The Haunting Hour (6 page)

“Listen to me!” I screamed. “You've got it all wrong!”

The six priests all gasped in shock. The High Priest took a step back.

“You're trying to kill the wrong guy!” I told them. “I'm not your Prince Akor. My name is Connor Franklin. And I don't come from here. I'm from Cincinnati, Ohio.”

The men started to mutter. The High Priest waved to them to stop. He frowned at me, his blue eyes studying me hard.

“I live in the United States!” I cried. “In the twenty-first century! This is all some kind of crazy mix-up.”

By the time I finished, I was gasping for breath, my chest heaving up and down. I waited for the High Priest to speak.

“You have had these dreams before, Prince Akor,” he said softly. The priests all nodded.

The High Priest reached forward and began to unwind the strips of cloth that still covered me. I gasped when I saw what I was wearing underneath. Not my jeans and T-shirt. A short white skirt!

“This is crazy!” I cried. “I don't come from here. I come from far in the future!”

“If that is true, how do you understand us?” the High Priest asked, speaking softly and patiently. “How do you speak our language?”

Good question.

I stared at him openmouthed. I didn't have an answer.

“You have dreamed before that you lived in a future time,” the High Priest said. “But you must realize that you are awake now. The dream is ended.”

He placed his hand tenderly on my shoulder. “I promised your father, the Pharaoh, that I would always take care of you. And I will keep that promise. I will mummify you before the night falls.”

My whole body shuddered. “No, please. Listen to me!” I begged.

“Of course you are afraid, my Prince,” the High Priest said. “But you will be given a potion to dull your senses. You will not feel the burn of the hot tar. When the ceremony is over, you will be lost to Egypt. But you shall live forever with the gods in the afterworld.”

A low cry escaped my throat.

No thanks, I thought. I'm outta here! As soon as someone turns his back, I'm outta here!

“Priests, take him to rest in his chamber while I prepare the
tools,” the High Priest commanded.

Once again the six men surrounded me and forced me to walk with them. They led me to a large chamber filled with brightly colored cushions. Hanging from the high ceiling, silky blue curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze.

“Rest, Prince Akor,” one of the priests said, bowing his head. “We will come for you soon.”

The heavy door closed hard behind them.

I realized I didn't have a second to waste.

I ran to the door and tried it. Bolted shut.

I turned and saw the long curtains swaying gently. There is a breeze, I realized, so there must be a window.

Yes! Hidden behind the curtains was a small window, shaped like a triangle, high on the yellow stone wall.

I scrambled over the cushions to the wall. The window was over my head. But I grabbed the sill with both hands and pulled myself up.

I looked outside. In the far distance a red sun was setting over low hills of yellow sand. I stared down to a brick courtyard far below. It was a steep drop straight down. Nothing to break my fall.

It was a tight fit, and the window was tiny. But I had no choice. I had to try it. It was my only chance to keep my brain from being pulled out of my nose and my body from being wrapped in hot tar and gauze.

Huddled on the narrow sill, I swung my legs out the window. Then I slowly pushed my head out…my chest…my arms.

I took a deep breath—and jumped, landing hard on my feet.

“
Ow
.” Pain shot up from both ankles. My legs folded. I fell to the pavement.

Get up! I ordered myself. No time to waste.

Ignoring the pain, I climbed to my feet. I searched the courtyard. No one here. But I knew that the High Priest would soon be sending
all of his men after me.

My eyes scanned the wall of the building. It seemed to stretch forever. Was that a doorway down near the far end?

I took off, running despite the pain that throbbed from my ankles. I needed someplace to hide, someplace where I could think. Where I could try to figure out my next move.

I ducked into the darkness of the open doorway. I blinked hard, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

I saw torches on the walls. And then, in their darting light, I saw the mummy case.

I was back in the chamber where they had found me. I took a deep breath and held it, trying to slow my racing heart. The mummy case glowed dully in the dancing torchlight.

Suddenly I had an idea. A desperate idea. But an idea.

My sweaty hands slipped on the stone as I hoisted myself into the mummy case. Quickly I stretched out on my back and crossed my hands over my chest.

