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WHO’S YOUR MUMMY?
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ENTER HORRORLAND
The Story So Far…
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TEASER
FEAR FILE #6
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
I knew Granny Vee wasn’t feeling well. But I didn’t know how sick she was. And of course I didn’t know that she was about to send my brother, Peter, and me on the most terrifying trip of our lives.
In one week, Peter and I would be listening to the frightening moans of ancient mummies. And covering our ears against their ugly chants.
But today, we were in Granny Vee’s living room, running and ducking behind the furniture, laughing and shouting. “HEYYYYY!” I let out a scream as a cold blast of water hit my forehead.
Peter laughed. “Nice move, Abby. You walked right into it!”
I growled and dropped to my knees behind the green corduroy couch. I wiped the water off my face. Then I checked out the tank on my water blaster. Still half full.
I leaned forward. Tensed and waited with my finger on the plastic trigger.
Peter was hiding behind the flowery orange-and-yellow curtains. I could see his white sneakers poking out from the bottom.
I waited … waited … and let go a long, full blast the second he stepped out. It smacked him in the chest and soaked the front of his T-shirt. He stumbled back to the window. His blaster sent a wild spray up toward the ceiling.
“Are you two having fun?”
We both turned to see Granny Vee step into the room. She waved her black cane in the air. “Is it my mistake?” she asked. “I thought I was in my living room. But I seem to have wandered into a water park.”
Peter stepped away from the window and lowered his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.
I brushed my wet hair out of my eyes. My hair is long and black and very straight. My best feature. And I don’t like having it soaked.
I picked up my water bottle from the coffee table and took a long drink.
“I begged you not to use those water guns in the house,” Granny Vee said, peering at us through her thick, square-framed glasses.
“Sorry,” Peter repeated.
I did one of my famous long-distance water spits and showered the back of his neck.
He let out a squeal and jumped a mile.
“I win!” I said, pumping my fists high above my head.
“Abby, you’re a cheater,” Granny Vee said, unable to keep a straight face.
She thinks I’m a riot.
“Cheaters never quit, and a quitter never cheats,” Granny Vee said. It was one of her favorite sayings.
“It isn’t funny!” Peter grumbled. He pulled the soaked T-shirt off, balled it up angrily, and tossed it at me.
Peter has long, straight black hair, too. He’s as skinny as a broom handle and short. He’s ten — two years younger than me — but he looks like he’s seven or eight. Granny Vee says she can’t understand why he doesn’t grow more — since he eats enough for ten kids!
I’m nearly a foot taller than he is. Which gives me a real advantage in our water-blaster battles. I don’t think he’s ever won one. Especially when I use my spectacular water-spitting skills against him.
Peter stuck his tongue out at me. Then he stormed out of the room. He’s a sore loser.
“Come sit down, Abby.” Granny Vee waved me to the couch. I noticed that she was leaning more heavily on her cane than usual.
Her hair has stayed shiny and black. But that day, I saw long gray streaks poking through. And her skin was very pale, so tight I could see her cheekbones underneath.
She lowered herself beside me and squeezed my hand. Her hand was ice-cold!
“I need to talk to you,” she said. She looked down at the floor. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
Those words sent a shock down the back of my neck. I gasped. Granny Vee is the only family Peter and I have. We’ve been living with Granny Vee since we were little.
If anything happened to her …
She kept her gaze on the floor. I saw her shoulders tremble. She was always the powerhouse in the family. Suddenly, she looked so frail.
“I’m going to check into the hospital for some tests,” she said softly.
“Tests?” I cried. “What kind of tests?”
She squeezed my hand again. “It’ll be okay.” Her voice was a whisper.
“But … what about Peter and me?” I asked.
She finally turned to look at me. “I have a nice plan for you,” she said. “The two of you are going to stay with your Uncle Jonathan.”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Your Uncle Jonathan. He hasn’t seen you since you were a baby.” She smiled. “He’s fun. You’ll see.”
“Where … where does he live?” I asked.
“He lives in an old house in a tiny village in Vermont, called Cranford,” Granny Vee said. “It’ll be a big change from Boston for you. I think you’ll both find it very interesting.”
My heart was pounding. There were a million questions I wanted to ask. But I couldn’t get them out.
“Jonathan can’t wait to see you,” Granny Vee said. “I sent him pictures of you and Peter. He was thrilled.”
She saw the look on my face.
“You’ll like him, Abby. He’s a very interesting man. And besides, it’s only for two weeks.”
“But I’m worried about you, Granny Vee,” I said. “Why are you sending us to a faraway village? Shouldn’t Peter and I stay close?”
She squeezed the handle of her cane. Her hand was so small and white. “Your cell phone will work in Jonathan’s village,” she said. “We’ll talk all the time. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all.
“Hey!” Peter stumbled over his suitcase and nearly knocked me over.
“Watch where you’re going,” I said.
