Book of the Dead

by Michael Northrop

  “Okay then, what is?”

  “Okay, first clue: cameras. They’re everywhere” — she waved the notebook in the general direction of the ceiling — “but the detective told you there was nothing on them.”

  “So?”

  “So, step one: blind spots. We need to figure out where they are, and what might have happened in them.”

  Both kids looked up at the security cameras around the room.

  “Wait,” said Alex. “Do you hear that?”

  Ren cocked her head, lifting one ear slightly to listen. “Sounds like cereal in a box.”

  “Or dirt in a shovel,” offered Alex.

  “But where’s it —”

  They both turned and looked back down at the little mummy.

  She was looking right at them.

  Her whole body had shifted, and her empty eye sockets gazed blankly up at them.

  “Holy —” began Alex.

  “What the —” began Ren, her voice rising.

  And that’s when the entire museum went dark.

  Someone screamed. Alex thought it was Ren, but he could not rule out the possibility that it was him.

  Or the mummy.

  “The power went out!” shouted Ren, her voice stretched with panic.

  Alex heard her footsteps as she slowly backed away from the coffin in the darkness. He did the same, his hand stretched out behind him, feeling for the wall.

  “What do we do?” said Ren.

  Alex looked around but saw only blackness. He knew this wing well, but well enough to find his way out in the dark?

  As if in answer, an emergency light clicked on along the far wall, casting a weak glow that left much of the room in shadow. Alex could hear the faint sound of far-off shouting as employees and guards scrambled to follow the museum’s blackout protocols: securing the exits and the most valuable paintings.

  “Ren, let’s get out of here!” he called.

  She was already moving.

  They sprinted through the room where the Lost Spells had been, but they came to a halt in the one housing the Stung Man. A harsh grinding sound filled the room. In the weak glow of another emergency light, they couldn’t see where the noise was coming from.

  “What is that?” said Ren, nervously scanning the room.

  Alex saw it now. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He did manage to point. Ren followed his finger — straight toward the Stung Man’s sarcophagus.

  She took a quick, sharp breath, but her voice failed her, too.

  They both watched in silent horror as the heavy stone lid of the Stung Man’s sarcophagus slowly slid back.

  The canopic jars lined up in front of the sarcophagus began to shake.

  Alex watched the black gap grow as the lid continued to grind backward. He thought he could see something stirring inside.

  With his body suspended between paralysis and flight, Alex’s mind was working overtime. It was clear to him now. His suspicion had become a certainty. This wasn’t about camera angles or death’s door hallucinations. He’d been avoiding the word this whole time, but he needed to accept it. “It’s magic, Ren. It is.”

  Ren shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the exit. They’d have to go right by the sarcophagus if they wanted to get out of here.

  As they watched, the ancient jars rattled like maracas and the five-hundred-pound lid yawned open to the ragged soundtrack of rock grinding on rock.

  And then Alex saw the hand.

  The heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus fell to the floor with a loud Kronk! In the weak light, Alex saw two smaller lids inside, both pushed up and away. How much strength did that take? The hand rose up from the deep shadows within. Ragged wrappings frayed and fell aside as the fingers curled for the first time in millennia. Alex watched in frozen horror as the entire arm emerged, hooking itself over the edge of the carved stone and pulling the rest of the body into the light. The canopic jars on the floor below were shaking so violently that they seemed like they might explode.

  It was the Stung Man. His skin was visible in the places where his wrappings had given way, but it looked nothing like the skin of the other mummies Alex had seen. It wasn’t stretched and dried and stained by time. It was livid and covered with swollen welts. The Stung Man turned and stared into the room, not with empty sockets but with wet, sinister eyes.

  “Run!” screamed Ren. “We have to run!”

  The path out of the room would take them within just a few feet of the creature, but they couldn’t go back. The other mummy was back there — and who knew what else.

  Alex took one more horrified look: The Stung Man was staggering to his feet. Soon, he’d be free.