The High Priest said I've had dreams before, I thought.

But
this
is the dream. This isn't real. I'm dreaming
now
.

I'm dreaming that I'm in ancient Egypt. I'm dreaming that I'm a Prince who is about to be mummified.

If I can fall asleep, I can dream myself back. I can wake up back in Cincinnati where I belong. If I can fall asleep, I can get myself back to Joanna's birthday party.

I shut my eyes. The stone case felt cool on my hot body. I tried to force myself to relax.

“Please—let me wake up in that mummy case in the science museum,” I begged out loud. “Please—let me wake up in the twenty-first century. Let me wake up in that mummy case….”

I forced myself to breathe slowly…slowly….

I tried to clear my mind.

Darkness washed over me. A soothing, calm darkness.

I don't know how long I slept. But as I awakened, I heard voices.

I gazed up and saw a low green ceiling over my head.

Yes!

I'm back, I realized. I wished myself back to the twenty-first century. What a horrifying dream I had!

I felt so happy, I wanted to jump up and dance around the museum.

But for some reason I couldn't move.

Why can't I move? I wondered.

The voices came closer. They were right above me now.

Kids poked their heads over the mummy case. They gazed down at me.

Who
are
those kids? I don't know them. Where are my friends?

“
Ooh
, gross,” a boy said, shrinking back from me.

“Sick,” a girl beside him groaned. “Look at the putrid stains. He's all decayed.”

Wait. Why are they saying that? I thought.

“Bet he has worms crawling in him,” a boy said.

“That's disgusting.”

The faces disappeared. I stared up at the ceiling, thinking hard.

And I knew what had happened. It took me a while, but I figured it out.

Yes, I was back in Cincinnati. Yes, I was in the mummy case in the science museum.

“No!” I wanted to scream. “No! It can't be! It
can't
be! I'M THE MUMMY!”

INTRODUCTION

ILLUSTRATED BY
G
REG
C
ALL

F
or our summer vacations, my parents used to take us on long car trips. My brother and sister and I were squeezed in the backseat—and we'd argue and fight the whole way.

As we rode, my mom would point out every cow and horse. My dad
always
got lost. We
hated
these trips! They always ended with the three of us kids screaming, “Let us out of this car!”

“No problem,” my mom would shoot back. “This is a one-way trip. You don't have to ride back with us.” She meant it as a joke. But I always wondered—what if she was serious?

M
y brother, Artie, and I
did not want to go on a long car trip with my parents. We were unhappy, and we didn't keep it a secret.

“Are we there yet?” Artie whined, hunched beside me in the backseat.

Mom laughed. “Artie—we just backed down the driveway!”

“But when are we going to get there?” he asked.

“We'll get there when we get there,” Dad said, slowing for a stop sign. Dad likes to talk in mysteries.

I don't
like
mysteries. I like to get to the point. “Why are we taking this stupid car trip?” I groaned.

“For a vacation,” Mom said.

“But we always go to the beach for our vacation,” I said.

“Not this year,” Dad said, his eyes straight ahead on the road.

Beside me, Artie had settled back against the seat and was punching away at the Game Boy he held in his lap. “Richie Corwin went on a car trip with his parents last week,” Artie said.

“Did he enjoy it?” Mom asked.

Artie shrugged. “I don't know. He didn't come back yet.”

We passed several cars as Dad slid into the center lane of the highway. “Pam and Kelly went on car trips this summer too,” I said.

“See, Tammi? It's the cool thing to do!” Mom said.

“Did either of them come back yet?” Dad asked.

Something about the way he asked that question made me pause. His voice sounded so strange—kind of tight.

“No. Not yet,” I said.

 

“Where are we?” I asked. “We've been driving for hours, and there's nothing out there but farms and flat fields.”

“It's a big country,” Dad said.

I grabbed the back of Mom's seat and leaned forward. “Come on. Give me a hint where we're going. Just a hint.” I reached for the road map spread out on Mom's lap. “Let me see where we are.”

