05 - The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb (11 page)

I waited, standing there like the Statue of Liberty with the little hand
raised high above my head.

It seemed as if I were standing like that for hours.

Sari and Uncle Ben stared at the hand.

Lowering the torch a few inches, Ahmed squinted at the mummy hand. Then his
eyes grew wider, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

He cried out. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. The words were in a
language I’d never heard. Ancient Egyptian, maybe.

He took a step back, his surprised expression quickly replaced by a wide-eyed
look of fear.

“The hand of the Priestess!” he cried.

At least, that’s what I
think
he cried—because I was suddenly
distracted by what was going on behind him.

Sari uttered a low cry.

All three of us stared over Ahmed’s shoulder in disbelief.

A mummy propped against the wall appeared to lean forward.

Another mummy, lying on its back, slowly sat up, creaking as it raised
itself.

“No!” I cried, still holding the mummy hand high.

Sari and Uncle Ben were gaping wide-eyed as the vast chamber filled with
motion. As the mummies creaked and groaned to life.

The air filled with the odor of ancient dust, of decay.

In the shadowy light, I saw one mummy, then another, straighten up, stand
tall. They stretched their bandaged arms above their featureless heads. Slowly.
Painfully.

Staggering, moving stiffly, the mummies lumbered forward.

I watched, frozen in amazement, as they climbed out of mummy cases, raised
themselves from the floor, leaned forward, took their first slow, heavy steps,
their muscles groaning, dust rising up from their dry, dead bodies.

They’re dead, I thought.

All of them. Dead. Dead for so many years.

But now they were rising up, climbing from their ancient coffins, struggling
toward us on their heavy, dead legs.

Their bandaged feet scraped across the chamber floor as they gathered in a
group.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

A dry, shuffling sound I knew I’d never forget.

Scrape. Scrape.

The faceless army approached. Bandaged arms outstretched, they lumbered
toward us, creaking and groaning. Moaning softly with ancient pain.

Ahmed caught the astonishment on our faces and spun around.

He cried out again in that strange language as he saw the mummies advancing
on us, scraping so softly, so deliberately, across the chamber floor.

And, then, with a furious scream, Ahmed heaved the torch at the mummy in the
lead.

The torch hit the mummy in the chest and bounced to the floor. Flames burst
from the mummy’s chest, immediately spreading over the arms and down the legs.

But the mummy kept advancing, didn’t slow, didn’t react at all to the fire
that was quickly consuming it.

Gaping in openmouthed horror, babbling an endless stream of words in that
mysterious language, Ahmed tried to run.

But he was too late.

The burning mummy lunged at him. The ancient figure caught Ahmed up by the
throat, lifted him high above its flaming shoulders.

Ahmed uttered a high-pitched shriek of terror as the other mummies lumbered
forward. Moaning and wailing through their yellowed bandages, they moved in to help their
burning colleague.

They raised Ahmed high above their moaning heads.

And then held him over the burning tar pit.

Squirming and kicking, Ahmed uttered a piercing scream as they held him over
the boiling, bubbling, steaming tar.

I closed my eyes. The heat and tar fumes swirled around me. I felt as if I
were being swallowed up, pulled down into the steaming blackness.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Ahmed fleeing to the tunnel, staggering
clumsily, shrieking in openmouthed terror as he ran. The mummies remained by the
pit, enjoying their victory.

I realized I was still holding the mummy hand over my head. I lowered it
slowly, and gazed at Sari and Uncle Ben. They were standing beside me, their
faces filled with confusion. And relief.

“The mummies—” I managed to utter.

“Look,” Sari said, pointing.

I followed the direction of her gaze. The mummies were all back in place.
Some were leaning, some propped at odd angles, some lying down.

They were exactly as they had been when I entered the chamber.

“Huh?” My eyes darted rapidly around the room.

Had they all moved? Had they raised themselves, stood up, and staggered
toward us? Or had we imagined it all?

No.

We
couldn’t
have imagined it.

Ahmed was gone. We were safe.

“We’re okay,” Uncle Ben said gratefully, throwing his arms around Sari and
me. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

“We can go now!” Sari cried happily, hugging her dad. Then she turned to me.
“You saved our lives,” she said. She had to choke out the words. But she said
them.

Then Uncle Ben turned his gaze on me and the object I still gripped tightly
in front of me. “Thanks for the helping hand,” Uncle Ben said.

We had an enormous dinner at a restaurant back in Cairo. It’s a miracle any
of us got any food down since we were all talking at once, chattering excitedly,
reliving our adventure, trying to make sense of it all.

I was spinning The Summoner around on the table.

Uncle Ben grinned at me. “I had no idea
how
special that mummy hand
was!”

He took it from me and examined it closely. “Better not play with it,” he
said seriously. “We must treat it carefully.” He shook his head. “Some great
scientist
I
am!” he exclaimed scornfully.

“When I saw it, I thought it was just a toy, some kind of reproduction. But
this hand may be my biggest discovery of all!”

“It’s my good luck charm,” I said, handling it gently as I took it back.

“You can say
that
again!” Sari said appreciatively. The nicest thing
she’d ever said to me.

Back at the hotel, I surprised myself by falling asleep instantly. I thought
I’d be up for hours, thinking about all that had happened. But I guess all the
excitement had exhausted me.

The next morning, Sari, Uncle Ben, and I had a big breakfast in the room. I
had a plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of Frosted Flakes. As I ate, I fiddled
with the little mummy hand.

All three of us were feeling good, happy that our frightening adventure was
over. We were kidding around, teasing each other, laughing a lot.

After I finished my cereal, I raised the little mummy hand high. “O, Summoner,”
I chanted in a deep voice, “I summon the ancient spirits. Come alive. Come alive
again!”

“Stop it, Gabe,” Sari snapped. She grabbed for the hand, but I swung it out
of her reach.

“That isn’t funny,” she said. “You shouldn’t fool around like that.”

“Are you chicken?” I asked, laughing at her. I could see that she was really
frightened, which made me enjoy my little joke even more.

Keeping it away from her, I raised the hand high. “I summon thee, ancient spirits of the dead,” I chanted. “Come to me.
Come to me now!”

And there was a loud knock on the door.

All three of us gasped.

Uncle Ben knocked over his juice glass. It clattered onto the table and
spilled.

I froze with the little hand in the air.

Another loud knock.

We heard a scrabbling at the door. The sound of ancient, bandaged fingers
struggling with the lock.

Sari and I exchanged horrified glances.

I slowly lowered the hand as the door swung open.

Two shadowy figures lumbered into the room.

“Mom and Dad!” I cried.

I’ll bet they were surprised at how glad I was to see them.

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