“You watch!” he replied. Very mature. He was grumpy the whole train ride. I guess he was just nervous.
I was, too.
I shielded my eyes against the bright sunlight and gazed around the tiny Cranford train station. We were the only ones on the platform. The ticket booth — a tiny brown-shingled hut — was dark and empty. I heard a cat meowing inside it.
No cars in the tiny dirt parking lot. No cars moving on the narrow street.
“Where is Uncle Jonathan?” Peter asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to meet us?”
I shrugged. “Beats me.” I left my suitcase and stepped to the end of the wooden platform. I peered up and down the street. “Peter, check this place out. It’s unbelievable!”
I suddenly felt as if I’d gone back in time. The tiny village looked like something from hundreds of years ago.
The street was made of worn gray cobblestones. On one side stood a row of tiny houses behind picket fences. The houses were so small and low, they looked like dollhouses.
They were white and had slanting red roofs and dark shutters beside the windows. I tried to see inside the windows, but the curtains were all drawn.
The shops on the other side of the street all had old-fashioned signs above the display windows. I squinted into the
sunlight to read them.
One read: FOODE SHOPPE. Another, SMITHY AND SON. A shop with a bunch of colored jars in the window was called APOTHECARY. I think that’s another word for drugstore.
“Weird,” Peter muttered. “Think there’s an electronics store? I need a new iPod.”
I snickered. “I don’t think so,” I said.
In the other direction, I saw a tall green hill. The hill cast a shadow over half the village. A huge house rose up near the top of the hill. It looked like an evil castle from a horror movie, with dark towers on both sides.
I squinted into the sunlight. “Peter — look!” I cried. “What are those creatures flying over that big house up there?” I pointed at the fluttering black shadows circling the two towers.
Peter grinned. His eyes lit up. “Bats!” he said.
“No!” I gasped. Peter knows I have a thing about bats. I hate them. I have nightmares about them. So of course he sees bats wherever we go — just to torture his big sister.
“They’re birds,” I said. “They’ve got to be some weird kind of bird.”
“Definitely bats,” Peter replied. He turned and gazed down the row of shops. “I don’t see a movie theater, Abby. Hope Jonathan has an Internet connection. Or I’m gonna be totally bored.”
“Hello there!” a voice called.
I turned around to see a woman crossing the platform toward us. She was very tall and had white-blond hair pulled tightly behind her head in a bun. Flashing blue eyes. Red lipsticked lips. She wore a long blue skirt that fluttered in the wind as she walked.
As she came closer, I saw the tattoo on her throat. A tattoo of a bluebird with its wings spread across her neck.
She had a blue canvas bag strapped to her back. And she carried a long loaf of bread under one arm.
She stopped and studied Peter and me. “Are you two okay?” she asked. She had a deep, velvety voice. “Are you all alone out here?”
“Our uncle was supposed to meet us,” I said. “We took the train from Boston.” I turned and pointed to the hill. “I think that might be his house up there.”
The woman’s mouth fell open. The loaf of bread dropped from under her arm. She caught it before it hit the pavement.
When she looked up, her eyes were filled with horror. “Oh, no!” she said. “You don’t want to go up there! Listen to me. Go back where you came from. You don’t want to go up to that house!”
A cold shiver ran down my back. Peter stepped close to me. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He always does that when he’s tense.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you saying that?”
“What’s wrong with Uncle Jonathan’s house?” Peter demanded.
The woman gazed up at the big house on the hill. Then she slowly lowered her blue eyes to Peter and me. “I live up there, too,” she said softly. “Very close by. Do you think I don’t hear the strange moans at night?”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Moans?”
She frowned. “Think I don’t know that something horrible goes on in that man’s house?”
Was she serious?
No. She had to be mistaken. She had to be wrong. Granny Vee would never send us here if she thought it was dangerous.
I heard a pounding sound from down the road. It took me a few seconds to realize it was hoofbeats.
I turned and saw a carriage — an old-fashioned carriage pulled by two tall black horses. The carriage came roaring toward the train station. Bouncing hard on the dirt parking lot, it raised clouds of dust behind it.
“Is that Uncle Jonathan?” Peter asked.
I watched the horses bobbing their heads as they thundered toward us. Then I turned back to the woman. “You were joking — right?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not sticking around. I don’t ever want to see that man again.”
She leaped off the platform. Her bread fell to the ground, but she didn’t stop to pick it up. She just took off, running through the village. She didn’t look back.
Peter and I huddled close together as the carriage squealed to a stop in front of us. The horses snorted and tossed their heads, breathing hard. Their backs were shiny with sweat.
As I gazed up at the old gray-haired driver, the carriage door swung open and a man lowered himself quickly to the ground. He was tall and handsome, with long, straight black hair parted in the middle and a black mustache.
A smile spread over his face as he came closer. His skin was pale, almost yellow, and tight against his cheekbones. His green eyes flashed. He gave us a quick wave with one hand.
