Who's Your Mummy?

by R. L. Stine

  The question startled Sonja. Her cheeks turned bright red. She squinted at Peter through her glasses. “Mummy? Upon my soul! No. Is there a mummy in this house?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Sonja is too busy to worry her head about mummies,” he said. He turned to her. “Why don’t you show Abby and Peter to their rooms?”

  “Yes. You will like your rooms,” she said.

  She had her eyes locked on me. To my surprise, she stepped up close. Then she raised her chubby fingers — and ran them through my hair.

  “What beautiful long black hair,” she sang. “Upon my mother’s heart. Beautiful, beautiful.”

  What is up with her? I wondered. How totally weird to run your hands through a stranger’s hair.

  “See you at dinner,” Jonathan said, waving at us with the pipe in his hand. Was I imagining it? Or was he staring at my hair, too?

  Sonja led the way up a wide stone stairway. Enormous tapestries with ancient Egyptian symbols hung on the walls.

  “It’s like living in a museum,” Peter whispered.

  Sonja led us down a long, dark hall. Old-fashioned torches poked out from the walls, making the shadows flicker and dance. The floor was marble, and our footsteps echoed as we walked.

  Sonja stopped suddenly and pointed to a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “You will enjoy exploring your uncle’s house,” she said. “But never open that door.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Those are Dr. Jonathan’s private quarters. Do not go there unless he invites you.”

  We turned and started down another dimly lit hallway. But I stopped when I thought I heard sounds from the other side of that door.

  Moans? Low groans?

  The sounds sent a chill down the back of my neck. And the woman at the train station flashed into my mind.

  Jonathan called her Crazy Annie.

  But was she telling the truth about this place?

  My room was big and bright and totally weird. It had heavy purple drapes over the windows and a crystal chandelier that threw a sparkly light over every thing.

  I gazed at the canopy bed with its curtains flowing down the sides. The curtains and bedspread were purple to match the drapes. I’d never slept in a canopy bed. I knew I’d feel like a princess in a movie!

  This room, too, was filled with ancient Egyptian objects. I walked around picking up clay vases and jars, little pipes, and bird sculptures. Even the pale wallpaper had rows of ancient Egyptians all over it, standing in their funny sideways pose.

  Are all the rooms in this house decorated like ancient Egypt? I wondered. Uncle Jonathan must be totally obsessed!

  I lugged my suitcase onto the bed and opened it. It would be easy to unpack. The closet in this room was bigger than my whole bedroom at Granny Vee’s!

  I bent down and pulled a stack of T-shirts from the suitcase. And screamed when a cold blast shocked the back of my neck!

  My breath caught in my throat.

  I spun around.

  “Peter!” I screamed. “No fair!”

  He aimed his blaster and sent a spray of water over the front of my jeans.

  “No fair! I don’t have my blaster!” I wailed.

  I ducked, and the next stream of water sailed over my head.

  Peter laughed. “You lose, Abby!”

  “That’s the only way you can win,” I said, wiping the back of my neck with one hand. “Shoot an unarmed person.”

  I rummaged in my suitcase till I found the water blaster at the bottom. I tugged it out and pointed it at my brother’s face. I pulled the trigger.

  He ducked, then dropped to the floor.

  It was my turn to laugh. “It’s not loaded, you idiot. Think I’d put a loaded water gun in my suitcase?”

  He climbed to his feet. “We can have awesome water battles in this place!”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Uncle Jonathan might not like it — with all these valuable museum objects everywhere.”

  I took out my toiletry bag and carried it to the bathroom. “Did you unpack?” I called to Peter.

  “Kinda,” he replied.

  “What do you mean kinda?”

  He shrugged. “I took some stuff out. You know.” He picked up my backpack and began pawing through it.

  I grabbed it away from him. “What’s your problem, Peter?”

  “Looking for your phone,” he said. “Can we call Granny Vee?”

  His voice came out high and shrill. He suddenly sounded like such a little boy.

  I could see the worry on his face. I had been thinking about Granny Vee, too.

