Return of the Mummy

Goosebumps
^®

RETURN OF
THE MUMMY

R.L. STINE

“Gabe, we will be landing soon,” the stewardess told me, leaning over the seat. “Will someone be meeting you at the airport?”

“Yes. Probably an ancient Egyptian pharaoh,” I told her. “Or maybe a disgusting, decaying mummy.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “No. Really,” she insisted. “Who will be meeting you in Cairo?”

“My Uncle Ben,” I replied. “But he likes to play practical jokes. Sometimes he dresses in weird costumes and tries to scare me.”

“You told me that your uncle was a famous scientist,” the stewardess said.

“He is,” I replied. “But he’s also weird.”

She laughed. I liked her a lot. She had pretty blond hair. And I liked the way she always tilted her head to one side when she talked.

Her name was Nancy, and she had been very nice to me during the long flight to Egypt. She knew it was my first time flying all by myself.

She kept checking on me and asking me how I was doing. But she treated me like a grown-up. She didn’t bring me one of those dumb connect-the-dots books or a plastic wings pin that they always give to kids on planes. And she kept slipping me extra bags of peanuts, even though she wasn’t supposed to.

“Why are you visiting your uncle?” Nancy asked. “Just for fun?”

I nodded. “I did it last winter, too,” I told her. “It was really awesome! But this year, Uncle Ben has been digging in an unexplored pyramid. He’s discovered an ancient, sacred tomb. And he invited me to be with him when he opens it up.”

She laughed and tilted her head a little more. “You have a good imagination, Gabe,” she said. Then she turned away to answer a man’s question.

I
do
have a good imagination. But I wasn’t making that up.

My Uncle Ben Hassad is a famous archaeologist. He has been digging around in pyramids for lots of years. I’ve seen newspaper articles about him. And once he was in
National Geographic.

Last Christmas, my entire family visited Cairo. My cousin Sari and I — she’s Uncle Ben’s daughter — had some amazing adventures down in the chambers of the Great Pyramid.

Sari will be there this summer, too, I remembered, staring out the plane window at the solid
blue sky. I wondered if maybe she would give me a break this time.

I like Sari, but she’s so competitive! She always has to be the first, the strongest, the smartest, the best. She’s the only thirteen-year-old girl I know who can turn eating breakfast into a contest!

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing,” the pilot announced over the loudspeaker.

I sat up to get a better view out the window. As the plane lowered, I could see the city of Cairo beneath us. A slender blue ribbon curled through the city. That, I knew, was the Nile River.

The city stretched out from the river. Peering straight down, I could see tall glass skyscrapers and low domed temples. Where the city ended, the desert began. Yellow sand stretched to the horizon.

My stomach began to feel a little fluttery. The pyramids were somewhere out in that desert. And in a day or two, I would be climbing down into one of them, following my uncle into a tomb that hadn’t been opened for thousands of years.

What would we find?

I pulled the little mummy hand from my shirt pocket and gazed down at it. It was so tiny — no bigger than a child’s hand. I had bought it from a kid at a garage sale for two dollars. He said it was called a Summoner. He said it could summon ancient evil spirits.

It looked like a mummy hand. The fingers were wrapped in stained gauze bandages with a little black tar showing through.

I thought it was a fake, made of rubber or plastic. I mean, I never thought it was a real mummy hand.

But last year, the hand had saved all of our lives. The kid who sold it to me was right. It really did bring a bunch of mummies to life! It was
amazing!

Of course my parents and my friends back home didn’t believe my incredible story. And they didn’t believe that the Summoner really worked. They said it was just a joke mummy hand made in some souvenir factory. Probably made in Taiwan.

But I carry it with me wherever I go. It is my good luck charm. I’m not very superstitious. I mean, I walk under ladders all the time. And my lucky number is thirteen.

But I really do believe that the little mummy hand will protect me.

The strange thing about the mummy hand is that it is always warm. It doesn’t feel like plastic. It feels warm, like a real human hand.

Back home in Michigan, I had a major panic attack when Mom and Dad were packing my suitcase for the flight. I couldn’t find the mummy hand. And, of course, there was
no way
I would go to Egypt without it!

I was so relieved when I finally found it. It was tucked into the back pocket of a crumpled-up pair of jeans.

Now, as the plane nosed down for a landing, I reached for the hand in the pocket of my T-shirt. I pulled it out — and gasped.

The hand was cold. Cold as ice!

Why had the mummy hand suddenly turned cold?

Was it some kind of a message? A warning?

Was I heading into danger?

I didn’t have time to think about it. The plane rolled into the gate, and the passengers were scrambling to pull down their carry-on bags and push their way out of the plane.

I tucked the mummy hand into my jeans pocket, hoisted up my backpack, and headed to the front. I said good-bye to Nancy and thanked her for all the peanuts. Then I followed the others down the long covered ramp and into the airport.

So many people!

