In the dark and winding streets of Edinburgh, a burglar is on the prowl. But this is no ordinary thief.
Three thousand years old and risen from the grave, this rampaging robber is a rotting Egyptian mummy – and he wants rubies and revenge!
There’s only one crime-fighting force who can deal with a menace like this; Billy Flint and Charley Steel AKA S.C.R.E.A.M., top-secret investigators of supernatural crimes, rescues, emergencies and mysteries.
The sarcophagus lid swung wide and the mummy almost fell into the room. The thing staggered on stiff, straight legs. It was wrapped in bandages from head to foot. But if the bandages had ever been white they were filthy now, like rags. And as the creature flexed its withered muscles, here and there more strips of cloth started to come loose, revealing horrible glimpses of the body inside…
For Mam and Jack,
with love and heartfelt thanks
CONTENTS
ABOUT THIS BOOK
THE MUMMY’S REVENGE
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE: DANGER UNWRAPPED
CHAPTER ONE: “I WANT MY MUMMY!”
CHAPTER TWO: THE SANDMAN
CHAPTER THREE: SOMETHING IN THE DARKNESS
CHAPTER FOUR: RAG-AND-BONE MAN
CHAPTER FIVE: THE TEMPLE OF THE SEVEN STARS
CHAPTER SIX: THE SCENE OF THE CRIME
CHAPTER SEVEN: IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MUMMY
CHAPTER EIGHT: WRITTEN IN THE SAND
CHAPTER NINE: WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN
CHAPTER TEN: HEART OF DARKNESS
CHAPTER ELEVEN: MASTER AND SERVANT
CHAPTER TWELVE: NIGHT NIGHT, SWEET SCREAMS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE STING IN THE TAIL
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SMELLS LIKE TROUBLE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: COME INTO MY PARLOUR
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: RAZOR’S EDGE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: MAC THE KNIFE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE GHOST OF A CHANCE
CHAPTER NINETEEN: DEAD COLD
CHAPTER TWENTY: INTERVIEW WITH A GHOST
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: HOT WATER
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: HOUSE OF HORRORS
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE SANDS OF TIME
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE WRITING ON THE WALL
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: INTO THE WHIRLWIND
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: PRISONER OF THE GODS
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE MUMMY’S REVENGE
EPILOGUE: LOOSE ENDS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
For eternity I wish to sleep,
This deadly curse I vow to keep.
For those who dare disturb my tomb,
Remember you have sealed your doom!
The words spun round and round inside Douglas McCrimmon’s head. Just thinking about the mummy’s curse made the young lad shiver beneath his uniform, as if a clammy hand was tracing a finger slowly down his spine.
Douglas, “Doogie” to his friends, knew that it wasn’t his place to speak out. He was a servant, and the first rule of being a servant was Hold your tongue. Well, that and Do as you’re told. So Doogie said nothing and kept pouring the drinks. All around him people were eating sandwiches from silver trays and drinking champagne, laughing and joking without a care in the world. But with every glass that Doogie filled, he stole another glance at the looming shape of the sarcophagus at the far end of the great hall.
An upright box. An ancient coffin. With a monster inside.
Doogie rummaged in his waistcoat pocket for a crumpled square of card. He’d sneaked one of the invitations and although he had read it a hundred times he still couldn’t believe it.
What kind of numptie thinks that’s a good idea?
But if Sir Gordon was worried, he didn’t show it. With a red fez balanced on the top of his head, like a cherry on a bun, Sir Gordon was having fun. The great and good of Scottish society crowded round him; lords, ladies and gentlemen. Tell us again about the pyramid… We must hear more about the tomb…
Doogie took a sideways look at Mr Cowley. As always, the old butler was the calm at the centre of the storm. Strong and silent as stone – his angular face might have been carved from Edinburgh granite. Unflappable, unmoveable. Not one grey hair out of place. Doogie flashed the butler a quick smile, hoping for reassurance, but Mr Cowley didn’t show even the merest flicker of emotion. Even so, Doogie was certain that Mr Cowley felt the same way he did – Sir Gordon would bring the mummy’s curse down on them all.
Doogie weaved his way between the guests, edging across the tiled floor until he was close enough to hear what Sir Gordon was saying.
“I cannot think of anything worse than leaving a mummy in the sand to rot…” said Sir Gordon.
I can, thought Doogie. Bringing the evil thing home!
When Sir Gordon had first announced that he was going on an expedition to Egypt, it had sounded so mysterious and daring. However, the servants hadn’t got too excited – they were used to Sir Gordon’s enthusiasm for new hobbies, and how quickly those pastimes were put back on the shelf when the next thing came along.
Sir Gordon had filled his enormous house with every new gadget and invention that money could buy. In the last three years alone he had been absolutely passionate about photography, then British wildlife and finally exotic insects, all of which had been pursued wholeheartedly…for about five minutes.
Doogie remembered when Sir Gordon purchased a camera, the most expensive on the market, naturally. His Lordship didn’t use it to capture scenes of the beautiful Scottish Highlands or formal pictures of his family and friends. Oh no, Sir Gordon only took post-mortem pictures; photographs of the dead, which he had framed and displayed in his study.
Sir Gordon’s interest in animals was equally odd. He preferred them dead, so that he could stuff them, dress them up like people and arrange them in glass cabinets. He had squirrels playing cards, a rabbit on a miniature bicycle and a badger smoking a pipe.
Sir Gordon’s insect and arachnid collection on the other hand was very much alive, mostly poisonous and almost entirely terrifying. Sir Gordon had spoken of nothing but tarantulas and scorpions for nearly two months before he got bored and never mentioned them again. Cowley still had to clean the glass tanks and feed them dead mice though. Sir Gordon insisted that only his faithful butler could be trusted to look after his pets. Come to think of it, Sir Gordon made it clear that Mr Cowley was the only man for quite a lot of things around the house. Certainly the poor old butler got all the rotten jobs.
The way Mr Cowley described it, Sir Gordon’s new Egyptian hobby was basically grave robbing, although the graves were in another country and the bodies were very old, so that made it archaeology or something. Whatever it was called, Doogie had been amazed by the enormous hoard of treasures that Sir Gordon had brought home from the desert. Naturally it was Cowley who’d had to painstakingly label and catalogue each item, arrange and clean and polish them, then position the gas lamps so that they might be seen in their full glory.
Still, the effect was breathtaking.
The ballroom of 44 Morningside Place had been transformed into a private museum, and the whole chamber gleamed with gold. All around Doogie there were statues and burial masks and curved swords and bracelets and amulets and brooches and jars and…the list went on.
“I’m overjoyed that these marvellous objects didn’t stay buried in Egypt, just gathering dust,” Sir Gordon continued, his pink sweaty face beginning to shine like boiled ham, “but instead were brought here, to my house, for all my dear friends to enjoy.”