He wore a loose-fitting gray suit over a white shirt, open at the neck. A black pipe poked out of his jacket pocket. His shiny black boots came up almost to his knees.
“Are you Abby and Peter?”
We nodded. “Uncle Jonathan?” I said.
The horses snorted behind him. They both pawed the gravel beside the platform.
“I thought I’d bring you to the house in style,” Jonathan said. “Don’t you love this wonderful antique carriage? It belonged to my great-grandfather.”
“Awesome,” Peter said. “It looks like it’s from an old movie.”
Jonathan smiled. When he smiled, his face crinkled into a thousand little lines. “I’ll get your bags. Climb in.”
A few minutes later, Peter and I sat side by side across from our uncle as the carriage bounced up the hill. The village disappeared beneath us as the horses pulled us toward the house.
“So sorry I was late,” Jonathan said. “I wanted to make the house just right for you. I think you’ll find it very exciting.”
The carriage had a wonderful aroma of leather and wood. I gazed out the window at the passing trees. Then I raised my eyes to the roof of the house.
Those were bats circling the towers!
I could see them clearly now. But how could that be?
Bats aren’t supposed to come out during the day.
The bats gave me another shiver. Like I said, bats have always freaked me out.
I suddenly remembered the woman with the bird tattoo. How horrified she looked when I told her we were going to this house.
Uncle Jonathan rolled his pipe between his fingers. He studied me. “How was your train ride?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “But there was a woman at the train station. When we were waiting for you …”
His dark eyebrows shot up. “A woman?”
“Yes. She got a little weird. She said she heard moans coming from your house at night.”
Jonathan laughed. He had a dry, almost silent laugh. “Did she have a tattoo of a bird on her neck?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s Crazy Annie,” he said. “She’s always complaining about my dogs.” He shook his head. “I hope she didn’t scare you.”
“No way,” Peter said. He always acts like nothing scares him.
“She scared me a little,” I said. “She told us not to go into your house. She told us to go back where we came from.”
“Too late,” Uncle Jonathan said. “We’re here. You’re my prisoners now.”
Jonathan laughed. “Hey, I was joking. You’ll get used to my weird sense of humor.”
As I stepped inside the house, all thoughts of Crazy Annie vanished from my mind. My mouth dropped open as we made our way into the enormous front room.
“Have we gone back in time?” I cried. “It’s like … we’ve stepped back into ancient Egypt!”
“Totally cool!” Peter declared.
My head was spinning. There was so much to see! The walls of the room looked just like pyramid bricks. They were covered with paintings of Egyptian cats, and pharaohs, and sphinxes, and all the stuff you see in museums.
Statues and strange animal sculptures filled the room. A small yellow-brick pyramid rose up beside the fireplace.
“What’s that weird writing?” Peter asked Jonathan. He pointed to a large framed document on the wall. “Is that hieroglyphics?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, it is,” Jonathan answered. “The written language used by the ancient Egyptians. We have been able to translate some of it. But a lot of the symbols remain a mystery.”
I stopped in front of a table that contained several tiny bird sculptures. They were dark blue and very shiny. I knew they were really old, but they looked new.
Jonathan saw me admiring the sculptures. “The Egyptians had a shade of blue that we cannot create today,” he said. “Even with all our modern science we cannot match their glaze.”
He sighed, and his eyes appeared to dim. “They were ahead of us in so many ways.”
A faded orange-and-yellow painting of the sun hung on a wall over a tall stone sculpture. The sun had rays shooting from it and there were Egyptian symbols all around the borders.
“The Egyptians worshipped the sun god, Ra,” Jonathan said. “That painting was made over two thousand years ago.”
“Wow! This is amazing!” I exclaimed.
Jonathan smiled, the smile that crinkled up his face. “I spent a good part of my life in Egypt,” he said. “As you can see, I’m a collector. I brought back many priceless treasures.”
“Did you bring back a mummy?” Peter asked. “My friends and I are totally into mummies.”
Jonathan smoothed his black mustache with his fingers. He narrowed his eyes at Peter. “You might see a mummy or two before your visit is over,” he said.
“Cool!” Peter exclaimed. “Can I touch one?”
Before Jonathan could answer, a woman stepped into the room. She was short and plump with a round face and rosy cheeks. She had springy gray curls on her head. She wore a flowered apron over a long black housedress that hung down to her ankles.
Her glasses had slid halfway down her broad nose. She flashed us a toothy smile as she came nearer. “Faith be praised, Jonathan. Your houseguests have arrived at last!” she said. Her voice was very musical. She practically sang the words.
“Yes,” Jonathan replied. “We’ve been waiting so eagerly, haven’t we, Sonja?”
“Eagerly,” Sonja repeated, grinning at me. “Yes, that’s the truth of it.”
Jonathan introduced us. Sonja was his housekeeper. “Sonja will see that you get everything you need,” he told us.
“Have you seen the mummy?” Peter asked her.