Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh's Tomb II Read online

  “Perhaps the amber amulet will help us!” Howie said, taking the Amulet of Rah out of the pouch and holding it up.

  Nothing.

  “Say some magic words,” the almost as brilliant and clever Delilah suggested.

  “Abracadabra! Open sesame! Please and thank you!” Howie intoned.

  The Amulet of Rah quivered in his hand. And then it began to glow with an amber light that grew brighter and brighter until they could see where they were standing.

  “Awesome!” Howie breathed.

  “Wow!” Delilah gasped.

  “Hoppy is not happy,” Hoppy whimpered.

  They were surrounded by golden treasures and statues and little mummy cases with names on them like “Fluffy” and “Mittens.”

  “Let’s start looking for the cartouche,” Howie said, hoping that Delilah or Hoppy had a clue what a cartouche looked like. “Then we can go home and live forever, which will be nice as long as they don’t run out of dog food.”

  “But where will we find it?” Delilah asked. “There’s so much stuff in here. And it might not even be here. Look, there are three tunnels. Hoppy, what do those signs next to them say?”

  Hoppy hopped onto Howie’s head and read the signs by each of the tunnel entrances. “‘Men.’ ‘Women.’ ‘Screaming Mummies.’”

  “I pick door number three,” said Howie.

  Holding the Amulet of Rah in his mouth, he led the others through the tunnel marked “Screaming Mummies.”

  The room they came to at the end was even darker than the first room. The amber amulet barely lit up its interior, but the light was enough to make out a row of skeletons tangled in cobwebs.

  “Oooh, gross,” said Delilah.

  “I thought the ancient Egyptians wrapped their dead and put them in mummy cases,” said Howie.

  “They did, sir,” said Hoppy. “These are not the skeletons of the ancient Egyptians. These are the skeletons of those who came before us. It appears, sir, that they did not, sir, find the cartouche of eternal life, sir.”

  “Good point,” said Howie as the amber amulet began to fade.

  “Nooooooo!” Delilah cried. Then, thinking quickly, she shouted, “Please and thank you! Open sesame! Abracadabra!”

  The light began to glow, but something else happened too! Something really scary!

  A big voice bellowed: “BEWARE THE EVIL CURSE!”

  Before Howie could comment on the fact that whoever had spoken knew English—and uppercase English at that—there came a creaking sound, the kind you hear in movies when you know something really awful is about to happen, like a door is opening somewhere and if the main characters were smart they’d turn tail as fast as they could, but they don’t, they just stand there and all of a sudden you can’t breathe and . . . well, it was one of those moments.

  “Shine the amulet over there!” Delilah commanded.

  Howie turned and pointed the amulet in the direction of the far wall, almost dropping it when he saw what was going on. Four mummy cases were opening (remember the creaking sound a couple of paragraphs back?) and now these really icky mummies with blotchy, stained shrouds stepped out and started screaming! Screaming so horribly that Howie and Delilah and Hoppy could hardly stand it! They ran to the tunnel entrance, but it was gone! They were trapped, the amulet was fading, and they would never find the cartouche of eternal life at this rate!

  “This way!” Howie yelled as the disgusting, foul-smelling mummies approached, their arms outstretched before them. But he quickly ran into the row of skeletons, becoming entwined in cobwebs. Delilah and Hoppy tumbled into him. There was no way out! It was all over! The mummies were getting closer with every step, screaming, screaming their horrible screams over and over and over!!!!!!!!!!!

  Howie tried desperately to think what he could do to set them free. But what could he do? He was only one small dachshund in a world gone mad, one tiny voice in a sea of voices, one pebble in a field of boulders, one itsy-bitsy minnow in a school of sharks! He closed his eyes shut, wishing he was back on the prairie, romping with his brothers and sisters, wishing the tornado had never happened, wishing, wishing . . .

  “Good morning, little puppy,” he heard. “Time to wake up.” Someone was licking his ears.

  When Howie opened his eyes, he saw his mother’s face.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” she asked.

  Howie looked around him. He was back at home, safe and sound. It had all been a dream.

  THE END

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Am I brilliant or what? I didn’t know how to get the characters out of there, so I made the whole story a dream. I’ll bet nobody’s ever thought of that before! If that doesn’t win me a Newbony Award, nothing will!

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Great. I showed the book to Uncle Harold and he said, “Howie, having the whole story turn out to be a dream is a cop-out.”

  I didn’t think Uncle Harold knew words like “cop-out.” I guess he’s still pretty cool, after all.

  “But Uncle Harold,” I said, “what am I going to do now? The story is a mess.”

