dr Trifle said.
Selby looked around the dusty old storeroom.
“Sheeeesh!” he thought as a shiver went up his spine. “How can Professor Krakpott work here surrounded by mummies? I’d be looking over my shoulder every two seconds just to make sure that none of them was creeping up behind me. Ralpho’s robot mummy was bad enough.”
“Trevor brought it in about an hour ago. I paid him $50,000,” Professor Krakpott said. “I think it was well worth it, the writing’s so clear it could have been painted this morning. He said he’d give me a hundred dollars back as a special Mummy’s Day discount.”
“He has a sense of humour, this Trevor,” Dr Trifle said.
“Yes, but I do believe he forgot to give me the hundred dollars back because after I handed him the $50,000 I turned to do something and when I turned back — he was gone. It was all very odd.”
“Very odd indeed,” Dr Trifle agreed. “Did he tell you anything about the mummy?”
“He warned me that there’s an ancient curse on it.”
“What sort of ancient curse?”
“The sort that says that if anyone opens the box and sets eyes on the mummy they’ll die.”
“You mean you bought a mummy and now you can’t even open the case to look at it because you might die?”
“That’s right, but frankly I never believe a word Trevor says,” Professor Krakpott said. “He’s a bit … well, unreliable when it comes to the facts. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was completely wrong about the curse.”
“You mean he’s a liar.”
“Well, yes,” Professor Krakpott said, “but after he’d gone I discovered some writing on the top of the case that worried me. It seems to say, ‘Beware! Do not open this case, you funny cup’, or something of the sort. That could be the curse that Trevor tried to warn me about.”
“'You funny cup'?” Dr Trifle said. “Are you sure it says that?”
“Well it might say, ‘you simple glass',” Professor Krakpott said. “Either way I thought I’d better make sure I know exactly what it means before we open the case.”
“Before we open the case?” Dr Trifle asked.
“Of course. Now let’s go and look it up in a copy of the Dictionary of Ancient Mummy Writing. There’s one in the library.”
“You stay here, Selby,” Dr Trifle said and he and Professor Krakpott hurried out of the storeroom, closing the door behind them.
“Oh, no!” Selby thought. “I’m trapped in a room full of mummies! I can’t turn the knob and open the door because, if I do, they’ll suspect I’m not an ordinary dog. This is awful! Even my worst nightmares aren’t this bad! I’ve just got to keep from panicking till Dr Trifle and the professor come back and open the door.”
Selby whistled every tune he could think of including the ones from every commercial he’d seen in the past five years. In a few minutes, his mouth was as dry as a desert and he’d run out of tunes.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he said to himself. “Nothing’s going to happen. Dr Trifle and the professor will be back soon and then everything will be all right. I’m sure everything’s going to be all right.”
Selby moved forward to the new mummy case and studied the ancient mummy writing on the lid.
“Hmmmmmm,” he thought. “The professor was right. It’s so fresh and bright that it could have been painted this morning.”
Suddenly Selby heard a tap and then another tap followed by a couple of thumps. Suddenly the lid began to rise in front of his nose.
“Wha-what’s this?” he thought. “What’s happening? It’s as though the m-mummy’s trying to get out of the case. It can’t be! That mummy’s been d-dead for thousands of years!”
Selby watched as the lid of the mummy case rose higher and higher. Try as he did to stay calm, his heart was pounding in his chest and sweat poured down his forehead.
“I’ve got to stay perfectly quiet!” Selby thought as a noise rumbled within him, a noise that came up and up until it came out in a huge scream that sounded something like, “Aggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!” and was so loud that it shook the dust from the rafters.
The lid dropped back down and Selby tore into a corner and hid. Then it began to rise again.
“It’s alive!” Selby screamed in plain English. “It’s going to get me! The curse says that if I even look at it I’ll die!”
Selby watched as the mummy’s bandaged head began to come out of the case.
