Heart of the Mummy Read online

  SCREAM STREET

  HEART OF THE MUMMY

  TOMMY DNBAVAND

  Thunder crashed as the two werewolves circled each other, fur flattened against their rippling muscles by the torrential rain. The smaller of the two creatures bared its fangs and howled, the sound echoing around the street.

  The larger werewolf lunged at its opponent, ready to bite, but the small wolf was too fast to be beaten by such an obvious attack. It flung itself to the ground, back legs pulled up to protect its belly, and lashed out with razor-sharp talons, catching the aggressor’s chest and drawing blood. The creature’s thick ginger fur was briefly stained red before the rain washed it clean again.

  Lightning exploded over the wolves’ heads, illuminating the only other figures out in the storm. A small Egyptian mummy clutched a silver-covered book while a young vampire clashed swords with an older man.

  “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out,” roared Sir Otto Sneer in delight as he swung his sword down towards the vampire’s head. “If you want to beat a werewolf, use a werewolf!”

  Resus Negative gripped his own sword and thrust it upwards to block the blow. “You’ll never beat Luke!”

  There was a yelp as the ginger werewolf bit deep into its opponent’s leg. The man smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  The smaller wolf retreated across the street. The mummy dashed over and knelt by its side. “Are you OK?” she asked. Luke gazed up at her through yellow eyes, all trace of his human personality hidden beneath the werewolf’s exterior.

  Cleo tore a strip of bandage from her waist and hastily tied it around the wound on Luke’s leg. “It’s not much, but it’ll stop you losing blood.”

  The sound of clashing metal caught her attention and she spun to see Resus backing across the street, sword held high to fend off Sir Otto’s fierce blows. As he reached the kerb, the vampire stumbled and fell onto his back, twisting away just as the metal point of the man’s weapon clanged into the concrete where his head had just been.

  Kicking out with a heavy boot, Sir Otto knocked the sword from Resus’s hand. It skittered away across the wet pavement, leaving the vampire helpless. Cleo screamed in frustration and ran to her friend’s aid.

  A deep-throated growl rang out as the larger wolf leapt across the street. Luke jumped up a split second later and the two beasts met in mid-air, snapping at each other with glistening fangs.

  The air sizzled with electricity as another fork of lightning crackled in the sky. The intense light reflected off the wet fur of the wolves and lit them up, frozen for a moment as though figures in some nightmarish photograph.

  The creatures crashed back down to the ground, the smaller werewolf first to its feet. Jaws wide, it lunged for its opponent’s exposed throat.

  “Luke, no!” a familiar voice screamed, causing the werewolf’s head to snap up. Two figures stood huddled together, soaked by the storm. The couple’s expressions of terror could be seen clearly as another surge of white-hot lightning flashed above. The werewolf howled with rage to discover his parents were watching him …

  Luke sat bolt upright, his T-shirt dripping from the pounding rain. No, it wasn’t rain — it was sweat. He was lying on his bed, fully dressed.

  Trying to slow his racing heartbeat, he switched on the lamp. The glow of the bulb reflected against the contours of a silver face embossed into the front of a book on his desk.

  As Luke peeled off his dripping shirt and grabbed another from the drawer, the face opened its eyes. “You were dreaming again,” it said.

  “So what?” snapped Luke, pulling on the T-shirt. “Everyone has dreams.”

  “Very true,” agreed the face calmly. “But not everyone transforms into a werewolf while doing so.”

  Luke followed the book’s gaze and saw deep claw marks scratched into the closed bedroom door. His fingertips were bloodied and he could see sharp splinters of wood in some of them. “Did I get out?” he asked. “My mum and dad …”

  “They locked the door when they heard you shout in your sleep. They’re perfectly safe.”

  Luke buried his head in his sore hands.

  Samuel Skipstone, author of Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street, watched sadly from the front cover of his life’s work. Casting a spell to merge his dying spirit with the pages of his book had meant that he could continue to research the residents of this unusual community long after his physical death, but it stopped him from being able to offer a comforting shoulder when required.

