My Grandfather Is One Heck Of A Mummy

By J.A. Sprouls

It isn’t easy being a murder victim. Most particularly if the murder part didn’t take. Then to add insult to injury, you end up being stuffed into a trunk for some seventy odd years in an extremely arid climate which causes your body to mummify. But this is exactly what happened to Hank Skinner. Now a shriveled shadow of his former manly self, but much to his relief, still very much a man, Hank is discovered in the attic of his wife’s house by his granddaughter, Jo. As it turns out, his wife, May, had tried to kill him when she caught him in bed with another woman. She did however succeed in killing his well endowed bank robbing mistress, Clash, and stuffing her remains in another trunk in the attic.

The discovery of her granddad’s mummified - yet living - remains doesn’t help Jo’s mental state too terribly much. She’s already dealing with turning forty, she doesn’t need her long- thought- fugitive grandfather to suddenly reappear, most particularly in a mummified state. It also doesn’t help that he keeps hitting on her - not really believing she‘s his granddaughter. The one good thing that does come from her discovery is that it proves her granddad didn’t help Clash rob the bank. But if Clash was killed right after robbing the bank then just where is the money? It’s not in the attic, so where could Clash have hidden it? It’s this very search that leads Jo, Hank, Ava (Jo's Mother) and her sister Faye, on a rather humorous and mind-boggling adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.A. Sprouls
• Release date: Aug 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452405902

J.A. Sprouls

J.A. Sprouls lives in the beautiful and rather flat Plains of West Texas. As a former antique dealer whose business tanked along with the rest of the country's economy, she had to go out and get a real job. Writing, for her, has become a way to wind down after a long day and escape reality for just a short while. 'My Grandfather Is One Heck Of A Mummy' is the first in what will hopefully be a successful cozy mystery series. The second novel in the series, 'Mace Of Spades,' with 'Cowabunga Dead' as the third in the series. Another series that she has written is the Cryptozoology Series with two current books: 'Kamikaze Pigs' and 'Don Coyote.' She has even tried writing a youth novel series titled: 'Abigail Dumpling Adventures.' She has also written two non-series books: 'A Vision Touch' and 'Death Drives a Chevy.' She is currently working on her next novel and should soon be finished. She enjoys writing cozy mysteries with a humorous touch and hopes her readers enjoy reading them as much as she has enjoyed writing them.

Book preview

Chapter One:

For most people their fortieth birthday is a milestone. That’s not saying that it’s either a good or a bad milestone just a milestone. Some believe that living that long in and of itself is a reason to celebrate. My brother falls under that category. No one really believed he would live that long. Mainly we believed that he would pull some sort of stunt and our parents would end up killing him. In other words, we never expected him to see the age of 13. My sister is the exact opposite in regards to her having reached forty. She preferred to lock herself in her house and not come out until it was over. Her logic was - ‘If you ignore the whole day and pretend it never happened then, in fact, it didn’t.’ In other words my sister went from being 39 to 41 skipping a year in between. Me, I’m just happy to be healthy, alive and able to now refer to the thirty year olds as ‘young whippersnappers’ with a straight face.

So I wasn’t expecting anything of significance to occur on my birthday. Actually, I expected it to be a downer of a day but that was only because we had to clean out my Grandmother’s house. She was ninety-nine when she passed away suddenly during a domino match at the senior center. Grandma always got a bit too excited and competitive when it came to dominos. But at least when she went she was happy and winning.

Mother and I went over early that morning with the idea that we could get this over with in one day. Mother and I are obviously optimistic people. Grandma’s house is a two story gingerbread house with an attic. Or at least I think there is an attic. We grandkids were never allowed to go near the attic or even the steps to the attic. Not that we didn’t try. You know how it is when family gets together for a holiday. Your irritating and obnoxious cousins usually end up double dog daring you to do something. In my cousin’s case it was to go and sit on the attic steps. I, of course, never did it. And as the baby of my family I was duty bound to tell on those who did. So I did, just as fast as I could find an adult. Needless to say I wasn’t a popular cousin. But Mother and I knew deep down in our hearts that it would take week's maybe months to go through all Grandmas' stuff.

My grandma, May Skinner, was a direct descendant of our town’s founder. Our town was not founded by the normal means usually incorporated by founding fathers or mothers. In other words it was not on a direct path or road to somewhere or near a lake or river. No our lovely town was founded by death. Grandma’s great grandparents decided to go west. So they got a covered wagon, a couple of oxen and headed out. When they hit the south plains area they got caught up in a dust storm and ended up going in circles. That is until the oxen died from thirst. So since they couldn’t go anywhere without oxen they decided that this was the ideal place to start a town. The town is aptly named Drought, Texas. We have the dubious distinction to being the one town in Texas that people avoid like the plague. Since drought was one of the plagues that the good Lord inflicted on all those Egyptians then it was a rather good reason to avoid our town.