“What am I going to do?” Selby thought as he put a paw over his eyes so he wouldn’t see the mummy. “If I race for the door, I’ll see the mummy and die! If I stand here with my paw over my eyes, he’ll get me for sure! I’ve got to think of something fast! I’ve got it!” he thought. “It’s my only chance! I’ll have to keep the mummy from coming out!”
Selby made a great leap into the air and landed squarely on the lid, knocking the bandaged head back down. He put his paws around the case to hold it closed.
“Let me out of here!” the voice in the case yelled.
“Not on your life!” Selby yelled back. “Or mine, for that matter!”
“I’ll tell you what,” the voice said,"let’s make a deal.”
“'Let’s make a deal'? That doesn’t sound like mummy-talk,” Selby thought as he suddenly realised that the bandaged head of the mummy was really the turbaned head of none other than Trevor the mummy dealer who had hidden in the mummy case to avoid paying the professor his hundred dollar Mummy’s Day discount he’d promised him.
“Let me out of here, I beg you!” the voice said.
With his nose pressed tight against the lid of the mummy case, Selby smelled something strange.
“Hey, what’s this?” Selby thought. “This paint’s still wet. This ancient writing was only painted this morning.”
“I know it’s you in there, Trevor,” Selby said, imitating the professor’s voice. “This is Professor Krakpott and you just cheated me out of $50,000 and the Mummy’s Day discount.”
“Just let me out and I promise I’ll never do it again,"Trevor pleaded.
“Not good enough,” Selby said. “You have to promise to give the money back straight away.”
“Scout’s honour,"Trevor said.
“Now wait a minute!” Selby thought. “What am I saying? If I let him out of here he’ll see I’m not the professor after all. He’ll see that it’s me, Selby, a talking dog. My secret will be out. There’s no telling what a conniving mummy dealer might do if he found a talking dog. I might be sold into slavery. But I’m stuck, I can’t let him out and I can’t let Dr Trifle and Professor Krakpott see me holding the lid down like this or they’ll know I’m not an ordinary not-so-dumb animal.”
Just then Selby heard the storeroom door begin to open.
“Oh, no! What am I going to do,” he thought, and in a second he did the only thing he could: jumped off the case and curled up on the ground as if nothing had happened.
And as soon as the door was open, Trevor jumped out of the mummy case and dashed past Dr Trifle and Professor Krakpott.
“Okay, you win,” he yelled at the professor. “You can keep the money!”
“How very strange,” Professor Krakpott said. “That was Trevor. What money do you think he was referring to?”
“I have no idea,” Dr Trifle said. “It seems to me that he kept all the money.”
“Look! The case is open!” Professor
Krakpott said. “And it’s empty. I’ve been diddled by that devilish dealer! It’s an ancient case but without the ancient mummy that was once inside. Knowing him, he’s sold me the empty case and sold the mummy to someone else.”
“There may not be a mummy in it but there seems to be plenty of money,” Dr Trifle said, picking the $50,000 out of the mummy case. “I think his conscience got the better of him and he gave it all back.”
“And look at this writing,” the professor said, closing the lid again to read it. “Just as I thought. It doesn’t say, ‘Do not open this case, you funny cup'. It says, ‘Do not open this case, you silly mug'. I wonder what that means?”
“If you don’t know,” Selby thought as he trotted out through the open door, “I’m certainly not going to tell you.”
THE BEAST OF BOGUSVILLE
Mrs Trifle slammed down the phone in a panic. “There’s still no sign of Postie Paterson,” she said to Dr Trifle. “He finished at the post office at ten o’clock and now he’s gone. He was going to the zoo to fix Tina the tiger’s cage but now he’s completely vanished — disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Selby’s ears pricked up.
“That’s spooky,” he thought as a tingle of fear went through his body. “Imagine someone just disappearing off the face of the earth.”
“There are rumours floating around,” Mrs Trifle continued.
“What sort of rumours?” Dr Trifle asked as he turned on the radio and began searching for his favourite program.
