The Five Masks of Dr. Screem Read online

  I turned to see him close beside me. The mummy mask covered his face.

  He was also on his back. I could see he was lying on some kind of wooden stretcher. “Where are we?” he murmured. “The mask …”

  “The mask must have taken us here,” I said. “Every time we put on a mask, it — it —”

  My words caught in my throat. I realized my hands were strapped down. I couldn’t get up from the wooden stretcher.

  I couldn’t jump down.

  I gazed straight ahead. Peter and I were lying between two rows of white-robed men. The two long lines of men seemed to stretch for miles.

  The men were all shaved bald. Their dark heads glowed in the eerie light seeping through the clouds.

  They were humming. Humming the same low note endlessly. It sounded more like a roar than music. They kept raising and bowing their heads as they hummed.

  I squinted into the distance, where an orange stone building rose toward the sky. A giant sculpture of a cat stood beside the building. I could see a blue-green platform with tall flames rising behind it.

  It’s an altar, I thought. They had one in a mummy movie Peter and I watched once.

  I gazed down from the stretcher. We were on sand. I turned — and saw a familiar shape on the horizon. A pyramid?

  “Peter, I think the mummy mask took us to Egypt,” I said. “Ancient Egypt.”

  He tried to sit up. But his hands were strapped down, too. “I don’t like this, Monica. Why are these bald dudes humming like that?”

  “I think they’re praying,” I said.

  “We have to get out of here,” Peter said.

  Well, duh.

  Several white-robed bald men surrounded us. They all had deep, dark eyes. Their eyebrows had been shaved off.

  Six men grabbed the sides of my stretcher and lifted it off the sand. Their arm muscles rippled. They didn’t look at us. They stared straight ahead at the huge cat sculpture.

  The drone of voices grew louder. It sounded like a million buzzing bees.

  The men hoisted our stretchers onto their shoulders and began carrying us between the endless lines of white-robed Egyptians.

  “Let us down!” I cried. “Can you understand me? Let us down!” I tugged at the straps over my wrists.

  They moved slowly, steadily, eyes straight ahead.

  “Let us down!” I screamed again.

  The sky grew even darker. I squinted through the dim light to the fiery altar in front of the wall. Two men in tall white hats stood together, waiting for us. Their robes were bright blue. They had huge red jewels hanging around their necks.

  “Priests,” I muttered.

  The hum of the deep note rang in my ears. I wanted to cover my ears. To shut out the frightening sound.

  Face after face swept by.

  Their eyes followed Peter and me as we bounced past them, strapped to the wooden stretchers.

  I smelled something strong. I took a deep breath. Another. A sharp odor filled my nose.

  It took me a few seconds to recognize it.

  Tar.

  The drone of the deep voices made me want to scream. The faces rolled past, so solemn, the eyes so blank.

  The two blue-robed priests stepped forward as Peter and I came near. Their cone-shaped hats pointed straight up to the sky.

  The tar smell brought tears to my eyes.

  I turned and spotted something at the side of the altar.

  It was an enormous round cauldron. Like one of those big cooking pots that witches always have, only five times as big.

  Inside it, I could see the tar bubbling. Yes. Steaming hot tar.

  Peter and I were being carried to a cauldron of boiling tar.

  “Oh, nooooo.” A moan escaped my throat. My whole body shuddered in terror.

  Because suddenly, every horror movie … every mummy movie I’d ever seen … came back to me. And I knew why we were being carried through this ancient Egyptian temple.

  We were about to be mummified … mummified alive.

  24

  As we came closer, I could hear the fire crackling behind the altar. I saw piles of cloth at one corner of the platform. Cloth to cover the tar? Cloth to cover our tarred bodies?

  My panic made everything a blur. The altar … the two waiting priests … the jewels around their necks … the rows of humming men …

  The cauldron made a popping sound. I saw a wave of steaming tar roll across its surface.

  I turned to Peter. Did he realize what was about to happen?

  I couldn’t see his face. It was hidden beneath the mummy mask. The evil mummy mask had brought us here. Brought us to this horror.

  The humming faded behind us. The crackle of the fire grew louder.

  We moved into the shadow of the tall cat sculpture. Up close, the cat looked like a wild creature. More like a tiger than a cat.

  The priests stepped forward. Their robes rustled as they walked.

  Our stretchers came to a sharp stop. The men released the wrist straps. They began to lower Peter and me to the sand.

  I struggled to stop my brain from whirring. I needed to think straight. How could we escape this?

  I couldn’t think of a thing.

  I watched as two men lifted Peter off his stretcher. They set him on his feet. They held his arms and forced him toward the priests.

  Peter squirmed and struggled. He tried to twist out of their grasp. But the men were too strong for him.

  “Monica! Help me!” Peter wailed. His eyes were on the cauldron of tar. He knew what was about to happen to us.

  “Monica! Don’t let them!” he screamed. “Don’t let them!”

  The priests led the way to the cauldron.

  A hush fell over the temple. The long lines of worshippers grew silent. So silent I could hear the rush of wind over the desert sands.

  The two men held Peter in place.

  He kicked one of them hard in the ankle. But the man didn’t cry out or move or react in any way.

