The mummy that went moo, p.1
The Mummy That Went Moo, page 1
Title Page
1 A little (old) Thing
2 Drip, doink!
3 Very funny (I don’t think)
4 Miss Wilson’s witherings
5 The opposite of normal
6 Yum, yum, oops …
7 Stopping the sparkles
8 Extreme horribleness
9 A missing Thing
10 Older than a very old thing
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
Can I ask you a question?
(Warning: you’re going to think it’s a very stupid one.)
Do you know how old you are?
You might be shouting, ‘Of course I do!’
Or ‘Are you mad?!’
Well, I’m not mad.
I’m Ruby Morgan and I’m ten years old.
And here’s another fact – I have two best friends. One is called Jackson Miller and he is ten, same as me.
The other is Thing and it doesn’t have a clue how old it is.
So maybe my question wasn’t so stupid after all!
Now maybe you have a question for me, like ‘How did you end up being friends with a thing called Thing?’
Or ‘What is Thing?’
Or just plain ‘Huh?’
OK, if you want to know about Thing, then I have to start with Jackson. (Sorry, but that’s how it is.)
You know, I didn’t like Jackson one bit when we first met.
Which was tricky because he’d moved in right next door.
(Oh boy, did I hate spotting him dancing round his bedroom in his boxer shorts and socks. Bleurgh!)
Then everything changed.
One day, me and the most annoying boy I’d ever met (yep, Jackson) made a strange discovery. There, nuzzled and nervy in the trees behind our gardens, was a small, shy Thing.
It had gingery fur, stumpy wings and – get this – it could talk.
So that’s what we knew about Thing, pretty much straight away.
But there was a bunch of stuff we didn’t know.
Now, about number five on the list … We DID try to find out, not so long ago.
‘Hey, are you a kid? Or ancient, like Ruby’s cat?’ Jackson asked it.
‘Not know, thank you,’ Thing answered in its funny, purry voice.
Then it had wobbled from side to side and let out a tiny burp. (Well, Jackson HAD just fed it eleven jelly babies in a row.)
And that, it seemed, was the end of that.
Till our school trip to the museum. When me and Jackson found out that Thing might be really, REALLY old.
HOW old exactly?
Well, maybe older than the ivy-covered cottage I live in.
Perhaps even older than the gnarly thick oak trees that used to squat in Muir Wood (before they all got chopped down).
Yes, older than your nan, even …
So settle down, relax and let me tell you a tale about museums and mummies, magic and mooing, and mayhem in the men’s loos.
Every school day, as soon as we get home, me and Jackson run into our separate-but-next-door-houses and do this …
FLING!
(The sound of schoolbags being hurled off.)
SWI TCH!
(School uniform getting swapped for comfy stuff.)
LIE!
(That’s us telling our parents we’re off to hang out, just the two of us.)
ZOOM!
(That’s me and Jackson rushing down to the bottom of our gardens to hang out with Thing.)
*
But one particular Monday, I was struggling to ZOOM.
‘You have got to be kidding, Ruby!’ Mum laughed, watching me pull on a too-tight cagoule (age 6) and wobble my way into Dad’s giant wellies.
‘What?’ I said with a shrug.
‘Surely you and Jackson aren’t planning on meeting at the trees today!’
‘Why not?’ I replied. ‘It’s just a bit damp!’
We both stared out of the kitchen window at the torrential rain.
‘Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,’ I mumbled, knowing it was probably worse than it looked.
It had been raining since breakfast and the back garden was quite possibly a mud lagoon by now.
‘Why don’t you and Jackson stay here, indoors, instead?’ Mum suggested, picking up a brand-new packet of Jaffa Cakes and wiggling it at me temptingly.
‘Nah, I’m all right,’ I lied, beginning to drool. ‘I’ll just have a couple of mushrooms instead.’
As I went to open the fridge door, I could feel Mum staring at me.