Grandma had it in her head that as a descendant she needed to hang onto every little thing for the sake of town history. After all she was the last member of her family to still be alive. And her parents felt of all their offspring she was the one who would see to it that their contribution would not fade. So she inherited everything from them. She even expressed this need to continue the legacy in her will. This is why she wasn’t about to just give it away. Nope. She stated in her will that the contents of the house belonged to the family to disseminate as they saw fit, but she added a guilt clause. For those who felt that family and town history was simply to be bought and sold to the highest bidder then that was their business but that she would not condone such behavior. She did leave Mother all assets beyond the contents of the house and barn. Mother got that mainly because of a guilty conscience for the way May had treated Mother all those years. And Mother was the only one who took care of her when she was ill or needed help. So I guess that was her way of repaying her. And Mother would decide what to do with the house. She added another guilt clause in this case which stated ‘If the hard work placed into the building and care of the house meant nothing to the family then what did she care,’ but she didn’t rule out haunting. I felt this was an empty threat as did my Aunts and Uncles. But who knew what Grandmother was going to do.

It was because of the will that Mother and I had to go through everything, divide it up evenly (what to give relatives and what to sell at an estate sale), and donate the leftovers. I personally was looking forward to it. I loved going to estate sales that had stuff in boxes and you had to go through the boxes to find the good stuff. I also found out that when you go through other peoples’ stuff you get to learn about the type of people they are. That was one of the main reasons why I had agreed to help Mother with this monumental task. I didn’t know my Grandma all that well. Actually, I don’t think my father did either. Grandma wasn’t what you call a demonstrative person. She was somewhat shy (except when playing dominos or rooting for the high school teams) and she liked to keep to herself. This isn’t surprising when you consider the life she led.

She married young at the age of 15 in 1926. She had seven kids and raised them through the Great Depression. They all survived and went on to have families of their own, which in its own right is a great accomplishment. Her youngest was my father, Joseph Skinner. His father was a town hero, in some odd sense, and then became a town legend. It’s not like he saved someone’s life or stopped the town from burning down or anything so dramatic. He was a pitcher for the home town semi-pro team, the Texas Tornados. This was when baseball was just starting out and a number of small towns started up their own teams. They traveled around to the nearby towns and played their teams, splitting the money made on tickets between the two teams. Soon the major league teams that were starting to establish themselves started to send scouts to these small towns in hopes of finding exceptional players with small town intelligence - at least when it came to contracts, anyway. My Granddad was one such person. He ended up playing two games and earning one meal for each game he played. He was soon back home after failing horribly in the big leagues but the town still considered him the most successful son the town had produced. This didn’t say a whole lot about the rest of the town.