  Peter squirmed and twisted. The men held on tightly.

  The priests stepped up to the boiling tar cauldron. Wisps of steam rose up all around. The sharp odor made tears pour down my face.

  The priests held the red jewels in front of them and began swinging them from side to side. They began to chant strange words in deep, low tones.

  “Let me go!” Peter screamed. “You can’t do this! We don’t belong here! We’re from America!”

  The priests swung the red jewels and chanted as if Peter wasn’t standing there screaming at them.

  Then one of them motioned with both hands toward the cauldron.

  The two men lifted Peter off his feet.

  He kicked furiously and screamed his head off. But he was helpless against them.

  They raised him higher.

  I knew I had to do something. I had only seconds.

  The men raised Peter high over the cauldron.

  Too late, I realized. I let out a long moan of horror.

  Too late.

  25

  The men held Peter over the bubbling cauldron. His kicking feet were just inches above the tar.

  He twisted and squirmed. He screamed and begged.

  I took a deep shuddering breath.

  Maybe … Maybe I could do something….

  I didn’t even plan it. I suddenly sprang forward. I guess after so much gymnastics practice, the moves just came naturally to me.

  I flipped onto my hands. Did a handstand on the edge of my stretcher.

  Then I did a forward pike roll — up and over the heads of the men holding me captive.

  I dropped hard onto the sand. Leaned far over and did another forward pike.

  I sailed high — and landed both feet on the nearest priest’s chest.

  Startled, he made a choking sound. His mouth dropped open as my kick sent him stumbling back.

  I landed on my feet and watched as he went toppling into the boiling cauldron.

  He splashed onto his back in
the hot muck. Tar rolled over the sides of the cauldron.

  Shrieking at the top of his lungs, he smacked his arms against the surface of the tar.

  Cries of panic and shock rang out over the temple. Everyone moved at once.

  The two men holding Peter set him down on the ground. They leaned over the steaming cauldron and grabbed wildly at the robe of the screaming priest.

  The other priest dropped to his knees in shock. He shut his eyes and raised his hands to the giant cat sculpture.

  White-robed men rushed to help pull the screaming priest from the cauldron.

  I grabbed Peter. “Let’s go.”

  26

  We took off, running hard.

  I led the way toward the front of the temple. Glancing back, I could see the men still struggling over the boiling cauldron.

  We ran along the side of the temple to the back. No one followed us.

  We stopped and stared into the distance. Nothing but sand. Behind the temple, the desert seemed to stretch on forever.

  Peter put his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. “Wow! Was that a close call!” he said. His voice was muffled by the mummy mask.

  He raised a foot. “Look. I have tar stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”

  I shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it. What are we going to do now? How are we going to get home?”

  The sky darkened. The wind grew colder. The sand shifted and moved like ocean waves.

  A hard gust of wind sent a burst of sand into my eyes. I cried out. It felt sharp, like cut glass.

  The wind howled. Sand seemed to rise up from the ground, wave after wave.

  Peter and I covered our heads. The sand swept over us. Pounded us. It felt as if my skin was erupting in a thousand cuts.

  I struggled to breathe.

  Another high wave of sand crashed into me. I toppled into the temple wall.

  I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the roar of the wind and the crash of the sand.

  And then … silence.

  The sandstorm stopped as suddenly as it had started.

  I took one deep breath after another. I brushed sand off my costume with both hands.

  Peter turned to me, dazed. He shook his head, and sand flew out of the mask in all directions.

  “Scary,” he muttered.

  I glanced at the temple wall. Whoa. Wait a minute.

  Was that door there before?

  I stared at the door. And a row of windows next to the door. A sign read: SERVICE ENTRANCE. ALL DELIVERIES HERE.

  I stepped away from the wall. “Peter — look!” I cried.

  I recognized where we were.

  “Peter,” I said. “We’re at the back of the History Museum.”

  We heard a horn honk. Two cars rolled along Museum Drive.

  We stood there for a long moment, catching our breath.

  “We’re back — and we have two masks,” Peter said finally.

  I sighed. “It wasn’t exactly easy,” I said. “My eyes still sting from that sandstorm. And I can still smell the boiling tar.”

  Peter pulled out the list of masks. “We have to keep going,” he said. “It must be getting late.”

  He read the list. “The Himalayan snow wolf mask is next.”

  I stared at him. “Himalayan snow wolf? We talked about them in school. They live in the Himalayan Mountains.”

  “Is that far?” Peter asked.

  I think he was joking.

  “The snow wolves live on snowy mountain peaks,” I said. “We don’t have any snowy mountain peaks. We don’t have any mountains in Hillcrest.”

  “So … where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?” Peter asked. “A wolf preserve?”

  “Our town doesn’t have a wolf preserve,” I said.

  Peter banged his head with both fists. “Think. Think,” he urged himself. “Where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?”

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  27

  “Are we really going to climb this in the dark?”

  Peter didn’t sound like his usual crazy, energetic self. He sounded afraid.

  I pointed to the sky. “The moon came out,” I said. “Look. It’s lighting the path for us.”