But I had to bluff it out; Thing – whose diet consisted of mushrooms, mushrooms, mushrooms and jelly babies – might be hungry.
‘Raw vegetables are very good for you,’ I chattered, avoiding Mum’s what-is-she-on-about? gaze. ‘We’ve been learning that at school. Bye!’
I headed quickly out of the back door, my rubbery feet flip-flapping, clenched fists mushing up the mushrooms and cheeks pink from fibbing …
SQUELCH, SLURP, SQUELCH, SLURP went my boots on the slippy-slidey lawn.
DRIP, DOINK, DRIP, DOINK went the rain from the edge of my blue plastic hood on to the tip of my nose.
‘Thing?’ I hissed, throwing my leg over the low stone wall.
There was no sign of Jackson. He hadn’t chickened out, just cause of a tiddly bit of a monsoon, had he?
‘Peh …’ I heard in reply.
I peeked down at Thing’s den, which happened to be an old Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine van parked in some roots and camouflaged with ferns, twiglets and scuttling bugs.
And there it was, flopped out flat on its tummy inside. It looked like a tiger-skin rug from the olden days, when people thought it was cool to kill things and turn them into carpets.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, worried that it might have caught a chill.
What a dumb thing to say. Thing was a wild(ish) animal, after all. It was able to adapt to all weathers and not have to worry about wearing a vest and always carrying a tissue.
‘Is all right, Rubby,’ mumbled Thing, forcing itself up to a sitting position, its legs now dangling out the open back doors of the Mystery Machine. ‘I just feeling … What is human-ing wordie for this?’
It sank down into itself, as if all its bones were dissolving, as if it was deflating like a furry balloon.
‘Hey, cool trick!’ roared Jackson, all of a sudden scrabbling down from the top of his garden’s high fence.
He had a big, rainbow-coloured golf umbrella hoisted over his head.
‘It’s not a trick,’ I said, rolling my eyes at Jackson. ‘Thing’s trying to describe how it feels!’
‘Ah – OK!’ grinned Jackson, as if it was the start of a game of charades. ‘Hmm …’
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring at our sunken squirrelly/fairy/troll-ish friend.
‘Heavy?’
‘Peh!’ grumbled Thing, rolling its own bushbaby eyes.
‘Embarrassed?’ Jackson tried again. ‘Hollow? Itchy?’
Wow, I had learned something new about Jackson – never have him on my team for charades. He was useless.
‘Thing’s bored, Jackson!’ I jumped in. ‘That’s what it’s trying to tell us!’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe this will help!’ he answered, crouching down and pulling a packet of jelly babies from his pocket.
‘Ooh, yes, please!’ said Thing, immediately brightening up, and snouting in the air for a whiff of fruity sugariness.
‘But how come you’re bored?’ asked Jackson, struggling to open the packet and hold on to his heavy umbrella. ‘Aren’t you used to rain, Thing? Before you got here, you lived in a forest all your life!’
Once upon a not-very-long-ago time, the endless Muir Wood backed right on to my garden. Now the endless Forest View Housing Estate backs on to it instead. (No guesses which one was prettier.)
‘Yes, please, but this rain too wet,’ Thing replied, rocking impatiently from side to side, as it eyed up the sweets. ‘Old forest rain nice. Nice thin rain.’
‘Thin rain?’ Jackson mumbled, and he tried to tear the stubborn jelly-baby packet open with his teeth. ‘I didn’t know the weather came in different sizes!’
‘Oh, yes, please!’ Thing nodded, its eyes locked on the bag Jackson was wrestling with. ‘Thin rain is because of big trees. Big trees look like that.’
Thing pointed at what Jackson was holding.
‘The trees were like jelly babies?!’ Jackson asked, deeply confused.
‘No!’ I sighed. ‘In your other hand! Thing’s pointing at your umbrella! When it lived in the forest, the thick canopy of the trees will have shielded the forest floor from a lot of the rain!’
Jackson blinked at me stupidly, like he had brain-freeze.