“Strange ones. Melanie Mildew said he could have hit his head and forgotten who he was and then caught the bus to Melbourne.”
“That is strange. There aren’t any buses from Bogusville to Melbourne.”
“I didn’t believe it either,” Mrs Trifle said. “Phil Philpot said that Postie might have been kidnapped by martians.”
“Very unlikely,” Dr Trifle said, twiddling the knobs on the radio. “The problem with people is they’re just not logical. When someone vanishes there’s always a simple explanation.”
“So what’s the simple explanation here?”
“Tina ate him.”
“Don’t joke. Tina loves Postie. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him,” Mrs Trifle said. “When he finished at the zoo he was going to the cemetery to clean some mud out of a drain. But no one’s heard from him since. I’m worried.”
“We can’t look for him now, it’s after dark,” Dr Trifle said, putting on his sensible voice."I’m sure he’ll show up. If he doesn’t, we’ll go looking in the morning. Shhhhhhh, Tim Trembly’s Tales of Terror is about to begin. Sit down and relax.”
“How can anyone relax when they’re listening to Tales of Terror?” Selby thought as Tim started telling his weekly horror story. “It’s so scary.”
“There was a time when eerie shadows crept,” Tim said in his special quivery voice. “There was a time when little babies wept. There was a time when the night wind howled and creatures scurried to the safety of their dens. There was a time, there was a time when the moonlight flowed like icy dragon’s blood through the streets of a tiny Australian town.”
“Gulp,” Selby said as he felt the fur on his back stand up."'Flowed like icy dragon’s blood'. That’s really spooky. Tim Trembly really knows how to make a story spooky.”
“There was a time when the chill wind raked the trees with a thousand fingers,” Tim continued. “When shutters banged and windows slammed and doors were bolted. When frightened people shivered in their beds. Suddenly a lone bat flew and a pale cloud knifed its way across the silvery surface of the moon casting the town into darkness. The time was midnight,” Tim Trembly said in a loud whisper, “and the bell in the old steeple went clong clong clong, crying a warning to every living soul.”
“I wish Tim wasn’t so good at telling stories,” Selby thought, suddenly noticing that his leg had gone to sleep. “It’s just too frightening.”
“And then the slimy beast crept from the churchyard to walk the deserted streets howling, aroooooooooooooooo! Searching for the blood of its next victim.”
“'Searching for the blood of its next victim’ — sheeeesh!” Selby thought. “I can’t take much more of this.”
“Just then there was a knock knock knock at a door,” Tim continued, “followed by the sound of splintering wood as the beast ripped the old door from its hinges. He stepped into the darkened hallway, panting and drooling.”
“Right, that’s it,” Selby thought, spying an open door and limping towards it. “I don’t have to take this. I’m going for a nice walk.”
Selby walked through deserted streets, trying to get the pins and needles out of his leg.
“Slimy beast. Terror stalking the streets. How can anyone as logical as Dr Trifle listen to that rubbish?” Selby thought, suddenly wondering what had happened to Postie Paterson.
Selby hobbled along until he saw the black outline of the church steeple ahead and the high walls of the cemetery beside it.
“It’s so silly,” Selby said."Two minutes of that silly program and now I won’t be able to sleep for a week.”
As he passed the church, the bells in the steeple rang out with a clong and a clong and some more clongs. Then a cat scurried to safety and a lone bat flew over.
“Crumbs,” he mumbled, still trying to get his leg working as a pale cloud knifed its way across the silvery surface of the moon. “This is sort of like the story. Maybe — no, what am I thinking? There are no such things as slimy beasts. And as for cemeteries, I don’t know why we’re scared of them. They’re such peaceful places, full of trees and flowers. Why, I’ve written some of my best poems right here in this one, lying by that big tree over there,” he added as he looked up into the darkened branches nearby. “I can’t let my fear get the better of me. I’ll just go in there and prove that it’s perfectly okay.”