  Ren took off, and Alex followed a split second later, his feet reacting faster than his brain.

  The Stung Man took a slow, clumsy swipe at them as they passed, and Alex ducked to avoid the blow.

  Almost to the door now.

  It slammed shut just before they reached it. Ren was running so fast she couldn’t stop in time, and she bounced against the thick safety glass. Alex skidded to a halt and grabbed Ren’s shoulders to steady her.

  “No!” she gasped. He could hear the fear in her voice.

  She began to tug wildly at the handle in front of her.

  Alex wrapped his hands alongside hers on the handle and pulled with all his strength, but it wasn’t giving.

  “Stay awhile,” a man’s voice called behind them. “You’re just in time.”

  A figure in a guard’s uniform stepped from the shadows in the far corner of the room, and for a second, Alex felt a wash of relief. But then panic surged again. The guard’s body was that of a man. But the head … the head …

  Alex felt his knees begin to give. The man had the desiccated head of a hyena. Ren whimpered beside him, and fear took over Alex’s body. Spots swam in his vision and his head began to loll back, as if his neck had turned to rubber.

  Then he felt a sudden impact.

  Ren had collapsed backward into him.

  You can’t pass out, he thought. I was going to do that!

  He hooked his arms under Ren’s, elbows to armpits, and tried to drag her upright.

  “Yes, stay right there,” the man in the mask said.

  Alex had no intention of doing so. His head whipped from the guard across the room to the mummy struggling up from his stone bed.

  “Stay still,” the guard repeated.

  Alex understood now. This man was no guard. He tried to lift Ren to her feet but he wasn’t strong enough and she just hung there, dead weight. He shook her. Her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him.

  “You gotta get up, Ren!”

  But just as she began to gather her feet underneath her, the man in the mask extended his right hand, palm down, and pressed it toward the floor.

  A great force hit Alex and Ren and flattened them against the ground. Alex tried to stand, tried to push Ren up, but it felt as if someone had dropped a mattress on them.

  The Stung Man, however, rose to his full height. Alex could see his face through the filthy wrappings. The skin was neither living nor dead but some grotesque approximation of both, and the entire left side was lumpy and swollen.

  Scorpion stings, Alex realized in horror.

  “Let us go!” shouted Alex, even though he didn’t understand how he was being held. He tried to roll toward the wall. Nothing.

  “Let her go!” he yelled.

  The hyena head tilted back in laughter. “The two of you are barely a snack as it is. He needs to feed.”

  Alex flicked his eyes toward Ren. Her face was tight with terror. They were laid out before the sarcophagus like two pigs in a blanket on a tray.

  “He may not consume your bodies,” said the guard. “But he will certainly take your souls.”

  The disfigured corpse stepped clear of its long confinement and took an unsteady step in their direction. He reached out and pulled a handful of empty air back to him. Even through the struggle and panic, A
lex felt a glimmer of recognition. He remembered his own waking moments in the hospital: groggy and disoriented, unsure what his body had in store for him.

  Alex tried to stand, roll, kick. Nothing.

  And then …

  BRRAACCKK!

  The door behind them flew open so hard the safety glass cracked.

  With a sudden jerk, the invisible weight holding him down lifted.

  Alex leapt to his feet.

  He reached down for Ren, but she was already scrambling up.

  They half stumbled and half ran toward the open door. Alex was hoping to see the police, or at least a real guard. Instead he got …

  “Todtman!” called the man in the mask.

  “Al-Dab’u,” called the German.

  The Stung Man came to an unsteady halt and looked from one to the other.

  They’re working together! thought Alex, his brain sloshing with adrenaline.

  “Oh no!” moaned Ren.

  “Stay out of this!” called the guard. “This is no place for frail scholars. Let me do my work.”

  “You know I can’t,” said Todtman.

  Wait, thought Alex. They know each other …

  “Then you will suffer the same fate!”

  … but they aren’t working together …

  “Nicht heute,” breathed Todtman.

