To drink there was Bull’s Blood, which is a variety of Hungarian red wine, for the grown-ups. And for the kids there were Dracula Cocktails—just raspberry juice, but served in silver goblets to make it look more like something with lots of hemoglobin that a vampire would actually drink.
“On the night itself there were plenty of children. More than I’ve ever seen in here. They were mostly about twelve or thirteen years old. And many of them came from King Herod the Great Middle School, in Northwest Hitchcock.”
“I know that school,” said Billy. “It’s a really tough school. And there are some really tough kids who go there.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Rapscallion said bitterly. “At first everything went well. The authors read and signed their books for customers. And Victor Gespensterbruch gave a fascinating talk. Everyone’s heard of a poltergeist—a mischievous ghost. Well, he told us all about the
unterdembettgeist
—which is a recently discovered under-the-bed variety of ghost. We sold some books. Quite a few, actually. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Some of the kids—especially the boys—were a little boisterous, but you expect that. Boys will be boys. Mostly they were showing off to the girls. The way boys do, right?”
Billy nodded, although he was certain that he had never in his life showed off to anyone, let alone a girl. Why would someone do that?
“I got an idea that things might be going wrong just before eleven o’clock,” said Mr. Rapscallion. “Really, most of the children should have been at home by then. But their parents didn’t seem to care. Then Deacon Wordz, the author, came and told me that there was trouble with the Curse of the Pharaohs. That something dreadful had happened. So I went along there and…” He shook his head. “It was truly horrifying.”
“What was it?” Billy gasped. “Don’t tell me that one of those boys had actually died of fright?”
Mr. Rapscallion could hardly speak, he was so upset.
“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asked Billy somberly.
“Why, yes, I would,” answered Billy. “At least, I think so.”
With a grave look, Mr. Rapscallion produced a key and led Billy to one of the upper floors and then along a low, dark corridor to the Curse of the Pharaohs room.
The heavy wooden door was painted gold and looked exactly like the door in an old Egyptian tomb. There were hieroglyphic symbols painted on it and the handle was shaped like an ankh, which is a sort of hieroglyph like a cross with a loop on the top: this symbol means “life.”
Billy felt nervous as Mr. Rapscallion unlocked the door and turned the strange handle. He wondered what really terrible thing he was going to see in there. A dead body, perhaps? A large bloodstain on the floor? A severed head?
“I haven’t been in here since the night it happened,” explained Mr. Rapscallion. “I haven’t felt strong enough to remind myself of the horror.”
The door opened with a loud creak, as if it might actually have been closed for several thousand years. Mr. Rapscallion went in first, reached for the electric light switch and turned it on.
Gathering his courage, Billy followed.
He wasn’t at all sure what he was going to see. Something that Mr. Rapscallion had described as horrifying could very probably have included just about anything. But certainly Billy had not expected to see anything like what he saw now.
It
was
horrifying, in a way. And, now that he thought about it, the sight that met his eyes was, perhaps, the most awful thing he had seen in the Haunted House of Books.
The mummy was standing in the sarcophagus. It still looked like a long-dead priest wrapped in bandages. Except for the fact that someone—presumably one of the wicked boys from King Herod the Great Middle School, in Northwest Hitchcock—had spray-painted the bandages completely pink, from head to toe. Which, of course, completely ruined the effect. After all, there
“On the night itself there were plenty of children. More than I’ve ever seen in here. They were mostly about twelve or thirteen years old. And many of them came from King Herod the Great Middle School, in Northwest Hitchcock.”
“I know that school,” said Billy. “It’s a really tough school. And there are some really tough kids who go there.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Rapscallion said bitterly. “At first everything went well. The authors read and signed their books for customers. And Victor Gespensterbruch gave a fascinating talk. Everyone’s heard of a poltergeist—a mischievous ghost. Well, he told us all about the
unterdembettgeist
—which is a recently discovered under-the-bed variety of ghost. We sold some books. Quite a few, actually. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Some of the kids—especially the boys—were a little boisterous, but you expect that. Boys will be boys. Mostly they were showing off to the girls. The way boys do, right?”
Billy nodded, although he was certain that he had never in his life showed off to anyone, let alone a girl. Why would someone do that?
“I got an idea that things might be going wrong just before eleven o’clock,” said Mr. Rapscallion. “Really, most of the children should have been at home by then. But their parents didn’t seem to care. Then Deacon Wordz, the author, came and told me that there was trouble with the Curse of the Pharaohs. That something dreadful had happened. So I went along there and…” He shook his head. “It was truly horrifying.”
“What was it?” Billy gasped. “Don’t tell me that one of those boys had actually died of fright?”
Mr. Rapscallion could hardly speak, he was so upset.
“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asked Billy somberly.
“Why, yes, I would,” answered Billy. “At least, I think so.”
With a grave look, Mr. Rapscallion produced a key and led Billy to one of the upper floors and then along a low, dark corridor to the Curse of the Pharaohs room.
The heavy wooden door was painted gold and looked exactly like the door in an old Egyptian tomb. There were hieroglyphic symbols painted on it and the handle was shaped like an ankh, which is a sort of hieroglyph like a cross with a loop on the top: this symbol means “life.”
Billy felt nervous as Mr. Rapscallion unlocked the door and turned the strange handle. He wondered what really terrible thing he was going to see in there. A dead body, perhaps? A large bloodstain on the floor? A severed head?
“I haven’t been in here since the night it happened,” explained Mr. Rapscallion. “I haven’t felt strong enough to remind myself of the horror.”
The door opened with a loud creak, as if it might actually have been closed for several thousand years. Mr. Rapscallion went in first, reached for the electric light switch and turned it on.
Gathering his courage, Billy followed.
He wasn’t at all sure what he was going to see. Something that Mr. Rapscallion had described as horrifying could very probably have included just about anything. But certainly Billy had not expected to see anything like what he saw now.
It
was
horrifying, in a way. And, now that he thought about it, the sight that met his eyes was, perhaps, the most awful thing he had seen in the Haunted House of Books.
The mummy was standing in the sarcophagus. It still looked like a long-dead priest wrapped in bandages. Except for the fact that someone—presumably one of the wicked boys from King Herod the Great Middle School, in Northwest Hitchcock—had spray-painted the bandages completely pink, from head to toe. Which, of course, completely ruined the effect. After all, there
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