  “Do you want to talk about your dream?” he asked.

  “It’s the same as always,” Luke shrugged. “I’m out in the street, fighting another werewolf.”

  “Is anyone else there?”

  “Cleo,” said Luke. “And Resus is fighting Sir Otto.” He stood and watched the rain batter against the window pane for a few seconds. “What does it mean?”

  “Perhaps you would be better asking your vampire friend himself why he would want to battle with the landlord of Scream Street?” suggested Skipstone.

  Luke snorted back a laugh. “I can think of a hundred reasons why he would attack Sneer,” he said. “Choosing just one would be difficult!”

  Skipstone smiled. “Master Negative is not alone in his dislike of that man.”

  “My parents are watching the battle,” continued Luke, “but I don’t see them until I’m about to kill the other werewolf.”

  “I’m sure the dream represents nothing more than your reluctance for them to see you in your true form.”

  “True form?” said Luke. “This is my true form: a normal, everyday kid! That thing I become isn’t me!”

  “Lycanthropy has a long and noble history,” said Samuel Skipstone. “Many families are proud of their werewolf tradition.”

  “Mine isn’t!” said Luke. He thrust his injured fingers towards the silver face. “This is what my family thinks. They lock me away so I can’t tear out their throats in their sleep.” He sighed. “I need to wash my hands.”

  As Luke suspected, the bedroom door was still locked when he tried the handle. He hammered his fist against the damaged wood, trying not to look at the claw marks in the varnish. “Mum! Dad! Can you let me out now?”

  A hastily whispered conversation took place on the other side of the door. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Luke,” replied his dad eventually. “It might be better if you stay in there until the morning.”

  “But I need to use the bathroom,” said Luke.

  “I put a bucket in the corner, by the desk,” said Mrs Watson, her trembling voice revealing her nerves. “You can use that for tonight.”

  Luke turned away from the door, fighting the urge to kick it. “I’ve got to get out of here!” he muttered, reaching beneath his bed to slide out the glistening golden casket he kept there.

  Opening the lid, he checked that the two items he had hidden inside — a vampire’s fang and a vial of witch’s blood — were still there. These were the first of the relics left behind by Scream Street’s founding fathers. Luke was on a quest to find all six artefacts: a collection that would give him the power to open a doorway back to his world and take his parents home.

  “I don’t see how you can leave,” said Samuel Skipstone. “Your parents seem intent on keeping your bedroom locked.”

  Luke closed the casket and slid it back into the shadows beneath his bed. “There’s more than one way out,” he said.

  Slipping his feet into his trainers, Luke grabbed the silver book and pushed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He opened the window, briefly screwing his eyes shut against the driving rain, and clambered onto the window ledge. Weak moonlight shimmered off the wet bark of a tree that grew a few metres from the house. As Luke tr
ied to make it out, he struggled to recall where the strongest branches were, and which of the dark shapes were merely shadows.

  Of Scream Street’s many strange characteristics, the state of constant night was the one Luke found hardest to deal with.

  “I hate it being dark all the time!”

  “The sun was conjured away many years ago,” said Skipstone from Luke’s pocket. “It remains a prisoner to this very day.”

  “Where?” asked Luke.

  “Some say it is trapped right here in Scream Street,” replied the author. “Others say it was tricked into shining on a mere imitation of our community. We may never know the truth.”

  “Just one more reason to leave, then,” said Luke grimly. With a last glance back at the bucket in the corner of his room, he leapt out into the night.

  “Hold still!” snapped Cleo. “I can’t bandage your leg while you’re pacing around the room like you’ve got bats in your pants!”

  “What I don’t get,” said Resus as he rearranged items inside his cape, “is how you cut your shin if you were scratching at the door with your hands.”

  Luke reddened. “I fell out of the tree outside my bedroom window.”