  “Sure,” I said. I pulled my cell from the bag and clicked it on. “Hey — good news. Three bars,” I said. “It works here.”

  I punched in Granny Vee’s number, and she picked up after the third ring. “Granny Vee — it’s me!” I said. “Peter and I are here with Uncle Jonathan, and everything is fine.”

  “I’m so glad you called,” she said. She coughed and cleared her throat. Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “Granny Vee, how are you feeling?” I asked.

  “P-pretty good,” she answered. “I get tired so easily, but —” She stopped.

  “When do you go in for the tests?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow,” she replied. “But I don’t want you two to worry. I want you to enjoy your stay with Jonathan. He’s such an interesting man. And he was so eager to have you.”

  “He sure loves ancient Egypt,” I said.

  “Really?” she replied. She sounded surprised.

  Peter interrupted. “Ask her if we can come home next week.”

  “No, I won’t,” I whispered. “Granny Vee said we’ll stay here for two weeks.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Granny Vee said, coughing some more. “I’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.

  I clicked off. “She sounds kind of weak,” I told Peter. “She keeps saying she’ll be fine. I hope she’s telling the truth.”

  “Me, too,” Peter murmured.

  I yawned. I suddenly felt really tired. Guess it was the long train ride.

  I took my brother by the shoulders and pushed him to the door. “Peter, go unpack,” I said. “Don’t leave all your stuff in the suitcase.”

  He groaned. “Bor-ring!” He raised his water blaster and pointed it at me. “Squirt, squirt,” he said. Then he stomped on my foot and ran off.

  Is he a total jerk or just a jerk? I asked myself.

  By the time I finished unpacking, I was yawning my head off. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

  The quilted bedspread on the canopy bed looked soft and inviting. I decided to take a short nap.

  I pulled off my shoes and climbed on top of the spread. Mmmmmm. So soft. I sank into it. I stretched my arms, rubbing them against the velvety smoothness.

  I shut my eyes.

  And drifted off to sleep almost instantly. I felt so snug and comfortable, as if I were floating on air.

  I don’t know how long I slept. I blinked my eyes open — half awake — and saw something.

  A dark creature. It slithered silently into my room.

  First, I saw its shadow on the wall. And then I saw it leap.

  It sprang onto the bed — onto my chest! And before I could move or scream, it reached out and started to choke me!

  I opened my mouth in a frightened scream.

  I heard footsteps.

  Someone came bursting through the bedroom door.

  Sonja ran up to my bed — and pulled the creature off my chest.

  I stared up at it as it squirmed in her hands.

  A black cat. A very big black cat with olive-green eyes.

  Gasping for breath, my heart thudding, I sat up. I could still feel the dry paws on my throat.

  Sonja held the cat tightly around its middle.

  The cat was black except for a tiny V of white on her chest. Her olive eyes were locked on mine. It creeped me out. It was almost a human stare.

  “I
see you’ve met Cleopatra,” Sonja said.

  “Huh? Cleopatra?” I choked out.

  “By my faith, I’m sorry she scared you,” Sonja said. “She doesn’t take to visitors.”

  I blinked. “That’s the biggest cat I ever saw!” I said. She was long and lean. She had to be as big as Granny Vee’s old cocker spaniel!

  “She comes from a long, long line of Egyptian cats,” Sonja said.

  She rubbed Cleopatra’s belly. The cat stopped struggling. It went limp. But kept its intense stare on me.

  I had the weird feeling it was trying to communicate, trying to tell me something.

  But — what?

  “An ancient breed,” Sonja said. “Your Uncle Jonathan brought her back with him from Cairo.”

  “How long ago?” I asked. “How old is she?”

  Sonja shrugged. “The cat is not young. She is set in her ways. She doesn’t like change.”

  “I … I don’t think she likes me!” I said.

  Sonja shrugged again. She set Cleopatra down on the floor.

  The cat gave me one last long look. A pink triangular tongue darted out, and she licked her lips from side to side. Then, with her slender tail raised, she scampered silently out the door.