  Peter gazed up the hill. “But the path curves around the hill. Some of it will be totally dark. And it’s so steep —”

  I patted his shoulder. “This is the only steep hill in town. The only hill that’s a little like a mountain. And it’s even called Wolf Hill!”

  “But we don’t know the mask is up there,” Peter said. “What if we climb all the way to the top and there’s no mask?”

  “Then we look somewhere else,” I said.

  His whole body sagged. Like a balloon losing its air.

  “Come on, Peter. Step up,” I said. “This isn’t like you. Normally, you’d be dancing up this hill.”

  “But … this whole thing is impossible,” he whined.

  “Of course it’s impossible,” I said. “But we have to do it.”

  Leaning into the wind, I turned and started up the path. My shoes slid on the gravelly, sandy surface.

  I glanced back. Peter was following close behind, kicking small stones out of the way as he climbed.

  It’s funny that our town is called Hillcrest. Because it’s very flat. There are only a few big hills in the whole city.

  Wolf Hill is the steepest hill in town. It rises up over our small downtown section. Hillcrest ends at the hill. On the other side, there is only farmland.

  You can’t drive to the top because there’s no road. There’s only a rocky dirt path that curves around and around as it takes you up the hill.

  Hikers like to climb Wolf Hill because of the amazing view of the town down below. Last winter, some crazy teenagers tried snowboarding near the top. They nearly sailed off the rocky cliffs. Police got there before anyone was hurt.

  The sand gave way to gravel and stone as I pulled myself up the path. The half-moon sent pale light in front of me like a spotlight. But the path kept turning away from the light. I struggled not to stumble in the long dark patches.

  “Peter, how you doing?” I called back to him.

  He mumbled an answer. He had fallen behind. I stopped to take a breath and let him catch up.

  The wind whistled around the hillside. There were no trees up here. Tall weeds jutted up on both sides of the path. They swayed and rustled in the wind.

  Just above us, the path led right out onto a narrow rock cliff. Peter stepped past me and peered down the side of the cliff. “Wow. We’re up pretty high,” he said.

  He stepped out onto the rock. Then he raised his hands in the air and screamed, “I’m falling! Help! I’m falling!”

  My heart skipped a beat. I dove forward and grabbed his arm.

  He laughed. “Gotcha.” He backed off the rock. “Just wanted to give you a thrill.”

  I let out a groan. “Peter, you are so not funny.” My heart was still pounding.

  That dumb joke made me angry. But in a way I was glad to see the old Peter back.

  I gave him a push. “Keep climbing. We have to get to the very top.”

  His eyes peered out at me from beneath the mummy mask. “Do you really think the snow wolf mask is up there?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? I just think if I was Screem, that’s where I’d hide it.”

  I moved past him and, leaning forward, continued to climb. The path curved sharply and grew steeper as we followed it up.

  Rocks slid under my shoes and went tumbling over the cliff side. I nearly fell into a shallow rut. I twisted my ankle. Stopped for the pain to fade. Then continued up.

  We climbed for another ten minutes or so.

  “Peter?” I turned back to see how he was doing.

  And felt the ground move.

  It took me a second or two to realize my shoes were sliding on loose stones. I lurched back, struggling to catch my balance.

  But my feet slid off the path. My legs went out from
under me.

  And I dropped over the cliff side.

  And fell, screaming all the way down.

  28

  My scream cut off as I hit a rock ledge below. I landed on my stomach.

  My hands slapped the stone surface and kept my head from bouncing on the rock. I felt my breath rush out in a whoosh.

  I started to choke. Gasping, I struggled to pull air into my lungs.

  I crouched on my hands and knees, finally breathing normally. I shut my eyes to stop the world from spinning.

  I heard Peter calling to me from the path above. His head peeked over the cliff edge. I waved to him.

  “I’m okay!” I shouted.

  I gazed around. I hadn’t fallen very far. I had landed on a wide rock ledge. Smooth stone, white in the moonlight.

  Squinting hard, I could see the path at the far end of the ledge. No problem getting back up to Peter.

  I pulled myself to my feet. I took a step away from the cliff edge, toward the path.

  Then I stopped. And stared at the face peering at me from the path.

  At first I thought it was Peter. I thought he had come down to help me.

  Then I saw that it wasn’t human. It was an animal.

  It didn’t move. It kept its head low, as if ready to attack.

  I gasped when I realized I was staring at an angry snow wolf.

  Whoa. Wait. Not a wolf.

  I squinted hard. It took a few seconds to realize what I was seeing. A dark animal wearing the snow wolf mask.

  I lurched forward. Stretched out both hands — and grabbed at the mask. The creature uttered a low growl.

  The mask snapped off. I snatched it away and stared in surprise at the snarling animal.

  A dog.

  A giant black dog. Its eyes glowed red. It bared its teeth and snapped at me.

  Gripping the mask in both hands, I jumped back.

  The dog lowered its head again and growled. Its red eyes glared up at me angrily.

  I took another step back.

  The dog moved onto the rock ledge. It had me trapped. It was too big for me to edge past it. And if I took another step or two back, I’d step off the cliff.

  “Nice doggy. Nice doggy,” I said.

  It growled and bared its teeth in reply.