My grandfather’s stint in the big leagues helped to serve the town in that people came from miles around to watch a real bonafide big leaguer and paid double the admission cost. So in his own small way he helped the town get its first police car. This is somewhat ironic because he became the town’s most notorious criminal. My grandfather was a handsome man, despite the fact that he had a rather big nose, who was adored by not only my Grandma but other ladies. He was a scarlet man, so to speak. Hey, if they can call a woman with questionable morals a scarlet woman then the same should be said about men. He skipped town with a buxom beauty named Clash when my dad was only 7 years old. It seems that Clash was the town’s bank teller and she decided if they were going to make a new start somewhere else then she ought to give the bank’s money the same opportunity to get out of town. Apparently ALL the towns money couldn’t get out of Drought fast enough because there wasn’t even a penny left over. She had cleaned the bank out of everything - stocks, bonds, security boxes etc. They were never heard from again. Grandma was devastated and never married again. The town never really blamed her for her husband’s actions but Grandma became a civic whirlwind after that. She raised money for any and all good causes and even served as town mayor for 12 years. I guess she was trying to make it up to the people of the town and this was her way of doing it. But when you considered that she repaid everything that was stolen it went above and beyond for the town as far as I was concerned.

~~~~~

Chapter Two:

Since she was ninety-nine when she died that meant she had ninety-nine years of clutter that my mother and I would have to sift through. I volunteered to start in the attic. This was my revenge on my cousins. At least I would be the first one inside in who knows how many years. That meant I would have first dibs on anything that looked good. I didn’t figure there was anything of monetary value in the attic. If there had been then Grandma would have sold it to pay back the bank. She was that type of a woman. I simply wanted something that may have belonged to my granddad. Dad had said he figured that the attic was off limits because that was where Grandma kept all of granddad’s stuff. It became off limits one afternoon after dad arrived home from school and just right after granddad had absconded. So he figured Grandma took it all up there and never wanted to see it again because of all the bad memories.

I figured I could get the best most sentimental items if I was the first one in and no one could complain because they didn’t volunteer to help. Mother agreed I could start there but only because it hadn’t been opened in years and that meant there were probably spiders up there. She hated spiders. For that matter so did I but the curiosity bubbling inside of me was too much and so I headed up to the attic with a can of Raid in my hand.

Saying there were cobwebs was an understatement. It had more cobwebs then the high schools haunted house last year and that‘s saying a lot. The school let Melvin Berkshire loose with five cans of the cobweb spray and when the first five people came out everyone thought they had been so scared their hair had turned white. It turned out the cobwebs had stuck to their heads and that’s why their hair looked white.

I went back downstairs and got a broom to sweep and swat at the cobwebs. I guess it’s not unlike how jungle explorers feel as they cut through the foliage. Only instead of cutting back a swath and viewing a Mayan Temple I saw trunks. Trunks stacked on trunks. It was going to take forever to go through them all. I figured I would start with the first one I saw. Mainly because it was closest, it wasn’t stacked on anything and meant I didn’t have to delve any deeper into the attic. I also figured that the spiders might retreat farther in rather than hang around where the activity is taking place. I tried to push the trunk with my foot just to make sure the spiders realized I would be moving this particular trunk but it was too heavy to move. So I got the broom and swept all around the trunk.

When I was satisfied that there weren’t any spiders in the near vicinity I proceeded to fumble with the lock. I couldn’t get it to budge so I went back downstairs to get a screwdriver so I could jimmy the lock. Mother asked how it was going and I told her about all the trunks. She laughed and knew I would enjoy going through all of them. I think she thinks I’m nosy. As I went back upstairs Mother called to me and told me not to stay in the dusty attic for too long of a time otherwise I’d get lungs full of dust and I assured her I would take frequent breaks.

I had to get down on my knees to get the leverage I needed to get the trunk opened. It took about a half hour and I was dripping in sweat but I finally got the lock to break and could now get the trunk opened. Before I opened it I thought about trying to open a window just to get some type of breeze in there. But that would mean swatting and beating a path to a window and quite frankly I was too tired to do that. I waited until I caught my breath before opening it. The lid weighed more than me. Which isn’t saying much since I am petite and your basic 98 pound weakling? If I had thought I would find some great treasure in that trunk I was mistaken. All I found was an old mail bag. I was very disappointed. Then I remembered that there was a town legend that Houdini had once visited Drought. Or to be more specific his car broke down going through Drought. They say he did an escape trick with a mail bag. So maybe this was the bag. How cool would that be? I could wave the mailbag under my cousins’ noses and let them speculate how much it would go for on eBay. Not that I would sell it. Yeah, right, who am I kidding? If I could prove it had been Houdini’s then I’d sell that puppy so fast it would make my cousins head spin so fast it would make a tornado jealous.

~~~~~

Chapter Three:

I realized the mailbag was full of something so I decided to open it and find out what. It too had a lock on it. Piddle. I got my screwdriver out again and went to work jimmying it. After a bit of effort I got the lock to give and threw it on the ground. Nothing prepared me for what I saw as I opened the bag. As I slowly pulled it down I came to the very sudden realization that what I was seeing was a head. Not just any head but a mummified head. I screamed. Mother was running the vacuum downstairs so she didn’t hear me. I guess it was lucky I hadn’t taken the time to open a window so no one else heard me either. You may ask why that was lucky. Well, here I was in my Grandma’s attic where she had the mummified remains of someone stored. Boy, Bulah Jerkins was going to have a field day with this. Bulah was the town gossip and loved to get dirt on any and everyone she could. To get something like a body in the attic of the town’s direct descendant would allow her to bask in the gossip glow for a good 10 years, minimum.

I sat down, too shocked to move. I tried to clear my mind and think what I should do next. I couldn’t get my Mother because I wasn’t ready for her to pass on and surely mummified remains could push her already weak heart over the edge. After what seemed like an eternity I finally took a deep breath and decided to remove the mailbag completely to see if there was an entire body that went with the head. Much to my dismay there was. I knew I should call the sheriff and not touch anything else for fear of messing with a crime scene. I mean that’s what all the mystery novel heroines do. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. I decided if anyone was going to get to the bottom of this it would be me. I’d find out the truth and then hush it up if possible, if not, I’d place the blame on someone other than a relative, unless I could blame my cousin Greg. I never really liked him. Not since he bragged about swallowing a goldfish whole. The goldfish in question was mine. Sniff, I still miss my little Goldie My Ear, so named because I couldn’t properly pronounce Golda Meir. Even fish needed proper role models or so I had surmised.