  I lowered my feet to the floor. My stomach growled. “Is it almost dinnertime?” I asked.

  Sonja didn’t answer. She was eyeing my hair again.

  I realized it must be a tangled mess. I hadn’t brushed it since we arrived.

  “Such beautiful hair,” she said. Her round cheeks turned red. She smiled as she reached out. And she smoothed my hair down against my head.

  I felt a shiver. Creepy, I thought.

  “Such beautiful hair,” Sonja whispered. “By my soul, it will not go to waste.”

  “Excuse me?” I said. “What did you say?”

  But she turned and hurried from the room.

  “So there I was in Egypt, floating up the Nile river for the first time in my life,” Uncle Jonathan said at dinner. “One of the longest, most famous rivers in the world. I was in a flatboat, heading south from Cairo.”

  Peter set down his chicken leg. “Were you afraid?” he asked.

  Jonathan stared across the table at him. “What a strange question,” he said. “No, I was excited. Thrilled. To be traveling on the same river that the pharaohs sailed.”

  Peter thought for a moment. “But weren’t you afraid of the mummies?” he asked.

  Jonathan wiped gravy off his mustache. He smiled. “Peter, you don’t see mummies everywhere you look in Egypt,” he said. “Most of them are in museums. Or else they are buried deep in their tombs.”

  “Well, are you going to show us a mummy?” Peter asked.

  Jonathan and I laughed. “Peter, you’re obsessed!” I cried. “You have mummies on the brain!”

  “So what?” He stuck out his tongue at me.

  “Maybe after dinner,” Jonathan said. “Finish your chicken. And let me finish my story.”

  “Fried chicken and mashed potatoes are my favorites,” I said.

  “It was a sunny day,” Jonathan continued. “I could see silvery fish swimming in the river. Whole schools of them. Well … I wasn’t very smart. I told you it was my first trip. I leaned over the side of the flatboat to see the fish better — and splash — I fell into the river!”

  “Whoa!” I cried. “Was it deep?”

  He nodded. “Pretty deep. I’m not a great swimmer. And the boat was moving faster than I’d thought. I sputtered and thrashed, and the boat was sailing away from me.”

  “No one saw you?” Peter asked.

  “I guess not,” Jonathan answered. “I started swimming after the boat as fast as I could. But then I felt these things swim up my pants legs. And I knew I was in trouble.”

  I swallowed. “What were they?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jonathan replied. “Some kind of vicious eels, I guess. They swam right up my pants, twined around my legs, and bit off big hunks of my skin.”

  “And what happened?” Peter asked.

  Jonathan shook his head sadly. “They chewed off my legs, and I died.”

  Peter and I stared at him. The big dining room was silent.

  Then Jonathan burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he said. “People tell me I have a sick sense of humor.”

  Then Peter and I started to laugh. We thought Jonathan was telling us a true story. We didn’t know he liked to joke so much.

  After dinner, Sonja brought us big slices of apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was an awesome dinner. I think Jonathan was trying to make us feel at home.

  But I could see Peter was starting to get fidgety. He never likes to sit still for more than ten minutes. At home, he laps up his food like a dog in five seconds, jumps up from the table, and asks Granny Vee to be excused.

  Jonathan ate the last bite of pie and set down his fork. He smiled at Peter. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking. Follow me.”

  Peter jumped up excitedly. “You’re going to show us a mummy?”

  “Just follow me,” Jonathan said. He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and guided him out of the dining room. “Peter, where did you get your interest in mummies?” he asked.

  “From movies,” Peter said. “I like it when they come to life and stagger around, strangling people.”

  Jonathan laughed. “I like those movies, too. But sometimes I wish they were more realistic. You know, the real stories are even scarier.”

  He led us down a long, curving hallway. Tall oil portraits of old-fashioned people hung on the walls. They all looked very grim, as if they had just heard some bad news. Some of them looked a lot like Jonathan. I guessed they were his ancestors. And mine, too.