Selby squeezed through the rusty iron gate and sat in a cool clump of weeds.
“There. Nothing to fear,” he thought. “I can even feel a poem coming on. Let’s see now:
“O lovely cemetery
What makes you seem so scary?
With grass and graves and other charms
I welcome you with open arms,”
Selby said, stretching out his front paws as if to welcome the misty darkness around him.
“Not bad but I’ll have to work on it more later. Hmmmmmm. I wonder what did happen to Postie? Whatever it was, I’m sure Dr Trifle’s right. No matter how weird something seems, there’s always a logical explanation.”
Suddenly the clouds parted and a huge dark figure climbed out of a hole right next to Selby.
“Uh-oh! What’s that?” Selby thought as the figure moved closer and a chill wind raked the trees with a thousand fingers. “Whatever it is, I’m s-s-sure there’s a l-logical explanation for it.”
“Owwwwww!” the figure howled, the moon glistening on its slimy surface.
“I m-may not know what the l-logical explanation is,” Selby said, struggling against some weeds that were wrapped around his foot, “but I’m s-sure there is one.”
“Owwwwww!” the figure screamed again and Selby saw the glistening face, twisted with pain.
“I th-think I may just t-trot along home,” Selby thought as he madly bit at the weeds, “and m-make an early n-night of it.”
Selby tore himself free and darted through the old gate, only to see the hulking figure throw itself over the high wall and land on the roadway behind him.
“Owwwwww!” it howled again and its feet squished along the wet road."Owwwwww!”
“M-m-maybe if I really th-think hard,” Selby thought as he hobbled away, just ahead of the slimy figure, “I’ll come up with the l-logical explanation for this.”
“Owwwwwwwwwwwww!” the creature howled again.
“Crumbs! And d-double crumbs!” Selby mumbled as he sped up only to find the figure so close behind that each swish of his tail touched its knees. “I w-wish I could get my leg w-working properly.”
A light rain began to fall as the figure lurched along, each step bringing it closer to the panting Selby.
“I’m (pant) thinking (pant) as logically as I can,” Selby thought as he struggled along Bunya-Bunya Crescent and then turned into the Trifles’ driveway, “but the only (pant) thing I can think of is that this (pant) slimy beast is after the blood of its next victim — (gulp) my blood! Oh, no! Someone’s closed the door! (pant) How am I going to (pant) get away from him! I can feel his breath on my back! I’ve got to get in the house!”
Selby took a running leap, throwing himself against the door, and he bounced off straight into a pair of slimy hands that clutched him tight around the middle.
“This is it! I’m a done dog!” Selby thought. “I’ve got to call the Trifles! My secret doesn’t matter now!”
Suddenly the front door flew open and the horrified Trifles stood stock still staring at the dark figure.
“Help! Save me from the slimy beast!” were the words on the tip of Selby’s tongue when all at once a smile spread across Mrs Trifle’s face.
“Postie!” she cried as she watched the mud streak down his soggy clothing. “It’s you! What happened?”
“I’m afraid I took longer to clean the mud out of that drain than I expected,” he said with a gasp. “And then I fell right into it and hurt my leg. Owwwwww!”
“Let’s have a look at it,” Dr Trifle, who knew nothing about hurt legs, said.
“It’ll be okay. It’s just a bit painful. You’d better have a look at Selby here. I think he does have a hurt leg,” Postie said, handing Selby to Dr Trifle. “I’d better go home and get cleaned up.”
“Didn’t I tell you there’s a logical explanation for everything?” Dr Trifle said when the postman had gone. “I’m sure we’d all be better off if we thought logically.”
“I’m sure we would, dear,” Mrs Trifle said, looking at Selby’s leg and finding nothing wrong with it.
“Logical, schmogical,” Selby thought as he heard the music that ended Tim Trembly’s Tales of Terror. “One more second and you’d have heard a dog screaming for help in plain English. I’d like to see you explain that one logically.”
