McMummy

by Betsy Byars

  There was the pod.

  It was bigger than it had been yesterday, so heavy now that it seemed impossible the stem could hold it. The bottom of the pod rested on the rich black soil.

  “It’s either the dirt or that stinking Vita Grow stuff,” Batty had said yesterday when Mozie told him about the mummy pod. “Remember? I never did trust that dirt.”

  “The dirt?”

  “Yeah, that dirt. Remember? That’s one reason I didn’t want to go in there because I didn’t like the smell of that dirt. It’s like one million B.C. dirt. Smelling it could be bad for you. It could cause something.” Batty was afraid of inhaling anything that didn’t smell right.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the dirt,” Mozie had said.

  To add credit to his theory, Batty had said, “I bet it came from Egypt.”

  “Egypt?”

  “Well, it would explain the mummy pod,” Batty had answered defensively. “If it is a mummy pod, you know what’s got to be in it, don’t you? A mummy! And you know what mummies do to you, don’t you?”

  Mozie said, “What?” He knew what werewolves did to you, and vampires, but he wasn’t sure about mummies.

  “They—they put an ancient curse on you. That’s what they do!”

  The soil did give off a scent richer, more exotic, than local fields. It did smell, Mozie thought now, as he stood deep in the greenhouse, sort of like the Nile. Mozie had never been to the Nile, but he had seen pictures of it, and this was the way it looked like it would smell.

  Mozie didn’t know where it came from, but he was sure he would never, ever forget the smell of the greenhouse. For the rest of his life—assuming he got out of here—whenever he saw a picture of the Nile, this rich, exotic scent would fill his nostrils.

  Mozie shifted, but the pod did not move. Perhaps, Mozie thought, it did lean a little forward toward him, straining on its stem, but it didn’t turn.

  He suddenly felt that there was something inside the pod—an actual presence, a being. It scared him, and yet there was a strange feeling he had not felt before—a feeling he could not put a name to. It wasn’t kinship, of course, it wasn’t compassion, but it was something like those feelings. Mutual loneliness, perhaps.

  He caught his breath. He and the pod were mutually alone. He sat down.

  “If you’re in there,” Mozie said, speaking in a low voice, “I’m just, you know, a kid that’s turning on the sprinkler system. Professor Orloff will be back soon. He’s supposed to already be back, though he paid me until next Saturday.

  “The professor’s the one who can help you. You just need to hang in there until next week.

  “I sort of know how you feel because my dad’s gone, and when someone goes out of your life—someone you really need—well, it does make you lonely. But the professor will be coming back, and my dad won’t. That’s the difference, so you don’t—”

  There was the distant sound of thunder, and Mozie lifted his head and looked up through the dusty panes of glass overhead.

  A broad line of thunderstorms had been stalled over the mountains for days, never coming closer, just gaining strength. Every afternoon the tops of the cumulonimbus clouds ballooned, and lightning could be seen in the rounded domes.

  At the sound of thunder, the pod seemed to quiver. It was such a quick movement—over almost as soon as it began—that Mozie wasn’t sure it had happened.

  “It’s just thunder,” he said.

  He looked up at the pod. The pod almost seemed to float above the rich soil, though the end of the pod was now pressed into the earth. It was like a prehistoric plant rising from mist, a low silhouette, green and ominous in its strangeness.

  Yet, there was a grace about the pod, a beauty that held Mozie in place, that kept him here, breathing this rich, perhaps unhealthy air until—

  A sound broke into Mozie’s world.

  Honk! HONK! HonkHonkHonk!

  “Valvoline,” he said. He lifted his head. “Valvoline!”

  And as if a spell had been broken, he got up and ran for the door.

  911

  VALVOLINE LEANED OUT OF the phone booth as Mozie ran around the corner of the gas station.

  “I was worried about you, Mozie. I was calling for help. I already dialed the nine.”

  “I—I—”

  He was too winded to speak.