  I glimpsed a library filled with books from floor to ceiling. Another room had a pool table and a dark wooden bar. We passed a study with a wide desk cluttered with papers and files. The doors to several rooms were closed.

  “I’m taking you to the temple.” Jonathan’s voice echoed as we made our way down a steep flight of stairs. “It’s a perfect re-creation of an ancient one in Egypt. It took me three years to build it in my house.”

  “Cool,” Peter muttered.

  We went down another flight of stairs. The air grew hot and thick. The back of my neck prickled with sweat.

  We turned a corner and followed Jonathan down another hall. “This house is humongous,” I said. “A person could get lost here!”

  “You’re right,” Jonathan said. “Once, I got lost here for two years!”

  This time, Peter and I laughed. We were getting used to his sense of humor.

  He led us up to tall double doors. The doors were guarded by two stone statues on pedestals. The statues had to be ten feet tall! They looked like giant open-mouthed cats, only fierce. Fiery torches jutted out from the wall above them.

  Jonathan pulled open the heavy doors. “This is the temple,” he said in a whisper.

  We stepped into the huge room. Our footsteps echoed on the stone floor. The ceiling was high above our heads. The room was dark except for a blazing fire dancing high in a wide brick fireplace.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. And then, in front of the fire, I saw a small rectangle. A mummy case. Standing on its end.

  Peter was so excited, he leaped into the air. I could feel my heart start to race.

  We followed Jonathan up to the case. To my surprise, it was exactly my height.

  Jonathan rested his hand on its top. “It’s Ka-Ran-Tut,” he whispered. “The Boy Pharaoh.”

  The firelight cast strange shadows over Jonathan as he bent to open the lid. He seemed to fade in and out of view. The logs cracked loudly, and bright red embers flew out from the fireplace.

  The lid slid open quickly. I gasped as I saw the mummy. So short! So tiny and frail.

  “He was your age, Peter,” Jonathan said. He stepped back so we could see the mummy clearly.

  My breath caught in my throat. His head looked so delic
ate. The ragged wrappings were torn and stained. Some of them had unraveled off his skinny arms, which were crossed in front of him. His feet had turned black.

  “Come closer,” Jonathan said, waving his arms. “You can see better.”

  Peter’s mouth hung open. His eyes were bulging.

  “He was your age,” Jonathan repeated, “but he ruled Egypt when he was four years old. By the time he was seven, he was responsible for the deaths of nearly two thousand people.”

  “Wow,” Peter muttered. “He was a bad kid, huh?”

  “You could say that,” Jonathan replied.

  “I … I can’t believe this thing was once a real, live boy,” I said. I shook my head. “I know I’m gonna have nightmares tonight!”

  I leaned closer. I wondered if I could see his eyes and mouth under the wrappings.

  I brought my face right up to the mummy’s. And then I gasped as I heard its dry whisper:

  “Who’s your mummy?”

  With a short cry, I staggered back. I nearly fell.

  I heard Peter’s loud laugh. “Scared you!” he cried. He gave me a shove and laughed some more.

  “Did NOT!” I shouted. “I knew it was you!”

  Peter stuck his grinning face up to mine. “If you knew it was me, why did you scream? And why did you jump back like that?”

  “Just wanted to give you a thrill,” I said. I shoved him back.

  “Please. Remember this is a temple,” Jonathan said. He carefully slid shut the cover of the mummy case.

  “Do you have any more mummies?” Peter asked him. “Any big ones?”

  Jonathan didn’t answer. He made sure the mummy’s lid was closed tight. Then he brushed some dust off the front.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to explore my house,” he said finally. His eyes sparkled in the dancing firelight. “Who knows what amazing things you will find?”

  * * *

  Peter didn’t want to go to sleep. He was too wired from his first view of a real mummy. He danced around my room, talking a mile a minute. Almost climbing the walls. The way he gets when he eats too much chocolate.

  Finally, I had to take him by the hands and drag him down the hall to his room.

  Later, I thought about calling Granny Vee. But it was too late. She was probably asleep.