It was that same expression he got on his face when Miss Wilson, our teacher, tried to explain where apostrophes go.
‘Whatever!’ he mumbled eventually, giving up on thinking too hard and finally yanking the sweet packet open instead. ‘Help yourself!’
‘Mmmm,’ Thing purred happily, delicately taking a red jelly baby and biting its head off.
Well, Jackson might be a complete donut, but hurray for him cheering Thing up.
I hated the idea of Thing being bored and lonely more than anything.
Actually, that’s not true; what I dreaded MOST was Thing being discovered by someone who wasn’t us. Someone who might flip out at the sight of a tiny, talking creature and run off and tell the world. What would h
appen to Thing then?
Brrrr, I hated to even think about it.
Which is why it had to stay hidden and happy in this little leftover straggle of trees and shrubs.
NO ONE but me and Jackson could ever, ever know about it …
‘Can new friend have jelly baby, please and thank you?’ Thing suddenly purred.
AARGHH!!
I shot a scared look at Jackson and saw it ping-ponged right back at me.
‘What new friend?’ Jackson asked tensely, his eyebrows meeting in one long, blond caterpillar of concern.
Had some kid from the estate come exploring here? Maybe they’d kicked their ball into the bushes, or come after a bounding, snuffling dog, or … or …
I couldn’t think straight – my head was melting with panic.
Whoever had found Thing, and however they’d found it, all I knew for sure was that it meant TROUBLE.
With a capital EVERY THING!
Oh, hold on. Maybe me and Jackson had panicked a little bit too soon.
‘Here my friend!’ said Thing, gazing up at us with its saucer-round eyes and pointing a fuzzy finger at … an empty space by its side!
I felt my whole body sag with relief, like a dunked teabag.
So Thing hadn’t been discovered by some kid from Willow Avenue, or one of the other roads on the new estate.
Which meant there was no chance of the police, or army, or government scientists coming to catch it with big nasty nets.
‘Ha!’ Jackson laughed. ‘You mean you have an invisible friend?’
‘What is nin-zivvable, please?’ asked Thing.
‘It means you can’t see it,’ I tried to explain. Thing could speak a whole bunch of languages – from starling to toad – but it wasn’t exactly fluent in human quite yet.
‘But I see it, Rubby!’ Thing replied indignantly. ‘It there! See?’
Me and Jackson leaned in closer, still clutching our random umbrellas and mushrooms and jelly babies.
Oh.
On the blue plastic floor of the van was a teeny, weeny bug. It had – let’s see – one … two … three … lots of legs, which were doing the insect version of a Mexican wave.
‘Is woodlouse,’ Thing explained.
‘Oh! Is it one of your friends from the forest?’ I asked, suddenly remembering that Thing had once told us about some woodlice he’d been buddies with.
‘No … They is deaded long, long, long time ago. Long, long, long long, long time ago,’ said Thing, taking the yellow jelly baby Jackson was holding out and placing it beside the bug. The bug scuttled straight on top of it.
‘But how long a long time ago?’ I asked, wondering if we might be able to work out just how old Thing was at last.
‘Not know, thank you,’ said Thing, with a furry shrug. ‘They all deaded when frosty came instead of sunny.’
Frosty … instead of sunny?!
I didn’t realise at the time, but Thing had just given us the first EVER clue about its age.
I didn’t realise it because I was too busy hurting.
‘Oooooowwww!’ I yelped, slapping a hand to my face.
‘What? What’s happened?’ asked a worried Jackson.
His brain really was extra, extra small.
He hadn’t even noticed that he’d stuck an umbrella spoke right in my eye …
Twenty minutes later, and I was in a warm, dry room.
In pain.
Waiting to be seen by a doctor.
‘Didn’t I say that you should have both stayed indoors with a packet of biscuits?’ Mum gently teased me. ‘None of this would’ve happened if you’d been sitting in your room with a Jaffa Cake!’
