Who's Your Mummy?

by R. L. Stine

  I sank into the big bed and pulled the silky bedspread up to my chin. When I shut my eyes, I pictured the frail little mummy.

  Was there really a boy inside all that gauze and tar? Did he really have two thousand people killed by the time he was seven?

  The thought gave me a chill. I pulled the covers up even higher.

  I was nearly asleep when I heard the sounds. Soft voices, but close by.

  I jerked myself up, totally alert. And listened.

  Low moans. Groans. Like someone in pain.

  Someone nearby. Moaning in pain. Over and over.

  Just as Crazy Annie had warned!

  Were the sounds coming from the next room?

  I lowered my feet to the carpet. I realized I was trembling all over.

  “Got to find Uncle Jonathan,” I murmured.

  I pushed the bedspread away and stood up. I started to the door but stopped in the middle of the room.

  I felt a cold wind brush my back. And heard a cracking noise outside.

  I froze. It took me a few seconds to realize I was listening to the brittle snap of wings.

  Bat wings!

  I spun around. The bedroom window was open. The long drapes billowed in the gusting wind.

  I pictured the bats again, circling low around the towers of the house.

  And now they were right outside my room!

  I lurched to the window. I started to tug it down — when I heard a loud squeal.

  And a huge bat — eyes glowing bright red — flew screeching into my room.

  “Noooooo!”

  I let out a scream and jumped back from the window.

  Screeching louder, the bat swooped past my face. I felt its wings brush my cheek.

  It flew around me in a wild circle, flapping hard. The red eyes glowed as if on fire. And its shrill whistle rang in my ears.

  I raised both hands. Tried to slap it away.

  Again, I felt the brush of its dry wings against my skin. I tried to bury my face in my hands. I could feel the bursts of air from its body as it whipped around me.

  It made one more circle — then dove out the window.

  I groaned with relief. Staggered forward — and slammed the window shut.

  Trembling from head to foot, I struggled to slow my frantic breathing.

  I gripped the sides of the window as if holding on for dear life. Pressing my hot forehead against the cool glass, I peered out into the night.

  I could see the pointed roof of the other tower, lighted by a bright half moon. A dozen bats swooped and soared, flapping in wide circles around the tower.

  My breath caught in my throat as I watched them dive low, then swoop back up, then dive down again.

  Something had them stirred up.

  I lowered my gaze to the lawn — and pulled my face back from the window with a gasp.

  A man stood on the grass with his arms raised, trying to fight off the bats.

  I took a deep breath and returned to the window. I could see him clearly in the moonlight. He was tall and broad. Powerful looking. He cast a long shadow on the grass in front of him.

  An evil-looking man, wearing a long, baggy black overcoat.

  He raised his face to my window. Did he see me?

  I tried to hide behind the heavy drape while still staring down at him. In the pale yellow light, I saw a long scar across his bald head. His mouth set in a tight, angry scowl.

  Who was he? What did he want?

  He swung his big hands in front of him, waving off the swooping bats. And took a few lumbering steps across the grass toward the house.

  I heard the flap of wings. And let out a cry as a dozen screeching bats went on the attack. They plunged past my window and dove at the man, flapping hard, red eyes glaring furiously.

  The big man tried to duck and dodge. But there were too many bats to slap away.

  He began swinging his arms wildly. I could hear his cries as the bats tore at his coat, bounced off his chest.

  Bats clung to his shoulders and scratched at his throat. A flapping bat sank its claws into the man’s bald head, wailing like a siren.

  The man staggered back. He fell — and the bats followed him down.

  More bats dove onto his chest as he struggled to scramble to his feet. Bats scratched their claws across his face. Flapping wings covered his head.

  “This is HORRIBLE!” I screamed. “They’re tearing him to pieces!”

  I turned away. I couldn’t bear to watch.

  Didn’t Uncle Jonathan hear the man’s screams?