  Valvoline hung up the phone and stepped outside of the booth.

  “What happened? I waited and waited, and ten minutes went by, and twenty, and finally I said, ‘Well, I have to call Mrs. Mozer,’ and I got in the phone booth and guess what? Somebody had torn the Mozer page right out of the phone book, and I don’t know your number. So then I just said, ‘Well, shoot, I’m calling 911,’ and I put in a dime and dialed a nine when you came running out of nowhere. You all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That pod didn’t try to get you or anything?”

  “No.”

  “Because I remember a little plant I got for my seventh birthday and it opened and caught flies. You could see the fly’s little legs sticking out for the longest time.”

  “This isn’t that kind of pod.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “For one thing, it’s shut.”

  “That doesn’t mean it couldn’t open.”

  “True.”

  They started for the car. “Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t finish the 911 with you being all right. This friend of mine dialed 911 because her cat got his paws stuck in the VCR. And she called 911 and she didn’t say it was a cat. She just said, ‘It’s stuck in the VCR. I can’t get it out of the VCR!’ And when they came and saw Bosco—”

  Mozie stopped abruptly.

  “What’s wrong, Mozie?”

  “I forgot to turn on the sprinklers.”

  “You mean you got to go back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not going to sit out here in this deserted parking lot by myself. That’s dangerous too. All kinds of cars rode by with people looking funny at me. Get in the car. I’ll drive up there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She threw the car in gear and backed out of the station. Slowly she began the drive through the thick trees.

  “This is just the way I remember it from junior high,” she said. “My boyfriend’s mother raised Dobermans and the back of her station wagon was a sort of pen, and some people always had to ride in the pen and they hated it because they always got out smelling like Doberman …”

  She trailed off as she came to the greenhouse. She pulled on the hand brake, and the car skidded to a stop on the gravel.

  “I’m not staying in this car by myself either.”

  They got out together and proceeded to the greenhouse. In his haste, Mozie hadn’t locked the door and he pushed it open.

  “The sprinkler system is right here. It won’t take but a minute.”

  Valvoline was beside him. She was even better than Batty as security because she gave off a sort of perfumed warmth, while Batty’s warmth gave off the scent of wet sneakers.

  “Wait. Don’t turn it on yet.”

  Mozie froze with his hand halfway to the valve.

  “I want to see it.”

  “The pod?”

  “Yes.”

  She shuddered and grinned. “I love stuff like that. I guess it’s being in the greenhouse where I used to come and do crazy stuff in junior high, but I want to see this pod.”

  “If you’re sure …”

  “Where is it?”

  “Back there.”

  “Hold on to me,” Valvoline urged.

  Mozie took her arm. As they started down the aisle, walking slowly toward the plant, Mozie knew how it would feel to be walking down the aisle of the church one day, fearful of and yet hopeful for the future. He hoped the bride at his side smelled like Valvoline.

  “This is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t see any pod.”

  “Back there.”


  Mozie pulled aside the leaves and Valvoline peered in. “Well, I’ll be,” she said. “You know what that reminds me of?”

  “A mummy.”

  “How’d you know I was going to say that?” She turned to grin over her shoulder at Mozie. “Is there anything inside?”

  “I’m pretty sure there is.”

  Valvoline pulled aside some lower leaves and searched the ground. “I was hoping we’d find one lying on the ground, you know—a little one, and we could cut it open.”

  “I think there’s just the one.”

  Valvoline’s eyes shone as she spun around. Her hair flew out, brushing Mozie’s face.

  “I want to listen to it.”

  “What?”

  “I want to get in there and listen, see if I hear anything.”

  “I don’t think you should. We’re not even supposed to be back here, Valvoline. If Professor Orloff should come walking in—and he’s overdue now—well, he—”

  “Oh, that old man. I saw him on the noon news one time talking about his wegetables—he can’t even pronounce a v. He’d probably say my name was Walwoline.”