Very funny (I don’t think).
It was hard to laugh – even a little bit – when my eyeball felt like it was on fire.
But hey, everyone thought they were jokers today.
Even the nurse who’d seen me when we arrived at hospital.
Once she’d checked that my left eyeball was still there (and only scratched, she said) she’d checked out my feet.
‘Catch a lot of rain in those, do you?’ she asked, nodding down at Dad’s flapping great wellies and my little stick legs.
Now it was the doctor’s turn.
‘Hello, there! I’m Dr Narindra!’ a man with a stethoscope announced, throwing the cubicle curtain open theatrically. ‘So, young lady, I hear you picked a fight with an umbrella, and lost!’
I didn’t try to answer him, cause I was afraid all that would come out of my mouth would be a low groan.
‘And is this the offending weapon?’ he asked, turning to look at Jackson.
Jackson was perched at the end of the bed, holding his stupid umbrella across his chest like a soldier’s rifle.
‘Uh, yeah,’ he mumbled.
Actually, Jackson was the only person who hadn’t made fun of me. Guilt and worry had turned him quiet as a woodlouse.
‘Planning on going for her other eye?’ the doctor said to him, with a wry smile. ‘Otherwise, you could put your umbrella down, you know!’
‘Uh, no … it’s OK, I’ll hang on to it,’ Jackson answered, gripping the slightly unfurled umbrella.
I don’t know why he’d brought it with him to the hospital in the first place. But I guess it was all a mad rush after the eye-poking incident.
I hadn’t even realised he was in the car on the way to Accident & Emergency till Mum turned to him in the back seat and asked him to stop playing with the switch that made the windows go up and down.
‘Please yourself!’ the doctor said breezily, before taking something out of his pocket. ‘Now, then, young lady. Can you look up? I’m just going to put these anaesthetic drops in your eye …’
EEK!
OUCH!
OOOOOOOO …
‘Open and shut your eyes a few times,’ the doctor was saying, ‘and it’ll get better, Ruby, I promise!’
BLINK!
(It was like looking up at the world from the bottom of a swimming pool.)
BLINK!
(Bit clearer – but everything was double, with twin whirls of rainbows around them.)
BLINK!
(How funny! Standing behind the doctor, it looked like Jackson had two heads. His normal one, and a smaller one, just about chest height.)
EEK!
That was no optical illusion! A small gingery hand had just popped up from behind the umbrella and WAVED at me.
What was Thing doing here?!
‘Ah, well done, Ruby! No need to tell you to keep your eyes wide open!’ said the doctor, as he shone a blinding light into my eye.
The beam of light was so strong it felt like it was right inside my head.
(The doctor could probably see the word ‘Eek!’ floating around inside.)
‘Uh-huh … mmm-hmmm …’ muttered the doctor, moving his light and himself about.
For a second, my good eye got a clear view of Jackson over Dr Narindra’s shoulder.
I scowled at him as best I could.
He shrugged back at me.
Then I saw him glance worriedly down – at a pair of ears poking up from behind the umbrella …
‘Hide Thing!!’ I felt like yelling. ‘Quick, before Mum or the doctor turn around and spot it!’
He might have noodles for brains, but at least Jackson seemed to receive my psychic message.
He let go of one end of the umbrella and pushed Thing’s head down, out of sight.
‘Right, I’ll just ask the nurse to come back in and put a patch on that …’
I didn’t listen to the rest of what Dr Narindra was saying. Mum did, though, and followed him out of the cubicle for a chat.
Which gave Jackson and me the chance for a whispery chat of our own.
‘Why did you bring Thing here?’ I hissed.
‘I had to!’ Jackson whispered back. ‘It was worried about you!’
‘There there, Rubby!’ purred Thing, popping up from behind the umbrella and reaching out for a hug.
I didn’t dare lift it up to me, in case someone swooped back through the cubicle curtain. Instead, I took hold of its tiny paws.