  Uncle Harold agreed. He said the only way out is to go back to Delilah and ask for her help, because the story is ours.

  So that’s what I did. (Oh, Uncle Harold also told me I can’t use the title Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb, because M. T. Graves already used that title for FleshCrawlers #28. Who knew writing meant you had to be original?!)

  Anyway, I went to Delilah and she agreed to help me out if she gets to write the last chapter all by herself. And give the book a title. Well, what I have to say to that is, “Harrumph!” But, hey, Delilah is half the reason the book is such a mess, so I may as well let her try to figure it out. Besides, the Monroes are out right now, which means I can sneak a nap on the sofa.

  Life’s Secret

  By Delilah Gorbish & Howie Monroe

  CHAPTER 9:

  “GOING HOME”

  The mummies’ screaming wrapped Delilah and Howie and Hoppy in its terrible sound, much as the mummies themselves were wrapped in linens. What the three adventurers did not know was that the mummies were wrapped in more than linens: They were wrapped in the haunting secrets from their dark and lonely pasts.

  “Please don’t be afraid,” one of the mummies said as she tried to free Delilah, Howie, and Hoppy from the sticky spiders’ webs. “We mean you no harm. We don’t want to scream. We are cursed to do so because in our lives we were not kind to children and dogs.”

  “What about frogs?” Hoppy asked.

  “Oh, we were especially not kind to frogs,” said the mummy as the others nodded their agreement.

  “We have learned the error of our ways, but it is too late for us. We are doomed to scream throughout eternity, but perhaps, just perhaps, we can yet do some good.”

  With a glance, Delilah indicated the skeletons at their feet.

  “They were all frightened to death,” said the mummy. “You are the first we’ve had the chance to speak with.”

  “Give them the cartouche,” said one of the others.

  “Yes,” chanted the third and fourth together. “Yes, yes, the cartouche, yes.”

  The first mummy handed the cartouche to the three adventurers.

  “Is it cursed?” Delilah asked. “If we are granted eternal life, will it be as terrible as yours?”

  “Oh, no,” the mummy replied. “It does not contain the secret of eternal life, merely the secret of life. And the only curse is the curse of knowledge. Use it well, and your life will be blessed. Use it poorly, and you may end up like us.”

  Delilah opened the cartouche and asked Hoppy what it said.

  “‘The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time,’” Hoppy read.

  “Oh,” said Delilah, “thank you.”

  “Yes,” Howie said, “your gift is a great one. I feel wiser and older and—”

  “Hoppy is ready to go home now,” Hoppy said.

  With those
words, who should they see at the entrance to the tunnel (which had miraculously reappeared) but Tobias?

  “I knew I would find you here,” Tobias said. “I have the time machine right outside the tomb. Shall we go?”

  As they were leaving, Delilah turned back and saw that the sound of the screaming mummies had changed to weeping. She wished she could make things different for them, but she understood that their fate was their fate, just as her fate was her fate, and Howie’s fate was his fate, and everyone’s fate was their fate, and so on and so forth.

  “We can go home now and face whatever life brings us,” Delilah said as she stepped into the time machine, “because we have traveled far, and we have learned much, and we have grown up.”

  “Fasten your seat belts,” Tobias said as the hatch closed. “Next stop, the twenty-first century!”

  Delilah smiled. Theirs had been a great and noble journey, but all great and noble journeys must come to an end. Now it was time to sit back and enjoy the passage of time.

  THE END

  HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL

  Okay, not exactly the way I would have ended it. I mean, those screaming mummies turned out to be total wimps, but who knows, maybe Delilah’s writing will help me win the Newbony Award. I’ll tell you one thing, though. I am not sticking with that last title she came up with! I’m giving the book its title, and this is it:

  SCREAMING MUMMIES OF THE PHARAOH’S TOMB II

  I wonder if M. T. Graves will mind. I’m going to send him the manuscript and ask if it’s okay to use the title. I mean, it’s not exactly the same as his. Who knows? Maybe he’ll even like my story! I mean, our story.

  Afterword

  What an honor it is to write a few words of praise for Howie Monroe and Delilah Gorbish’s brilliant and innovative novel, Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb II. These daringly original (might I even say, cutting-edge) writers have done so much more than extend the story of my now classic work, Flesh-Crawlers #28: Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb. They have taken my meager crumbs and fashioned them into a feast! What depth and character development this book contains! Who could have dreamed that screaming mummies, so often portrayed as heartless villains (I myself am guilty of portraying them as such), could be reimagined as full characters haunted by their pasts? Yet does not the past play a part throughout this book, as if it were itself a character?