“Here.” Mom picked up the map and did her usual comedy act with it. Unfolding it. Turning it from side to side. Crumpling it up. Uncrumpling it. Turning it upside down and inside out.

Dad started to laugh. He loves Mom's comedy acts.

I finally got fed up, tried to pull the wrinkled map from her hands—and ripped it in half!

That made Mom and Dad
roar
with laughter.

“We have two maps now,” Dad said. “So we must be in two places at once!”

That didn't make any sense at all.

“We've driven right off the map!” Mom exclaimed.

More laughter.

But the laughter stopped when Artie opened his mouth in a horrified scream. “Stop the car!
Dad, stop the car!
”

Dad hit the brakes hard. The tires squealed as the car slid, swerving onto the tall grass beside the highway.

I grabbed the door handle, swung it up, and pushed open the door.

“What on earth is this about?” I heard Mom cry.

But I was already out the door, running through the grass, chasing after the dog Artie and I had spotted out of the car window.

“Here, boy—come! Don't be afraid!” Artie called.

The big dog stopped at the edge of the highway. A truck roared past, blowing the dog's yellow-white fur up on its back.

“I think it's a collie,” I said breathlessly, catching up to it.

“Is it a stray?” Artie asked. “Do you think someone let it loose on the highway?”

I glanced back and saw Mom and Dad standing beside the open car doors, watching us, hands on their hips.

“Good dog! Good dog!” Artie called softly, bending down.

The big collie's thick fur was all tangled. It lowered its head, nuzzled Artie's hand, and began to lick it. I petted the dog's back.

Dogs love Artie and me, and we love dogs.

Mom says we have a special relationship with dogs because we're almost as smart as they are. That's supposed to be a joke.

But Artie and I take dogs very seriously. They are wonderful, loving animals. And they need people like Artie and me to take care of them.

This wasn't the first time my brother and I had made Dad stop the car because we saw a dog running loose on the road. Once we saw a cute little terrier get run over by a van. We had nightmares about that for weeks. I never forgot the terrible squeal the dog let out when the tires rolled over its back.

I brushed back the collie's fur and searched for a collar. No. No collar or ID tags or anything.

The collie had the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. “Who would let a beauty like this loose?” I said, rubbing its ears.

Cars whirred past. Artie and I carefully led the dog away from the highway.

“Not again,” Dad sighed when we reached the car. “Do we have to return him to his owner?”

“We can't,” I said. “No tag. He'll have to come with us.”

“No room!” Mom exclaimed. “One of you will have to run alongside the car!”

“I will!” Artie volunteered, raising his hand.

A blue pickup truck bounced up onto the grass and came to a stop behind our car. A young man with long, stringy hair and a thick
stubble of beard stuck his head out of the driver's window.

“Hey, Fletch!” he shouted, waving at the dog. “Fletch—get back in here! Bad dog!”

The collie burst out of Artie's hands, flew over the tall grass, its tail wagging furiously, and eagerly leaped into the back of the truck.

The young man turned to us. “Thanks!” he called, flashing us a thumbs-up. “That dog is always trying to give me a scare.”

He gunned the engine, and the truck skidded back onto the highway as Artie and I waved good-bye.

 

We stopped for dinner at a restaurant called The Barbecue Barn. Artie and I were starving. We were putting away the barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes. I glanced up and noticed that Mom and Dad still had full plates.

“We're just not very hungry,” Mom said.

They were both quiet too, I realized. Artie and I kept trying to guess where we were going. “Just give us a hint!” we begged. But they wouldn't play along.

They kept glancing at each other. Once I saw Dad squeeze Mom's hand under the table. He let it go when he saw me watching.

“What's wrong with you two?” I asked.

Dad shrugged. “Nothing. Tired from the long drive.”

“Have some of those collard greens,” Mom urged. “We don't have those back home.”

Artie stared down at the pile of greens on his plate and made a face. “Yuck. It looks disgusting.”

“Go ahead. Taste it,” Dad said. “You have to be brave.”

“Yes. Brave,” Mom repeated. And suddenly, I saw that she had tears running down her cheeks. “You both have to be brave.”

