Chapter Three
When Mr. Percy came downstairs that fateful morning, he was greeted with an unusual sight. Doing as he’d always done, he woke up at precisely the right time, brushed his teeth as his dentist prescribed, flossed, rinsed and spat, and combed his hair (what was left of it) before getting dressed.
Mr. Percy then selected a suit from his closet filled with respectable attire, for he was raised to believe that having a good outwardly appearance was the most important part of raising a family. Then he went downstairs and found his wife acting in a most peculiar way. She was in the kitchen, where she happily spent most of her day, attempting to make a pot of coffee…on the stove.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Mr. Percy, to which Mrs. Percy responded with a strange noise that sounded like gargling.
“Mah-Kaa-flaah…” said Mrs. Percy, who was clearly not herself this morning.
“Excuse me?” said Mr. Percy, unable to understand ancient Egyptian. Then he angrily pulled the coffee maker off the stove to stop it from melting any further.
C.K. had also woken up by this point. He got dressed and came downstairs just in time to translate for his confused paternal guardian.
“She said that she is making you a fresh pot of coffee just like she does every morning,” C.K. explained to his father. “At least, I think that’s what she said…? It’s hard to tell because her voice is so muffled.”
“Her voice is muffled because she has a bed sheet wrapped around her entire body!” said a clearly distraught Mr. Percy. “Including her head!”
To his wife, he said, “Here, let me do that—stop it!” At which point he smacked her hand away from his beloved coffee maker. Mr. Percy was completely useless at making his own coffee, but he knew that the coffee grounds were not poured onto the closed lid of the coffee maker, with no filter or water, which was exactly what his swaddled wife had been attempting to do.
Mr. Percy left for work in a huff. For the first time ever, he ended up driving to work without a piping hot cup of perfectly brewed coffee, which he knew from childhood was worthy of a dismissal of marriage vows.
Things got worse as the day progressed.
During lunch at school, C.K. opened his brown paper bag and received quite a shock.
“PLEKKK!” C.K. chomped down on his usual PB&J, then instantly regretted that decision. “What’s this?!” Not only had Mrs. Percy used stale bread, she’d also forgotten to add the peanut butter and jelly! C.K. was left with an empty sandwich made with moldy, mummified bread.
Later that night, after Mr. Percy had gone to sleep (him in a proper bed, Mrs. Percy in her brand new homemade Egyptian tomb), Mummy Mouse came creeping into C.K.’s bedroom, dragging himself along on his rotted limbs.
“Hi, Mr. Mouse! I’m sure glad you stopped by,” whispered C.K. “Something very strange has been going on around here…” C.K. picked up his friend, noticing right away that something was wrong.
“Mr. Mouse? Oh no! What’s happened to you?! Your fluffy white fur! Your cute little mouse-nose! And your tail? It’s so thin and bony, and quite repulsive to the touch.”
LAAAH SSTAAHRAH
KEEEL MAH, PAAAZAH
Even though it was a long story (especially told in an ancient dialect), Mummy Mouse told his young blind friend all about what had happened to him—the poison, the transformation, everything.
But it wasn’t all bad news, as C.K. came to find out.
Mummy Mouse had a new goal in life! He was now dead set on seeking his revenge on the upright world, one life-force at a time, eventually building up enough power to become a Mouse-god.
“That’s quite a story, Mummy Mouse,” said C.K. as he pet his friend with extra care. “Would you like some moisturizer? It’s got Aloe Vera?”
Mummy Mouse declined the offer.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re okay,” said C.K. “And yes, I know you’ve got a busy night ahead of you, but…”
HAAK
“I have to ask you a serious question.”
GAH-HAAK
“It’s about my mother,” said C.K. gently. “Can you please change her back? Her current condition is unproductive, to say the least. You should’ve seen her this morning, she was a complete disaster! She couldn’t even take care of our every need with a smile on her face like mothers are supposed to do!”
YEEKH EEEEYAH
JAH HAARAH!
“Yes, I know she tried to kill you with poison,” said a tearful C.K. “You already told me the story of how she brutally murdered you with those toxic pellets that deceivingly smelled of delicious cheesy crackers. But now she can’t even make a proper PB&J! Or a decent cup of coffee! Won’t you please reconsider?”
NA-MAHRAH
“All right, Mummy Mouse,” said C.K., utterly defeated. “Have it your way.” He knew there would be no talking Mummy Mouse into performing the reverse ritual, thereby returning his mother’s life-force. That would be a setback in productivity.
SAA FAH
“Okay, fine. I just hope I don’t have to end your life someday, Mummy Mouse…” C.K. gave his decomposed pet mouse a loving squeeze. “You know I don’t want to do anything to inhibit your rise to power. I want you to succeed in all your endeavors, no matter how malicious and evil they might be. I don’t want you to be a failure. I care about you too much.”
EEEKRAH VOO
“Thanks, Mummy Mouse. I love you, too.”
After an endearing embrace, Mummy Mouse stood up in the palm of C.K.’s hand and delivered a terrifying speech.
RRAKKKK-BRAAHAAAKK!
EEEAH, KAH, FAHH-LO-KAHL!
MAAALLACK! HAMAAL!
“I know that already, Mummy Mouse!” said C.K. a little too loudly. “You already told me that you went around the neighborhood last night and sucked the life-forces of a few unsuspecting neighbors—”
THA-NAAHN
“Yes, nine people,” C.K. repeated. “You also explained to me that you need a thousand life-forces to become a god. Then you’ll be powerful enough to seek your revenge on the world. But that’s a lot of people, Mummy Mouse. That’s every single person within a twenty block radius!”
GREE-HAK, HAA-LOK!
“You said it, Mummy Mouse. That really is an incredible undertaking,” C.K. told his murderous best friend. “But you can do it, Mummy Mouse. I believe in you!”
Just then, his bedroom door opened.
“Callum Keith Percy?” said Mr. Percy, poking his head into his son’s bedroom. “Who on earth are you talking to at this hour?”
“Hello, father,” said C.K. “Sorry, Mr. Percy, I mean. I was just talking to Mummy Mouse. He’s my mouse friend who took on the vindictive personality of an ancient Egyptian god.” C.K. held up his dead best friend, which, to Mr. Percy, looked like a grotesque stuffed toy.
“Well, try to keep it down,” said Mr. Percy, hardly listening. “I am busy researching hospitals that will take your mother on short notice.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Well, if you must know, I will be sending your mother away for a while to have some tests done,” said Mr. Percy, sounding about as upset as someone gets when they realize they just put hazelnut creamer in their coffee instead of vanilla.
“I found an Institution that will come and pick her up first thing tomorrow morning,” Mr. Percy went on. “That means you probably won’t see your mother for a few weeks, possibly several months. You will have to make your own meals and pack your own lunch for school. Your mother always took care of those things, and I’d rather not try learning how at this stage in my life.”
“Yes, sir. I can make my own peanut butter sandwiches from now on. And you can make your own coffee.”
Mr. Percy sighed. “Yes, I suppose I will have to, won’t I? Well, I’ll just leave you to your plotting. Goodnight, C.K.”
“Goodnight, dad—I mean, Mr. Percy…”
A good general rule for any parent is to quickly rid your family of silly nicknames such as “mom” and “d
ad” and instead use proper titles such as Mr. or Mrs.
Mr. Percy let it slide this time. Then he closed the bedroom door.
After he was gone, C.K. gently placed Mummy Mouse on the floor.
“Only nine hundred and ninety-one more to go, Mummy Mouse!” whispered C.K. “You’d better get to work. I need to get some shut-eye.”