  Cleo gave up on Luke’s leg and grabbed a pair of tweezers from next to a candle on the dressing table. The flame glinted off the golden artefacts that filled her bedroom. “Let me have a look at your hands, then.”

  “They think I’m a monster,” said Luke as Cleo began to pluck the splinters from his fingertips. “Ouch!”

  “Resus,” Cleo said, “tell him his parents don’t think he’s a monster.”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Resus. “They think I’m a monster, and I’m as normal as they are!” He produced a pair of false fangs from inside his cape and clipped them over his own teeth. Born to vampire parents, Resus was something of an oddity in his family. He hated the taste of blood, resorted to dyeing his blond hair, and needed more than a little help in the fangs department.

  Luke sighed and traced his now splinter-free fingers over the hieroglyphics etched into a golden box that stood against the wall.

  “Now,” said the mummy, “lean against my sarcophagus so I can sort out that cut on your leg. You don’t want it getting infected.”

  “Lean against your what-agus?” asked Luke.

  “My sarcophagus!” replied Cleo. “That thing you’re rubbing. My bed …”

  Luke pulled his hand away and stared at the glittering casket. The engraving of a girl’s face gazed back at him from its lid. “You sleep in this?”

  “Of course,” said Cleo, wrapping a clean bandage around the wound on Luke’s leg. “I couldn’t relax in one of those soft, girly things!”

  As Cleo tied off the dressing, the door opened and a giant mummy entered, carrying a golden tray. Bandages covered the huge figure from head to toe. “Visitors to my home, you honour my daughter with your friendship,” he said.

  “There’s no need to get all formal, Dad,” said Cleo as she jumped up to relieve him of the tray. “What are these?”

  “I present sweetmeats created from the flora that borders the mighty Nile,” thundered the mummy before bowing awkwardly and backing out of the room.

  “What’s he on about?” asked Resus.

  Cleo sniffed at the snacks on the tray. “Lotus-flower fritters,” she beamed, offering the tray around. “Delicious!”

  Resus cautiously picked up one of the small cakes, holding it at arm’s length as though it might poison him. “Your dad makes food out of plants?”

  “What else do you think us vegetarians eat?” demanded the mummy. “Well, not flowers!”

  “Just because your family eats nothing but meat,” teased Cleo.

  “We do not just eat meat,” retorted Resus. “We often have chips as well.”

  Cleo threw a fritter to the vampire. “Try that,” she said. “It tastes like beef.”

  Resus bit into the lotus-flower snack and smiled. “Hey, you’re right!” he said, stuffing the rest of it into his mouth. Some crumbs fell to the floor and half a dozen small silver spiders skittered out from under the wardrobe to collect the tiny pieces in a webbing sack.

  “What is it with them?” asked Resus as he watched the spiders work. “We don’t need them now we’ve got the electricity back.” Having struggled with gas as their only source of power for years, the residents of Scream Street had trained spiders to clean their carpets and floors.

  “They’ve seen me use the vacuum cleaner,” said Cleo, “but they don’t seem to want to stop helping. They appear under the table at every mealtime.”

  “My parents haven’t eaten properly for two weeks,” said Luke softly, “since we were brought to Scream Street.”

  “Then perhaps,” announced a voice, “it is time to find the next relic.” Luke pulled Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street from his pocket. “You already possess the vampire’s fang and witch’s blood,” said the author. “With the third relic you will be halfway through your quest to take your parents home.”

  Samuel Skipstone closed his eyes and the book flipped open to a page that contained a detailed recipe for dragon’s scale soup. The words faded away to reveal a section of hidden text beneath:

  “The next founding father is a mummy!” said Luke.

  “And we have to go to his tomb,” added Resus.

  “We can’t!” protested Cleo.

  Luke turned to her in surprise. “We have to.”

  “You can’t enter a mummy’s tomb uninvited,” Cleo insisted, tears soaking into the bandages around her eyes. “It’s how I lost my mum!”