  Alex rummaged the cupboards of his overheated brain, found the few German words his grandmother had taught him: Nicht heute. Not today.

  Todtman reached up toward the open collar of his button-down shirt. The emergency light reflected off something in his hand. He held an amulet — it wasn’t the scarab but some sort of bird — and thrust it toward Al-Dab’u.

  Al-Dab’u’s body lifted and jerked as a great unseen force seemed to hit him. “You … I … didn’t,” stammered Al-Dab’u, and his hands flew to his temples. “Get … out … of … my … head,” he managed, struggling to complete each word.

  The Stung Man lost interest in the two combatants and turned back toward his young meal.

  “Let’s go!” yelled Ren, yanking on Alex’s sleeve.

  As they raced toward Todtman, the froggy man’s eyes widened in horror. “Get down!” he screamed, diving to his right.

  Alex and Ren threw themselves on the ground just as a massive display case hurtled over them and landed in a crash of glass and metal right where Todtman had been standing.

  Alex and Ren leapt to their feet once more, Alex’s heart pounding now, and his breathing heavy. The twisted metal bulk of the display case filled the doorway — they’d never get over it in time. Their only chance now was the far door, but they’d have to get past the Stung Man and Al-Dab’u to reach it.

  Alex and Ren locked eyes for one fleeting second, and Alex could see his fear and disbelief reflected back at him in her face. “We have to,” he managed. She locked her jaw and nodded. The Stung Man jerked in confusion as the two kids barreled toward him. He staggered for a step then found his feet, crouched low, and brought his long arms up in a vicious lunge.

  “Watch out, Ren!”

  Alex dove for the floor just under the Stung Man’s reach, his momentum propelling him in a belly slide across the polished marble. He slammed into the wall near the far door in a tangle of arms and legs. Ren reached him a second later, still on her feet. She grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the way just as a stone chunk from the broken sarcophagus exploded against the wall where his head had been.

  Al-Dab’u gave a scream of frustration that turned to a scream of pain as, across the room, Todtman focused the full power of his amulet on him and brought him to his knees.

  The Stung Man swiveled toward the kids, more sure on his feet now. A thought formed in Alex’s racing mind, simple and undeniable.

  He’s waking up.

  “We have to get out of here!” he shouted to Ren.

  “NO!” Todtman yelled. “We must stop him!” He pulled something from around his neck and tossed it high and hard across the room.

  Alex reached out instinctively, his palms cupped for a basket catch. The stone beetle hit his palms with a solid thunk, and his hands closed around it. His mother’s amulet.

  “Try to use the scarab, like this!” said Todtman.

  He wrapped his left hand around his own amulet and pushed his right out toward the Stung Man. A humidity monitor lifted off the floor and flew toward the mummy. He swatted it out of the air, and the device landed with a mechanical crunch.

  Todtman looked over at Alex. “Your turn.”

  Alex was sure there was no way he could do what Todtman had, but he turned to face the thing. Holding the scarab in his left hand, he mimicked Todtman and reached out with his right.

  Nothing.

  Of course not, he thought.

  As the Stung Man lurched forward, Alex glanced over at Ren. He recognized the look on her face. Mixed in with the fear was a look he knew far too well, a look he’d seen from classmates and teammates and now his best friend: disappointment.

  No! Not anymore! He turned back to the Stung Man. He was even closer now. Grasping the scarab, Alex punched out his fist.

  A powerful gust of wind rose up and battered the ragged corpse, who stumbled and faltered against it. Alex looked at his hand and his jaw dropped.

  Did I do that?

  The Stung Man opened his mouth and released a rasping, angry hiss. The fetid smell of the tomb hit Alex and nearly buckled his knees. He put his forearm up over his mouth and coughed into it. He saw Ren bend forward and cover her mouth, doing her best not to retch.

  Alex repeated the move more confidently — and another gust of wind slammed into the Stung Man. But the creature leaned into it this time and took a plodding step forward.

  “He’s too powerful for that now,” called Todtman.