The first thing I needed to know was the identity of the mummy. The clothes told me it was a man. So maybe he had a wallet I could look through. I started fumbling with his pants trying to find a pocket when out of nowhere I heard a voice say Now listen here sweetie pie. I at least like to know a gal’s name before I let her mess with my pants. I jumped back! I was too scared to do anything. I looked around at everything in the attic I could see BUT the mummy. I was too afraid of what I was thinking. When I had finally rationalized that I had not heard anything at all and that my imagination was running away with me I turned to face the mummy. It was looking right at me and then it grinned. It was a cocky grin at that.

Well, piddle! This was depressing. Not only had I lost my sanity but the first male to ever hit on me was a mummy. This was definitely not turning out to be a good fortieth birthday. Memorable; yes, good, not by a long shot!

I took a very deep breath and asked the mummy, "are you talking to me?’

Well, now, sweetie pie, is there anyone else around here that was fumbling with my pants? the mummy stated in a very matter of fact manner.

I screamed and bolted out of the attic. I hit the first floor without touching a single stair and ran out of the house. I could have sworn I heard my Mother mumble something about warning me about spiders as I cleared the doorway. I was out to the old oak tree swing when I stopped. It suddenly hit me - if it can talk there’s a chance it could also walk. That was the last thing I needed. If it walked downstairs and in on my Mother he would, he would - well, he would probably hit on my Mother like he did with me - but either way it would, at the very least, freak my Mother out no end! I definitely could not deal with the loss of my sanity and my Mother’s at the same time. So I turned around and headed back inside and up to the attic.

There he was sitting on the edge of the trunk. His legs were crossed and he was pulling a pack of cigarettes from his front shirt pocket.

You wouldn’t happen to have a light would you, sweetie pie? the mummy inquired.

No, I don’t and there is no smoking in this house by orders of my grandma. That wasn’t entirely true and even if it was, she was dead so how would he know. Oh, wait; he’s a mummy he might have talked to her on her way to heaven. Oh, well, what’s said was said I’d face the consequences, if any, when I had to for that fib.

Come on now sweetie pie, don’t be mean. Why don’t you just sit here on my lap and tell me what’s bothering you, He said.

I am not your sweetie pie so stop calling me that. I am also not sitting on your lap. Now I want to know who the heck you are and what are you doing in my Grandma’s attic? I demanded.

I happen to be Horace P. Skinner. My buddies all call me Hank for short. As to how I got up in your Grandma’s attic I don’t rightly know. But if she’s a looker I could wager a pretty good guess, He said in smug voice I think he mistakenly thought was alluring.

I was shocked. If he was in fact Horace P. Skinner that meant he was my granddad. Oh, jeesh, my own grandfather had hit on me. That brings my loss of sanity and being hit on for the first time by my granddad mummy to a whole new depth of depressing. It couldn’t possibly get worse. Oh, wait, my granddad, who was supposed to run off with a bank robber named Clash, is mummified and in my Grandma’s attic. Yes, I’ve definitely hit rock bottom in the depressing department.

If you are in fact Horace P. Skinner then that means you’re my granddad. So please stop hitting on me. It’s creeping me out! I shivered a bit when I told him that.

My Granddaughter, no kidding? Whose kid are you? He seemed genuinely interested.

Joseph’s daughter.

What, Joseph’s? But he’s a piddly little boy. How the heck did he manage to conceive you? he inquired.

Well, he didn’t conceive of me until he was well into his thirties and he grew up to be a big strong man not a piddly little boy, thank you very much, I answered.

In his thirties? Are you kidding me? What year is it? he asked.

2010, I answered.

2010? All right, if you say so. Now, dear, you’re a little upset so why don’t you just sit down here and take a load off while I comfort you, he had a look in his mummified eyes that said he didn’t really believe I was telling the truth so if I lied about the year then surely I was lying about being his granddaughter.

I am not, aside from the loss of my sanity that occurred when you started speaking to me, upset or confused in any way. It is 2010. Your wife, May, passed away last month. My Father, your son, passed away three years ago. I am your granddaughter and you sir, are a mummy that has been hidden in a trunk in my Grandma’s attic for the past 70 some odd years. What’d she do, catch you sleeping with Clash and kill you in a jealous rage? I figured if I had already lost my sanity then I could at least get to the truth behind his presence in the attic.

Clash! Man, oh, man, that was one great woman. Say, now that you mention it the last thing I remember before you started messing with my pants…

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