  “You’ve never mentioned your mum before,” said Resus as he, Luke and Cleo walked along Scream Street the next morning.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” said the mummy.

  “I wondered why your dad was the only adult mummy in Scream Street,” Resus continued bluntly. “Hey! Your daddy is really a mummy!”

  Cleo grunted in frustration and sped up, marching ahead. “I’ve only just got that,” Resus beamed. “Cleo’s daddy is a mummy!”

  Luke looked nervously at Cleo ahead, then back to Resus. “I don’t think—”

  “How does he choose which bathroom to use?” giggled the vampire.

  His smile vanished as Cleo spun to face him. “My mum’s sarcophagus was washed overboard on the boat trip over here from Egypt, OK?”

  “O— OK,” muttered Resus. Leaves rustled in the bushes behind them and Luke glanced round, but no one was there.

  “My dad and I haven’t seen her since, and it’s all because some stupid explorers entered her tomb and took her coffin for their museum without an invitation!” snapped the mummy. “Now do you see why I don’t want to break into this founding father’s resting place?”

  “I do,” said Luke gently, “but if this mummy agreed to leave behind a relic so that he could help others, isn’t that sort of an invitation to visit him?”

  “I suppose so,” Cleo sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but which house are we going to?”

  “There are a few empty houses, but number Thirty-two has been vacant longer than any of the others,” said Resus.

  “And you think this mummy will have his tomb in there?” asked Luke.

  “I think that’s what Skipstone’s clue meant,” said Resus. “It said it was up above—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of drums echoing along Scream Street.

  “What is that?”

  “I GUESS NUMBER THIRTY-TWO ISN’T EMPTY ANY MORE!” Luke shouted over the noise as he watched an army of men in purple jumpsuits carry boxes into the black brick house. None of the men had a single facial feature: no eyes, ears, nose or mouth. Luke shivered as he recalled the moment the Movers had arrived at his own home to bring his family to Scream Street.

  “Who do you think is moving in?” yelled Cleo.

  “No idea!” bellowed Resus. “G.H.O.U.L. never gives us any warning.” As he spoke, the air in front of the trio shimmered and a pha
ntom materialized; a phantom with the wildest head of back-combed hair Luke had ever seen.

  “Well, looky here,” grinned the ghost, taking Resus’s hand and shaking it hard. “Seems like we got ourselves some music fans!”

  He gestured back towards the house. “I guess you recognize this here as Buddy Bones, the greatest skeleton jazz drummer in the world?”

  “Which band did he play with?” asked Resus.

  “Never went near another musician,” said the ghost. “Hated them in fact. So he always played alone. Fifteen albums of nothing but drum solos!”

  “Sounds like—” began Cleo, but the phantom didn’t wait for her to finish.

  “Fool Spectre,” he said, pushing a translucent business card into Luke’s palm. “President of Moantown Records.”

  Two of the Movers stumbled past, carrying an old-fashioned jukebox between them. “Now, you boys be careful with that,” warned Fool. “That box contains some of the rarest records you’re ever likely to come across.”

  The Movers gave no indication that they had heard the phantom speak. They set the jukebox down in the garden and went back for more items.

  “What’s the deal with these guys?” asked Fool. “I tried to tip ’em when they cleared out our old place, but they don’t appear to hear a word I say!”

  “They’re from G.H.O.U.L.,” explained Resus. “Government Housing Of Unusual Life-forms. They’ve had all their senses removed so they can never accidentally reveal the location of Scream Street.”

  “All their senses?” asked the phantom.

  Resus nodded. “All except their sense of touch, which they need to move your belongings from your old house to here.”

  “They can’t even speak?” said Fool. “Man, it must be quiet where they live!”

  Luke turned to face Resus and Cleo. “You could even say it would be silent …” he grinned.

  Cleo turned the ornate brass handle and pushed. The door to 5 Scream Street swung open. “It’s unlocked!” she exclaimed.

  “Shh!” warned Luke.