  “Let’s leave,” Alex said. “We can lock it in … get backup …”

  Ren darted forward, picked up the shattered humidity monitor, and with a shout of rage, hurled it at the beast. It bounced harmlessly off his rag-wrapped chest.

  Ren didn’t have a magical amulet, but she wasn’t giving up, so neither could he. Alex steeled himself. Still clutching the scarab, he frantically swept the room with his eyes. Through the doorway, he saw the cases housing the Book of the Dead. Somehow, incredibly, he realized he could understand the symbols inside. His mind instantly began to clear, and the rows of hieroglyphs called out to him.

  He stared at them.

  And as he stared, they began, very faintly, to glow.

  Ren gasped.

  Todtman looked over.

  The Stung Man stopped in his tracks.

  Todtman took advantage of the opportunity. Grasping his amulet with one hand, he chopped his other hand down toward the floor.

  The Stung Man’s left foot kicked sideways into his right, and he staggered onto one knee. As he did, he gazed not at the man who had felled him, but over at the glowing symbols. He shook his head, trying to clear thousands of years of cobwebs.

  Alex again felt a glimmer of recognition, almost sympathy. Was there a monster under those rags, or a person? He remembered what he’d read in his mom’s book. The Stung Man had started out as a skilled farmer, but in a drought year the pharaoh had taken too large a share of the crop. Weak with malnutrition, the farmer’s wife and child had died. Only then did he turn outlaw.

  The Stung Man held out his hand, not toward Alex or Todtman, but toward the canopic jars still rattling violently. One after the other, they wooshed toward him.

  Fwup! Fwup! Fwup! Fwup!

  Lungs, stomach, liver, intestines.

  The Stung Man scooped them up under his long arms and let out another ragged hiss, another knee-buckling cloud of stench. Then he turned and stumbled past Ren and Alex, past the glowing symbols. Al-Dab’u climbed to his feet and scurried after him.

  A moment later, only the foul smell remained.

  Todtman chased after them, but Alex could only stare down at his amulet and then over at the Book of the Dead. The
glow was gone, the cases dark.

  “Can we leave now?” said Ren. She was shaking badly.

  Todtman returned red-faced and out of breath.

  “Gone,” he said. “I don’t know where they went …” He scanned the corners of the room helplessly.

  “That guy was the worst guard,” said Ren, shaking her head.

  Alex couldn’t tell if she was joking or just as brain-fried as him. He stopped midway through the room and stared at the empty sarcophagus. The others stopped, too.

  Alex wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t have the energy. As the three of them stood there looking, the lights clicked back on. All over the museum, alarms went off like distant fireworks.

  “That’s better,” said Todtman.

  Alex could only nod. He heard footsteps and turned toward the door in time to see Oscar and another guard burst in.

  “What happened?” said Oscar.

  Alex had no idea how to answer that. But Todtman did.

  “It was another robbery,” he said. “They got the Stung Man, I’m afraid.”

  Alex and Ren were seated in Todtman’s office, watching silently as Todtman took out a bottle of headache pills and popped two in his mouth.

  Alex knew what that was like — he could practically taste the gritty chalk of the dissolving tablets. He looked down at his amulet and then over at Ren. She was still breathing hard, her hands shaking slightly.

  He listened to the sound of his pulse in his head. The beats were hard and fast, and every one sounded like a single word to him: Mom.

  It was bad enough before, he thought.

  It was bad enough when he thought his mom had been kidnapped.

  Before he knew the smell of the crypt.

  Before he knew that the dead could wake.

  There was something much larger going on. And somehow his mother was a part of it. The Spells were gone but her scarab was here, her scarab had powers —

  He needed answers.

  “Who are you?” he asked Todtman.

  Todtman swallowed the pills and pointed to the little sign on his desk: DR. ERNST TODTMAN.

  “Yeah, but who are you really?” Ren said. Her eyes were still wide with shock and fear, but Alex could see her fight to push all that aside and focus. He felt a rush of gratitude.