And they all seemed to be in a hurry. They were practically stepping over each other. Men in dark business suits. Women in loose, flowing robes, their faces covered by veils. Teenage girls in jeans and T-shirts. A group of dark, serious-looking men
in silky white suits that looked like pajamas. A family with three little kids, all crying.

I had a sudden sinking feeling. How would I ever find Uncle Ben in this crowd?

My backpack began to feel very heavy. My eyes frantically searched back and forth. Strange voices surrounded me, all talking so loudly. No one was speaking English.

“Ow!”
I cried out as I felt a sharp pain in my side.

I turned and realized that a woman had bumped me with her luggage cart.

Stay calm, Gabe,
I instructed myself.
Just stay calm.

Uncle Ben is here, looking for you. He’ll find you. You just have to stay calm.

But what if he forgot?
I asked myself.
What if he got mixed up about what day I was arriving? Or what if he got busy down in the pyramid and lost track of the time?

I can be a real worrier if I put my mind to it.

And right now I was worrying enough for three people!

If Uncle Ben isn’t here, I’ll go to a phone and call him,
I decided.

For sure.

I could just hear myself saying, “Operator, can I speak to my uncle at the pyramids, please?”

I don’t think that would work too well.

I didn’t have a phone number for Uncle Ben. I wasn’t sure he even
had
a phone out where he was staying. All I knew was that he had been living in a tent somewhere near the pyramid where he was digging.

Gazing frantically around the crowded arrival area, I was just about to give in to total panic — when a large man came walking up to me.

I couldn’t see his face. He wore a long white hooded robe. It’s called a burnoose. And his face was buried inside the hood.

“Taxi?” he asked in a high, shrill voice. “Taxi? American taxi?”

I burst out laughing. “Uncle Ben!” I cried happily.

“Taxi? American taxi? Taxi ride?” he insisted.

“Uncle Ben! I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaimed. I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a big hug. Then, laughing at his stupid disguise, I reached up and pulled back his hood.

The man under the hood had a bald, shaved head and a heavy black mustache. He glared at me furiously.

I had never seen him before in my life.

“Gabe! Gabe! Over here!”

I heard a voice calling my name. Glancing past the angry man, I saw Uncle Ben and Sari. They were waving to me from in front of the reservations counter.

The man’s face turned bright red, and he shouted something at me in Arabic. I was glad I couldn’t understand him. He kept muttering as he pulled up the hood of his burnoose.

“Sorry about that!” I cried. Then I dodged past him and hurried to greet Uncle Ben and my cousin.

Uncle Ben shook my hand and said, “Welcome to Cairo, Gabe.” He was wearing a loose-fitting white short-sleeved sport shirt and baggy chinos.

Sari wore faded denim cutoffs and a bright green tank top. She was already laughing at me. A bad start. “Was that a friend of yours?” she teased.

“I — I made a mistake,” I confessed. I glanced back. The man was still scowling at me.

“Did you really think that was Daddy?” Sari demanded.

I mumbled a reply. Sari and I were the same age. But I saw that she was still an inch taller than me. She had let her black hair grow. It fell down her back in a single braid.

Her big dark eyes sparkled excitedly. She
loved
making fun of me.

I told them about my flight as we walked to the baggage area to get my suitcase. I told them how Nancy, the stewardess, kept slipping me bags of peanuts.

“I flew here last week,” Sari told me. “The stewardess let
me
sit in first class. Did you know you can have an ice cream sundae in first class?”

No, I didn’t know that. I could see that Sari hadn’t changed a bit.

She goes to a boarding school in Chicago since Uncle Ben has been spending all of his time in Egypt. Of course she gets straight A’s. And she’s a champion skier and tennis player.

Sometimes I feel a little sorry for her. Her mom died when Sari was five. And Sari only gets to see her dad on holidays and during the summer.

But as we waited for my suitcase to come out on the conveyor belt, I wasn’t feeling sorry for her at all. She was busy bragging about how this
pyramid was twice as big as the one I’d been in last year. And how she’d already been down in it several times, and how she’d take me on a tour — if I wasn’t too afraid.

Finally, my bulging blue suitcase appeared. I lugged it off the conveyor and dropped it at my feet. It weighed a ton!

I tried to lift it, but I could barely budge it.

Sari pushed me out of the way. “Let
me
get that,” she insisted. She grabbed the handle, raised the suitcase off the floor, and started off with it.

“Hey!” I called after her. What a show-off!

Uncle Ben grinned at me. “I think Sari has been working out,” he said. He put a hand on my shoulder and led me toward the glass doors. “Let’s get to the Jeep.”

We loaded the suitcase into the back of the Jeep, then headed toward the city. “It’s been sweltering hot during the day,” Uncle Ben told me, mopping his broad forehead with a handkerchief. “And then cool at night.”

Traffic crawled on the narrow street. Horns honked constantly. Drivers kept their horns going whether they moved or stopped. The noise was deafening.

