My body shook. Inside the mask, my teeth began to chatter.
And then the blackness was dotted with grays. I saw mysterious shapes float in front of me. The wind returned, and I heard the crackling swirl of dead autumn leaves.
I heard the rumble of a car. And a low hoot hoot. An owl?
Yes. Trees formed out of the darkness. A street. A street I recognized.
A tall, smooth hedge with a house behind it. And I knew the house.
Bella’s house.
“We’re back,” I said. I let out a long sigh of relief.
Peter danced up and down. “We’re back! We’re back!” He slapped my shoulder. “That was fun!”
“Huh?” I jumped away from him. “Are you crazy? Do you want to be a caterpillar inside a cocoon? Or eaten by a giant praying mantis?”
“But we’re okay!” he cried. “We made it!”
“We’re not finished,” I reminded him. “We have four more masks to go — remember? And if we don’t get them by dawn, we may never see Mom and Dad again.”
That took the smile off his face. “Okay. What’s the next mask?” he asked.
I turned to Bella’s house. The curtains were drawn in the front window. The front light was out. The house was dark.
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “Did she leave?”
“Forget about her. Let’s look for the mummy mask,” Peter said. “Bet I know where it is.”
He turned and started trotting along the sidewalk. I hurried after him. “Peter, where are you going?”
“The History Museum,” he said. “My class had a field trip there last week. They’ve got a bunch of mummies on display.”
I leaned into the gusting wind. “What makes you think the mask will be there?”
“The insect mask was down on the ground with the insects,” Peter replied. “I think the masks will tell us where they are hidden. Can you think of a better place for a mummy mask?”
Maybe he was right. We’d soon find out.
The History Museum stood next to the Public Library four or five blocks from our school. They were on a wide street with tall old trees leaning over both sides.
A small grassy park, called Museum Park, stretched across from the museum. Peter and I followed a pool of moonlight across the grass to the museum.
It was a big old-fashioned-looking white stone building with a hundred concrete steps leading up to the entrance. Tall pillars stood on either side of the double doorway. The roof had a white dome over the top.
Lights were on in the museum, but I didn’t see anyone around. Two cars came down the street and turned onto Museum Drive.
“No way can we get in through the front,” I said. “The doors will be locked tight. And they probably have guards there.”
“Last week, my class went in through the back,” Peter said. “There are a lot of little doors and windows back there. Maybe we can find a place to sneak in.”
We made our way around the side wall. I saw lights on in the tall windows above our heads. But I couldn’t see inside.
A black door in a narrow alcove had a sign that read: SERVICE ENTRANCE. The door was locked and chained.
We kept walking. Keeping in the deep shadow of the building, we passed a row of windows with bars over them. Two more doors had chains and padlocks.
I shivered. “This isn’t looking good, Peter,” I murmured. “What makes you think the mummy mask is in here anyway?”
Before he could answer, I heard a sound. The crackle of dry leaves. Then the scrape and thud of footsteps.
Startled, I jumped. Then I spun around — and gasped.
We were surrounded by mummies. A dozen ragged, decayed mummies.
They came staggering toward us, lumbering silently, arms raised stiffly in front of them.
Backing against the museum wall, I opened my mouth in a shrill scream.