  Gripping the drape in my fists, I leaned to the window. And saw the man running away. He’d left his overcoat behind on the grass, like a present to the bats. He was racing full speed down the hill, waving his arms wildly as he ran.

  The bats swooped high above his head and circled him, following him down the hill. They didn’t dive or attack. It was like they just wanted to make sure he didn’t come back.

  I let go of the drape. My hands were ice-cold. My teeth were chattering.

  I straightened my nightshirt and ran out into the dimly lit hall. “Uncle Jonathan?” I screamed. “Uncle Jonathan?”

  I gazed up and down the hall. Where was his bedroom?

  After a few seconds, I heard the clumping sound of running footsteps. Sonja came trotting around a corner, fastening her robe as she ran.

  “Sonja! A man! A man outside!” I choked out.

  She wrapped me in a hug. Her cheeks were hot. She smelled of a flowery perfume.

  “Are you okay? Oh, my soul — you’re shivering. Are you okay?” She kept repeating the words.

  “Yes. B-but the man —” I stammered. “I saw him out my window. It was horrible! The bats —”

  “You weren’t harmed?” She petted my hair. “Shhhhhh. Shhhhh. Take a deep breath. I’ll say a little prayer of thanks.”

  “Sonja —” I was starting to calm down. But I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of those bats biting and scratching and screeching. “The bats attacked the man. I watched —”

  She raised a finger to her lips. “Sometimes strangers come wandering up the hill,” she said in a whisper. “The bats like to protect the house. Upon my faith, child, they always chase the intruders away.”

  “But it was so frightening,” I said. “The way the bats swooped all over him —”

  Her dark eyes locked on mine. “The man learned a lesson tonight. He will know not to return,” she whispered.

  She wrapped a heavy arm around my shoulders. And led me back to my room. “Climb into your warm bed,” she said. “I’ll tuck you in.”

  She smoothed my hair as I climbed under the bedspread. “Sleep tight, now,” she whispered. “By my heart, you will not be harmed here.” She tugged the spread under my chin.

  I watched her tiptoe from the room. I could still smell her strong, flowery perfume.

  My head sank into the soft pillow. I shut my eyes, but I knew it would take a long time to fall asleep.

  My heart was racing in my chest. And I could still hear the flapping of bat wings outside the window.

  As the bat noises finally faded, another sound rose up nearby. Once again, I heard the low moans and groans. So close … On the other side of the wall!

  The eerie, frightening moans rising and falling.

  Was I imagining it? Was I hearing wrong?

  For a moment, I thought I heard words. A low chant rising from the sad moans. The same words repeated over and over:

  “I want to die…. I want to die…. I want to die….”

  The next morning, I hurried down to the kitchen in my nightshirt. My hair was a tangled mess, but I didn’t care. I was eager to ask Jonathan about the bats and the evil-looking man and the groans and moans — and every thing!

  Peter already sat at the breakfast table, spooning up a big bowl of cereal. He had milk all over his chin. He gave me a wide, openmouthed grin so I could see the chewed-up mush in his mouth.

  Jonathan had both hands wrapped around
a tall white mug of coffee. He smiled when he saw me enter the kitchen and motioned to the empty chair opposite him.

  “Peter, did you sleep?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Didn’t you hear the bats or the man screaming or anything?”

  He shook his head and kept shoving cereal into his mouth. “You’re crazy,” he said, dribbling milk over his chin, back into the bowl.

  “No, she isn’t,” Jonathan interrupted. He turned to me. “Abby, I’m so sorry about last night. Sonja told me everything, and I really do apologize. Your first night here, and it turned into something of a nightmare.”

  “It was totally frightening,” I said. “I saw the bats and —”

  Jonathan reached across the table and patted my hand. “I’m so sorry. Let me explain. I keep a bat cave under the house. The bat is one of the creatures that I study.”

  Sonja set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me. I thanked her, but I wasn’t ready to eat breakfast. I still had a lot of questions for Uncle Jonathan.

  “There was a man on the lawn —” I started.