“Mom? What's wrong?” I asked.

But she spun away, wiping the tears off her face.

I turned to Dad. He shrugged. “Finish your dinner,” he said. “We've got miles to go before we stop for the night.”

After dinner, we drove west, into the setting sun. Red sunlight covered our windshield. Then suddenly, we were rolling through a heavy, dreamlike darkness.

I must have fallen asleep. I let out a sharp cry as a hard bump shook me awake. Dad had turned into a gravel driveway. I glimpsed a red-and-green neon sign blinking in the dark. It was supposed to read: WAYSIDE MOTEL. But the L was burned out, so that it read: WAYSIDE MOTE.

Squinting out the window, I could see a long, low building and a row of doors and dark windows. The only window with some light behind it had a sign that read OFFICE.

Dad stopped the car in front of the office. Artie leaned forward, suddenly wide-awake. “Is this where we're staying tonight? Do you think they have a video game room?”

Mom yawned. “Too late for video games,” she said softly. “It's been a long day. You'll be asleep in five minutes.”

Artie and I had our own room. Mom was right. We were so exhausted from riding all day, we climbed under the thin blankets and fell right asleep.

The next morning, cold gray light seeped in through the dusty window. I woke up, blinked, trying to remember where I was. I stretched. My back ached from the hard bed.

I squinted at my watch. Past nine o'clock.

Weird, I thought. That's really late. Mom and Dad like to get an early start. Why didn't they wake us up?

I shook Artie awake. He blinked at me. “What's up?”

“We slept late,” I said. “Let's go find Mom and Dad.”

Yawning, we stepped out into the cool, gray morning. Mom and Dad's room was next to ours. I knocked on their door—and it swung in. Had they forgotten to lock it?

“Mom? Dad?” I called.

No answer. Artie pushed the door open all the way, and I followed him in. “Hey!” I let out a startled cry.

The room was empty. The bed was made.

“Wrong room,” Artie said.

We stepped back outside. I felt a cold raindrop on my forehead. Then another one on my hair. We moved to the room on the other side of ours. I knocked on the door. “Mom? Dad?”

No one in that room either.

I stared down the long row of motel rooms. Which room were Mom and Dad in? “We'd better ask at the office,” I said.

We turned and started jogging toward the office. Artie stopped suddenly—and pointed to the gravel parking lot.

“Huh?” My eyes swept over the lot. I saw a huge, silvery truck parked at the end of the lot. And then
…no cars
.

No cars
.

“Where is our car?” My voice came out in a whisper.

We both stared at the empty lot.

“Maybe they went out to bring back breakfast,” Artie said.

I frowned. “Maybe.” But my heart was pounding. “They would have told us they were going.”

“Well…they didn't just take off!” Artie said.

I swallowed hard. My mouth suddenly felt dry.

I knocked on the office door and peered through the glass.

“Try the door. Let's just go in,” Artie said.

I turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped inside with Artie. The room smelled stale and musty. I gazed around
quickly. Empty shelves. A bare table. A vending machine with an OUT OF ORDER sign taped to the front.

Then I spotted a man in a blue cap and a red-plaid shirt behind the dark wood counter. He was facing the wall, with his back to us.

I cleared my throat loudly, but he didn't turn around.

“Hello—good morning,” I called.

He still didn't move.

“Hey—excuse us,” Artie said. And then he punched the bell on the counter. It
dinged
once. Twice.

Again the man didn't move.

I'll bet he's deaf, I thought.

“Sir—?” I moved around to the side of the counter. “Sir?”

He was hunched on a tall wooden stool, shoulders slumped. The blue cap sat high on his head. And his face…his face…

I stumbled back against the wall and opened my mouth in a shrill scream.
No face! No face at all!

A yellow skull beneath the cap. Two dark, empty eye sockets. The jaw hanging down in a toothless grin.

“Tammi—what's
wrong?
” Artie shrieked.

I grabbed his hand and lurched to the door. I pulled him outside.

“What's wrong? What
is
it?” Artie demanded.