Fright and fearsome terror gripped Thomas P. Kanne, together with an unbearable longing for his last day in this world as a human boy, even though it was only a dull Tuesday after the Christmas festivities. He felt the needle prick the side of his neck, then his whole body went as cold as ice. The gag was removed from his now speechless mouth and something metallic placed upon his tongue.
“Take this coin to pay the ferryman of the dark river for thy master’s crossing into the underworld.”
Thomas’s head lolled from side to side as Anubis wrapped the smooth linen bandages in an upward swathe, carefully working his way from the neck up to the crown of the head.
Releasing a hidden catch, Anubis separated the sarcophagus of the boy Pharaoh into two halves. He lifted the mummified form of Thomas P. Kanne into the lower half of the deep coffin, then slid the top halfback into place. The catch clicked shut, hiding all trace of the graffiti writer from the world forever.
A suggestion that the boy Pharaoh’s mummy be protected by a glass case was accepted by the museum administrators. The possibility of it being vandalized was unthinkable. However, graffiti seemed to have died down of late, particularly the writings of the one called Phantom Snake. It was at dead of night when the final graffiti message was written. It was carved underneath the base of the statue of Anubis, so it would not have been noticed by either the museum staff or the public. Mr. Bausin had taken loving care in scribing the message.
PHANTOM SNAKE RULES NO MORE.
BAUSIN IS ANUBIS!
2
My first is in victory, though not in battle.
My second’s top mark, the start of an apple.
My third is in empty, and also in mitts.
My fourth is in pieces, but not in bits.
My fifth’s in a needle, but not in its spelling.
My sixth’s last in the water, first in repelling.
My seventh and last is a compass point
(Also found twice in “every joint”).
So put me together, and I hear you say,
“You’ll never see him around during the day.”
What am I?
Jamie and the Vampires
“Jaymeeeee!”
Jamie was haJfway across the lawn, ready to vault over the hedge, when his mother’s call halted him. He raised his eyes to heaven.
“Jamie! Don’t you dare jump over that hedge. Come back here this minute. Keep out of the flower bed. What did your father tell you only last night? ‘Keep out of the flower bed,’ he said. Why you can’t walk down the path like any other perfectly normal human being I’ll never know. …”
Jamie stood still resignedly, wondering why his mother had a voice like a rusty bathroom tap that never stopped leaking. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you, my lad?” she continued. “Now come back here this instant and put this clean shirt on. The good Lord only knows what the neighbors must think of me, letting you run wild dressed like a tramp. That shirt needs a good wash.” He winced as his mother grabbed him, pulling him into the house as she carried on nagging him. Her voice had changed from a rusty tap to a scrap metal breaking machine that still had two million tons of iron to pulverize.
“Just look at the color of your neck! It’s a good job I caught you sneaking off, young man. That neck hasn’t seen soap, water, or wash cloth today—I’ve never seen a tidemark like it in all my life. And have you taken your pills? No, you haven’t taken them. Those teeth could do with a clean. What do you do with all that toothpaste? Eat it? You certainly don’t clean your teeth with it, that’s for sure. Remember what Doctor Hanley said, if you don’t take your pills the allergy will start up again and you’ll be sneezing all over me and your father. When that starts you’ll go straight up to bed and stay there. Wipe your feet before you come in here; I’m not slaving away cleaning the carpets just to have your muddy footprints all over my house. You’d be better off in a zoo… .”
In the space of the next ten minutes Jamie had his entire face, neck, cheeks and ears scrubbed, then his hands. His shirt was pulled from him and a clean one replaced it. A fresh handkerchief was stuffed in his pocket, pills and a drink of water forced down his protesting mouth; his teeth were rebrushed, clean socks thrust upon his feet and his shoes sprayed with Scuffguard. He fought his way to the door as his hair was brushed until tears sprang to his eyes and his scalp smarted. His mother restrained him while she did something unmentionable with a twisted apron corner to his left nostril, admonishing him endlessly as she applied the torture vigorously.
“Now you’ve got a clean handkerchief in your pocket, for goodness sakes use it! And another thing, don’t let me hear of you hanging around with that gang from the arcade. Try and keep yourself clean for at least five minutes, and don’t be late for lunch. Are you listening to me? Don’t kick the toes out of those shoes, Heaven only knows where the next pair are coming from with the price of them these days. What about your homework? I’ll bet you haven’t even started it. Just because it’s the beginning of the holidays don’t think you can dodge homework. You mark my words, or you’ll end up like that Monaghan, thick as two short planks and hanging about on street corners… .”
His mother retwirled her apron corner, and Jamie had visions of her stuffing it down his ear and pulling it out via the other one, in a sort of joint ear/brain-cleaning operation. With a desperate twist he squirmed free of the maternal hands, bounding across the lawn to clear the garden hedge with a single flying leap. He jogged off down the road with his mother’s voice following him on the summer breeze, a full octave higher and sounding this time like a runaway chainsaw.
“Wait till your father gets home, my lad! Blatant disobedience, that’s what it is. You’ll break your neck jumping over that hedge one of these days, then you’ll have learned your lesson too late. Anyhow, you can stay home tomorrow and do your homework, I’ll see to that. You can count on it, young man. …”
Jamie slowed to a walk as he neared the cemetery. Ruffling his hair wildly he jumped up and down in the dust, until the still wet Scuffguard had attained a reasonable coating of dirt. He threw back his head and yelled at the sun, “Yaaaah, mothers!”
Who needed them? He fondly imagined a motherless existence as he climbed over the high cemetery gates. Beds were more fun if they were unmade—you could keep lots of things in the folds of a quilt, soldiers, tanks and all that, like an army camp in the mountains. Without a mother his dad could go off to work every morning and he would get himself up out of bed. What was the problem? A can of cola from the fridge and some crackers, you didn’t have to cook those. What about baked beans? He liked eating cold baked beans straight from the can with a spoon—they were good for you. He could wear black clothes, special ones that never needed washing, quit school, go to fast-food places if he needed a cooked meal, play his tapes aloud without the headphones, watch loads of TV, get clean when he went swimming at the gym—
“Jamie, over here!”
He banished the problem of mothers from his mind and ran leaping between headstones and crosses to the clump of rhododendrons at the back of the chapel. Monaghan and the rest of the gang were waiting for him. Jamie slumped down with his back against the chapel wall, hidden by the rhododendrons. It was the ideal meeting place for the gang. He could tell by their faces that something was going on.