  Jonathan nodded. “As you saw, my house is a target for thieves,” he said. “It’s only natural. I have so many valuable objects.”

  He took another long drink of coffee. Then he wiped his mustache with his napkin. “Sonja told me you were frightened by that intruder last night,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry, Abby. This house is safe from anyone who tries to get in.”

  “Your eggs are getting cold,” Sonja said, standing at the kitchen door.

  I picked up my fork and began to eat. I was starting to feel better. I started to ask my next question, but Peter interrupted me.

  “Can we go into the village?” he asked Jonathan. “My iPod is broken. I think I need a new one.”

  Jonathan frowned at Peter. “I don’t think we can go into town today,” he said. “My work is keeping me much too busy. Besides, you won’t find a store in this tiny village that sells any kind of electronics. I have to buy everything I need by mail.”

  “Snail mail?” Peter said. “That’s lame. You mean you don’t have an Internet hookup here?”

  Jonathan started to respond. But the phone rang. He left the room to answer it.

  “Peter, you have to be a better guest,” I whispered. “It’s not very nice to tell Jonathan that the way he does things is lame.”

  “Not what I meant,” Peter mumbled. He shot a spoonful of his cereal milk across the table at me. It dripped down the front of my nightshirt.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “How did you get to be such a pain?”

  “I learned everything I know from my big sister,” he said.

  Funny dude.

  I finished breakfast and hurried up the stairs to my room. Bright sunlight poured through the window. The sky was clear and blue.

  I changed into jeans and a bright yellow tank top. Then I sat down at the dressing table to brush my hair.

  Talk about luxury! Can you imagine having your own dressing table? It was all gold and marble. With a soft little bench in front of it and a tall mirror in the back.

  I raised the brush to my hair, stroked it through once … twice …

  Something felt wrong.

  My hair gets pretty tangled at night. But it doesn’t take long to fix it.

  But this morning, something was definitely strange.

  I leaned forward and brought my face close to the mirror. I turned my head to see the side.

  No.

  No.

  Impossible.

  A chunk of my hair had been cut off.

  I didn’t want to believe it. I raised some of my hair in one hand and brought it close to the mirror. I squinted hard at it.

  But no amount of wishing would bring it back. I had to face the truth. A big chunk of hair. Gone.

  Who would do that to me?

  I let the hairbrush fall to my lap. Stunned, I stared at myself in the mirror. Gazed into the sunlight reflected in the glass. And tried to think clearly.

  I heard soft footsteps behind me.

  Before I could turn around, I was stabbed in the back.

  I let out a scream. Felt the prickle of pain spread.

  I spun around — and shook Cleopatra off me. She tumbled to the floor. Landed on her back. But instantly stood up. And stared at me with those bright olive eyes.

  “Ow!” I said, trying to rub my back. But I couldn’t reach the spot that hurt. “You evil cat! Can’t you just stay off me?”

  And then I saw my water blaster on the side of the dressing table. And remembered I’d filled it full last night.

  “Aha! Revenge is mine!” I cried.

  I grabbed up the blaster, spun it around — and gave the black cat a good soaking from head to foot.

  I laughed. And waited for Cleopatra to turn and run.

  But no.

  No.

  The cat didn’t move.

  The color faded from her eyes. Her ears drooped. Her head appeared to sag.

  As I stared in horror, pieces of the cat dropped to the floor. The tail crumbled to dust. The eyes rolled out. The head crumpled and fell off the body.

  In seconds, I was gaping at a pile of black powder. The cat had disintegrated into a dry mound of ashes at my feet.

  I pressed my hands to my face and let out a cry. As I looked at the dark ashes, wave after wave of panic swept over me.

  My stomach lurched. I shut my eyes and spun away from it.

  “This is wrong. This is horribly WRONG!” I cried in a trembling voice.

  I sucked in a deep breath — and took off. “Peter! Hey, Peter!” I shouted as I hurtled down the long, dimly lit hall.