  The hero’s journey is of course an archetype of children’s literature, but here it is given new form. Indeed, “form” is given new form here, so that it is impossible for us to characterize this book as anything but what it is: Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb II. It is clear to me that Monroe and Gorbish are destined not only to exceed the 2.4 million copies sold of FleshCrawlers #28: Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb, but—dare I say it?—win themselves an award or two. I, for one, intend to dash a letter off to the Newbony Committee at once!

  —M. T. Graves, author of the 166 167

  best-selling titles in the FleshCrawlers’ series

  What’s next from Howie’s overactive imagination? Here’s a sample from

  Bud Barkin, Private Eye

  By Howie Monroe

  CHAPTER 1:

  “THE MYSTERIOUS DAME”

  I was working late. It was past my bedtime, but I didn’t care because twenty out of twenty-four hours is my bedtime. I’m a dog. I’m a detective. The name’s Bud Barkin.

  The light from the sign outside my window was blinking like a firefly with a bad case of the hiccups. I was used to it. The sign for the Big Slice Pizzeria had been there as long as I had. I’d just finished off a pepperoni and mushroom pizza—dinner alone, as usual—when I heard a knock on my door. My ears popped up like a couple of prairie dogs.

  Who would come knocking on my door at this hour? I was hoping it wasn’t Crusty Carmady. I’d just read in that evening’s Chronicle that Crusty’d been sprung from Sing Sing. It was I that sent him up. His last words to me were, “I’ll be getting’ outa here one of these days, Barkin. And when I do, put the water on fer tea ’cause I’ll be payin’ youse a little visit.”

  I inched my way across the room to the door. The top half of the door was frosted glass with words painted on it. A shadow fell across

  I held my breath.

  “That you, Carmady?” I said.

  There was the sound of breathing coming from the other side, but it wasn’t Crusty’s. I’d recognize his breathing anywhere. It was as raspy as a dull knife scraping across a piece of burnt toast. This breathing was fast and flighty, like a hummingbird with a bad case of the jitters.

  I knew right away: The breather was a dame.

  I pulled the door open. She toppled into me. One blonde curly ear hid half her face, but I could see right off she was Trouble with a capital T.

  “Mr. Barkin,” she pleaded, “you gotta help me.”

  “Do I, sweetheart?” I said. I may have been a private eye who was down on his luck, but I still had a way with words.

  The dame was whimpering now. “C-Close the door,” she stammered. “I’m being f-followed.”

  I did like she asked.

  “Drink?” I offered, filling the extra water dish I keep handy.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, slurping as noisily as a gang of schoolkids splashing through a puddle at the tail end of a rainy day. I noticed that once she was inside the room, she didn’t seem so scared. I smelled a rat and it wasn’t pretty. This dame was up to something.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked her.

  “Delilah,” she told me. “Delilah Gorbish.”

  James Howe is the author of the award-winning best-seller Bunnicula and its sequels, as well as many other popular books for young readers, including The Misfits and the Pinky and Rex series for younger readers. He lives in New York State.

  Tales from the House of Bunnicula Books by James Howe

  Book #1: It Came from Beneath the Bed!

  Book #2: Invasion of the Mind Swappers from Asteroid 6!

  Book #3: Howie Monroe and the Doghouse of Doom

  Book #4: Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb II

  Other Bunnicula Books by James Howe:

  Bunnicula (with Deborah Howe)

  Howliday Inn

  The Celery Stalks at Midnight

  Nighty-Nightmare

  Return to Howliday Inn

  Bunnicula Strikes Again!

  Bunnicula’s Pleasantly Perplexing Puzzlers

  Bunnicula’s Long-Lasting Laugh-Alouds

  Bunnicula’s Frightfully Fabulous Factoids

  Bunnicula’s Wickedly Wacky Word Games

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2003 by James Howe

  Illustrations copyright © 2003 by Brett Helquist

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Book design by Ann Bobco

  The illustrations are rendered in acrylics and oils.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Howe, James, 1946–

  Screaming mummies of the Pharaoh’s tomb II / James Howe ; illustrated by Brett Helquist.

  p. cm.—(Tales from the House of Bunnicula ; 4)

  Summary: Howie the wirehaired dachshund and his friend Delilah collaborate on a novel, trying to win the coveted Newbony Award.

  ISBN 0-689-83953-7

  ISBN 978-1-4391-1262-5 (eBook)

  [1. Authorship—Fiction. 2. Dachshunds—Fiction. 3. Dogs—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.] I. Hel
quist, Brett, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7 .H83727 Hnr 2003

  [Fic]—dc21

  2002006669

 

 

  James Howe, Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh's Tomb II

 

 

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