“We’re not stopping in Cairo,” Uncle Ben explained. “We’re going straight to the pyramid at al-Jizah. We’re all living in tents out there so we can be close to our work.”

“I hope you brought bug spray,” Sari complained. “The mosquitoes are as big as frogs!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Uncle Ben scolded. “Gabe isn’t afraid of a few mosquitoes — are you?”

“No way,” I replied quietly.

“How about scorpions?” Sari demanded.

The traffic grew lighter as we left the city behind and headed into the desert. The yellow sand gleamed under the hot afternoon sun. Waves of heat rose up in front of us as the Jeep bumped over the narrow two-lane road.

Before long, a pyramid came into view. Behind the waves of heat off the desert floor, it looked like a wavering mirage. It didn’t seem real.

As I stared out at it, my throat tightened with excitement. I had seen the pyramids last Christmas. But it was still a thrilling sight.

“I can’t believe the pyramids are thousands of years old!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah. That’s even older than
me!”
Uncle Ben joked. His expression turned serious. “It fills me with pride every time I see them, Gabe,” he admitted. “To think that our ancient ancestors were smart enough and skilled enough to build these marvels.”

Uncle Ben was right. I guess the pyramids have special meaning for me since my family is Egyptian. Both sets of my grandparents came from Egypt. They moved to the United States around 1930. My mom and dad were born in Michigan.

I think of myself as a typical American kid. But there’s still something exciting about visiting the country where your ancestors came from.

As we drove nearer, the pyramid appeared to rise up in front of us. Its shadow formed a long blue triangle over the yellow sand.

Cars and tour buses jammed a small parking lot. I could see a row of saddled camels tethered on one side of the lot. A crowd of tourists stretched across the sand, gazing up at the pyramid, snapping photographs, chatting noisily and pointing.

Uncle Ben turned the Jeep onto a narrow side road, and we headed away from the crowd, toward the back of the pyramid. As we drove into the shade, the air suddenly felt cooler.

“I’d
kill
for an ice cream cone!” Sari wailed. “I’ve never been so hot in my life.”

“Let’s not talk about the heat,” Uncle Ben replied, sweat dripping down his forehead into his bushy eyebrows. “Let’s talk about how happy you are to see your father after so many months.”

Sari groaned. “I’d be happier to see you if you were carrying an ice cream cone.”

Uncle Ben laughed.

A khaki-uniformed guard stepped in front of the Jeep. Uncle Ben held up a blue ID card. The guard waved us past.

As we followed the road behind the pyramid, a row of low white canvas tents came into view. “Welcome to the Pyramid Hilton!” Uncle Ben joked. “That’s our luxury suite over there.” He pointed to the nearest tent.

“It’s pretty comfortable,” he said, parking the Jeep beside the tent. “But the room service is lousy.”

“And you have to watch out for scorpions,” Sari warned.

She’d say
anything
to try to scare me.

We unloaded my suitcase. Then Uncle Ben led us up to the base of the pyramid.

A camera crew was packing up its equipment. A young man, covered in dust, climbed out of a low entrance dug into one of the limestone squares. He waved to my uncle, then hurried toward the tents.

“One of my people,” Uncle Ben muttered. He motioned toward the pyramid. “Well, here you are, Gabe. A long way from Michigan, huh?”

I nodded. “It’s amazing,” I told him, shielding my eyes to gaze up to the top. “I forgot how much bigger the pyramids look in person.”

“Tomorrow I’ll take you both down to the tomb,” Uncle Ben promised. “You’ve come at just the right time. We’ve been digging for months and months. And at long last, we are about to break the seal and enter the tomb itself.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. I wanted to be cool in front of Sari. But I couldn’t help it. I was really excited.

“Guess you’ll be really famous after you open the tomb, huh, Dad?” Sari asked. She swatted a fly on her arm.
“Ow!”

“I’ll be so famous, the flies will be afraid to bite you,” Uncle Ben replied. “By the way, do you know what they called flies in ancient Egypt?” Sari and I shook our heads no.

“I don’t, either!” Uncle Ben said, grinning. One of his dumb jokes. He had an endless supply of them. His expression suddenly changed. “Oh. That reminds me. I have a present for you, Gabe.”

“A present?”

“Now, where did I put it?” He dug both hands into the pockets of his baggy chinos.

As he searched, I saw something move behind him. A shadow over my uncle’s shoulder, back at the low opening to the pyramid.

I squinted at it.

The shadow moved. A figure stepped out slowly.

At first I thought the sun was playing tricks on my eyes.

But as I squinted harder, I realized that I was seeing correctly.

The figure stepped out from the pyramid — its face was covered in worn, yellowed gauze. So were its arms. And its legs.

I opened my mouth to cry out — but my voice choked in my throat.

And as I struggled to alert my uncle, the mummy stiffly stretched out its arms and came staggering up behind him.