  My shoes thudded on the hard floor. I stopped at Peter’s open doorway. “We’ve got to get OUT of here!” I screamed.

  He was sprawled on his bed, reading a manga book. His open laptop was on the floor beside the bed. There were clothes strewn everywhere.

  “Excuse me?” He glanced up from his comic. “What’s your problem, Abby?”

  “We — we’ve got to get out of this house!” I cried breathlessly. “We’ve got to find Uncle Jonathan. Let’s tell him Granny Vee called, and she needs us back.”

  Peter sat up, yawning. “You’re joking, right?”

  I ran into the room, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him to his feet. “Listen to me. Something is very wrong here,” I said. “The cat … Cleopatra …”

  “What a totally creepy cat,” Peter said.

  “Not anymore,” I said. I handed him his sneakers. “I squirted her with my water blaster — and she FELL APART! I mean, she totally FELL TO PIECES!”

  His eyes went wide. “You mean you killed her?”

  “I just squirted her, and she crumbled to ashes!” I said. “Hurry. Put on your shoes. We can’t stay here.”

  He finally believed me. He pulled on his sneakers and followed me into the hall. “How are we going to get away?” he asked.

  “I think the train comes every day,” I said. “We’ll just tell Jonathan we’re needed back home. And he’ll drive us to the train station.”

  “But … shouldn’t we call Granny Vee?” Peter asked in a tiny voice.

  “Later,” I said. “First, let’s get out of this house!”

  We took the stairs two at a time. We searched the front rooms, the den, the kitchen, and dining room. No sign of Jonathan or Sonja.

  “Uncle Jonathan?” Peter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted his name. “Where are you?”

  Peter’s voice echoed down the hall. But no reply.

  “Let’s try his bedroom,” I said. We scrambled back up the stairs, running side by side. Down the long hall.

  His bedroom door was open just a crack. “Uncle Jonathan? Are you in there?” I called.

  No answer.

  “Uncle Jonathan?”

  I pushed open the door. The wind was blowing the brown curtains at the window. He had draped a black jacket over a tall stone sculpture of a sphinx.
The bed was unmade. A blanket lay crumpled on the floor.

  “He’s not here,” Peter muttered.

  Seconds later, we found ourselves at the dark wooden door at the end of the hall. Jonathan’s private quarters.

  I reached my hand up to knock, but Peter pulled it down. “We’re not allowed to go in there, remember?”

  “This is an emergency,” I said.

  I pounded on the door with my fist.

  No answer.

  I grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open. I poked my head in. A strong odor greeted my nose.

  “Smells like a doctor’s office,” Peter whispered.

  We stepped into a huge room with high ceilings and dark red wallpaper. Bright sunlight poured in through a row of tall windows.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. And then I gasped. “Are these all mummy cases?”

  Peter grabbed my hand. “This is awesome!” he whispered. “There must be dozens of them. Think there’s a mummy in every case?”

  I stared at the three long rows of cases all lined up perfectly. They filled the room.

  “I … I don’t know,” I murmured. “This is totally freaking me out.”

  I took a step — and then stopped.

  A low moan rose up from the nearest mummy case.

  I heard a sigh. Another moan. A long groan.

  As if the mummies were ALIVE!

  My breath caught in my throat. My chest felt tight, as if I were about to explode from fright.

  Last night, I heard the moans through my bedroom wall. I never dreamed they were coming from living mummies. Or … was someone — or something — else living in these coffinlike cases?

  I turned to leave. I had to get out of there.

  But Peter spun me around. “Look, Abby.” He pointed.

  A door across the room, slightly open.

  Was Uncle Jonathan back there?

  Questions flashed in my mind: What kind of work did he do in here? Why did he have these mummies hidden away?

  I didn’t want to know the answers. I just wanted to get out of the house.

  Peter and I crept past the rows of mummy cases. The moans and groans rose up on both sides of us. But I kept my eyes on the door and didn’t turn my head. I didn’t want to see them.