  She turned to the plant and wiggled her shoulders purposefully.

  “I’m going in. Hold on to me,” she told Mozie. “And don’t let go no matter what!”

  The Purr of a Tiger

  “I DON’T THINK YOU should,” Mozie said as he took her arm.

  Ignoring him, she stepped onto the raised earth where the pod grew. Her high wedge heels dug into the soft earth, leaving deep marks.

  Mozie made a mental note to smooth those marks over. If Professor Orloff saw them …

  Valvoline was now framed in the thick leaves. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “What does it smell like in here? I’ve smelled this before. Now, wait, don’t tell me.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled again. “This is going to worry me for the rest of my life. Maybe it was that Elizabeth Taylor perfume a girl sprayed on me in Belks.”

  “Do you hear anything?” Mozie asked.

  “Well, give me a chance.”

  She stepped closer to the pod. One of her shoes sunk so deeply into the earth that she lost her footing. She fell forward and clutched the pod for support.

  “Valvoline!” Mozie cried in alarm.

  “I’m all right. I didn’t mean to hug it around the neck though.” She remained for a moment with both arms draped around the pod before she straightened.

  Mozie put his free hand over his heart. He leaned forward to look up at the stem. It was unbroken.

  “Be careful, Valvoline. This is a valuable plant. And I’m responsible for it.”

  “I’m not going to hurt your old plant.”

  Valvoline put her ear against the pod. “I’ve got real good hearing. I’m like one of those things doctors use to …” She trailed off. There was a moment of silence.

  “Do you hear anything?”

  “Hush. I’m listening.”

  There was another long pause. Then Valvoline said, “I think I do hear something. It’s hmmmmmmmmmm, like that—like a bee, far, far away. Come on inside and listen.”

  “I—I—”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not going to eat you.”

  She reached out, and with one swift move—it was like the crack of a whip—Valvoline pulled Mozie through the foliage and into the bower where the pod rested.

  He looked down—his sneakers were leaving prints too—more marks to erase. Then he looked up.

  There was the pod. He could see every detail now—the faint green fuzz that covered the shiny surface, the seam down the side where it would eventually open, the heavy brown stem that held it in place, the leaves as large as pillow cases.

  He could smell a heady scent too—maybe it was the pod, maybe Valvoline. It all made him think he was going to faint.

  “Put your ear over here beside mine. I figure this would be where his heart is—if he’s got one.”

  Mozie took a step forward and laid his cheek against the pod. His own heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear anything, even if there was something to hear.

  “You hear the hmmmmm?”

  He, swallowed. “Not yet.”

  He closed his eyes. He concentrated on the pod … on what was inside the pod. He was like a doctor concentrating on what was inside a patient. And then he did hear something—a humming sound.

  “Do you hear it?”

  “Yes. I hear something, but it doesn’t sound like a bee.”

  “It did to me.” She listened again. “But now it’s getting louder, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know what it reminds me of?”

  Mozie turned his head so that they faced each other. He looked into her wide eyes. “What?”

  “I was getting ready to say, it reminded me of a cat purring.”

  “Yes.”

  “Only now, for some reason, I’m beginning to think it sounds like a bigger animal. It’s the purr of a tiger.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard a tiger.”

  “You don’t have to hear one to know what one sounds like!”

  Valvoline grinned. “Knock knock.” She rapped on the pod.

  “Valvoline,” Mozie creid. He was as upset as if she’d rapped on a valuable mummy in a museum.

  “I just want to see if it’s hollow.” Her face lit up. “Let’s plug it.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, even though it didn’t sound like anything he wanted to be a part of.

  “If you’re in a watermelon patch, and you don’t want to go to the trouble of carrying a bad watermelon all the way to the car, well, you cut a little plug about that big and—”

  Now he was truly horrified. “Get out of here right now, Valvoline. I mean it. I’m in charge and—”

  She didn’t move. Instead she lifted her head as if with sudden thought.

  “You know what? My friend used to have this bald-headed Buddha doll, and she’d rub its head three times and make a wish. That’s how she got to be a cheerleader, because she sure couldn’t cheer.” She looked up at the pod. “I just have this feeling …”

  She put her hand on the top of the pod and rubbed it three times. “Please let me be Miss Tri-County Tech. Please let me be Miss Tri-County Tech. Please let me be Miss Tri-County Tech.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and there was a faint trembling motion of the pod.

  “Did you feel that?” Valvoline asked.

  “Yes. There was thunder a little while ago and it did the same thing.”

  Valvoline put her head against the pod and listened. “It’s stopped going hmmmmmm.”

  Mozie listened too. The pod was silent.

  Valvoline hugged the mummy. “Don’t you worry,” she said, “I’m not going to let anything get you.”

  Crumb Castle #3

  VALVOLINE PULLED ON THE hand brake and the car skidded to a stop, leaving black tire marks on the Mozers’ driveway.

  “I’m going in with you,” she said. “Wishing on a pod is one thing, but it’s not going to hurt my odds to have some sequins on the back of my dress.”

  She turned off the engine, got out of the car, and turned back to Mozie.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “In a minute.” He opened his door.

  Mozie got out of the car slowly. He could still hear the hum within the pod. It stuck in his brain. It left him with a strange feverish feeling. He almost felt as if he were under a spell.

  He started up the walk. Valvoline was already up the steps and inside by the time he got to the porch. Mozie sat down.

  Mozie and his mom lived in a house that his mom called Crumb Castle #3. There had been two other Crumb Castles in two other cities, but Mozie couldn’t remember them. He had seen pictures of them, however, and they lived up to their names—the crumb part anyway.

  It was seven o’clock in the evening, but the sun was still hot, and the windows of the house were open. Crumb Castle wasn’t air-conditio
ned. Mozie could hear the sound of his mother’s sewing machine and then Valvoline’s interruption.

  “Mrs. Mozer, I’m back.”

  “Oh? Is Mozie—”

  “He’s fine. He’s on his way in.” Valvoline paused. “Mrs. Mozer, I love my dress—you know that—but I’ve started worrying about its not having sequins on the back.”

  “You wanted to keep the cost down.”

  “Yes, but I want to win more than I want to keep the cost down.”

  Mozie’s cat, Pine Cone, came out of the bushes, and Mozie coaxed him over.

  “Come on, Pine Cone, come here, boy,” he said. Pine Cone ignored him and licked his back paw.

  No one believed Mozie, but Pine Cone had fallen out of an airplane and landed in the yard. Crumb Castle was at the end of runway 28 of the local airport, and one day a plane was taking off and Mozie heard something crashing through the pine tree in the yard. He ran over, and Pine Cone was holding on to the last limb. His eyes were wild—as anybody’s would be who had just fallen from an airplane.

  Pine Cone hung for a moment and then dropped and lay in a crouch. Mozie ran in the house. “Mom, a cat fell out of a plane!”

  “Oh, Mozie.”

  “It did. It’s lying under the pine tree. I don’t think it can move.”

  “No cat could survive falling from a plane.”

  “Even people survive sometimes. I’m calling the airport.”

  He called the airport and said, “This is not a crank call, but are you missing a cat? I think one fell out of an airplane.”

  “Big brown cat?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s him. Is he dead?”

  “No, but he’s not moving around.” Mozie checked out the window and the cat was still in a crouch, looking more like a fallen pine cone than a cat.

  “He’s just a stray—got in the bad habit of crawling up in airplanes. I guess he thought he was still on the ground and decided to get out.”

  “Are you going to come for him?”

  “He’ll come back if he wants to.”

  So far Pine Cone had not wanted to have anything more to do with the airport. Mozie really liked Pine Cone, and when he came up and let Mozie scratch his neck, Mozie felt as proud as if it were the President of the United States who’d offered his neck to be scratched.