Revenge of the Mummy
(A Sherlock Holmes/Doctor Watson Adventure)
by John Pirillo
Inspector Bloodstone stood at the entrance to the storage area, a Bobby on each side of him. He kept glancing inside anxiously, wringing his hands. He hated these kinds of cases. Because hhe always seemed to be assigned them and he always had to get his face rubbed in salad oil every time the famous detective was brought into the case as well.
He watched as his forensics specialists worked their way down the long aisles, flashing beams of light from their Tesla flashlights, searing the shelving, walls, ceiling and floor for clues. Ocassionally, one would drop to a knee, or step up to pry something free, or hurry up a photographer to take a photo, but none of them seemed to have any green flags for him.
He twisted his licorice red mustache, and shoved a red forelock out of his face and turned to the Bobby on his right. "The Red Dragon tonight still?"
"Spot on, Inspector. The little lady is expecting me back later because of this. So what's one more hour." He laughed.
The Inspector laughed with him, then turned quickly to look at a familiar cry for help.
"Look here, Holmes." Watson blurted out, pointing with his umbrella at a slight smear on the floor behind the open door.
Sherlock pressed his deerstalker hat back from his forehead and dropped to a knee to examine the evidence. He pressed an oversized magnifying glass into the niche between the open door and the seal of the portal.
"Tweezers, Watson. Quickly!"
Watson fumbled in his medical bag and handed a pair of tweezers over.
Sherlock didn't even look, his hand was out stretched waiting. Watson pressed the tweezers into his palm, and Sherlock's thin and wiry fingers engulfed the tweezers like a hungry spider clasping its helpless prey.
He expertly drove the tweezers into the niche, then using the magnifying glass to watch, prised a tiny substance onto the tip of the tweezer. He raised it to examine closer.
Again, Watson fumbled through his bag, this time not so easily finding a vial.
"Patience, Holmes, they must have slipped in with the bandages. Ah, here they are."
He pulled out a tiny clear vial, uncorked it, then handed it over, again to an outstretched palm, where Holmes wasn't even looking, his eyes still on the tweezers, though with the magnifying glass now put away. He carefully manuevered it into the vial, then Watson deftly corked it, and swept it into his bag, carefully placing it into a smaller bag, labeled "evidence."
Holmes scrambled in both knees for a time, pressing the magnifying glass to duty again, then finally sat up, rose to his feet and shook his head. "Nothing more."
"Do you think it's relevant?" Watson asked him.
Holmes thought it over a moment, but didn't reply. Instead, he went to the display case, whose door was shut and locked. The Museum Director, Hyamus Portashaw, a portly man of distinguished features, wearing a tux somewhat rumpled from a party he had returned from early, and leaning on a silver handled cane with an exquisite carving of Isis at its top, eyed the proceedings warily.
"I just don't see how Mister Burns could possibly have stolen the mummy stored in this case. It is not even unlocked!"
Holmes eyed the Director thoughtfully a moment, then nodded. He turned to Watson, who stood near a very quiet and respectful Bobby, who was watching the investigation like a rapt student. Anyone who worked with Holmes and Watson knew they were an extraordinary pair of investigators and watching them was like watching a finely tuned engine.
"I think we need to speak with Doyle about this." Holmes finally said.
Watson's eyebrows rose.
Holmes nodded. "Yes. But not now."
Watson nodded in return, and turned to the Director.
"Are you quite sure that no one saw him exiting the Museum?"
The Director shook his head. "Impossible. He is locked in for the night and only in the morning, which it now is..." He coughed to emphasize that he was being inconvenienced in a major way. "...Morning. And just now as you see, we three are the only ones here."
Holmes turned to face the door, then turned to face the empty mummy case, then he looked up. "Is this room hermetically sealed?"
The Director had to thank about it a long time, his mustache quivering at the same time as his jowls, as if one wound up the other and made it run. "Nothing in here would benefit from such a thing."
"Nothing in here." Holmes agreed. "But what about something outside of here?"
Inspector knew his moment of triumph was at hand. He had made sure there were no glaring errors for his rival to expose and demean his forensics abilities.
"I assure you, Holmes." He said, stepping into their view. "That no such thing was or is possible. This room is as airtight as....pardon the expression...a fly's bottom!"
The Director's eyes widened and he looked up, noticing as Watson did the very large vent overhead.
The Inspector blushed, thinking they were upset at his poor taste in description.
"On it." Watson answered. He headed to the back of the room.
"What's wrong?" The Inspector demanded.
"Nothing." Holmes replied, watching as Holmes found a large dark item next to some particularly tall shelving, hefted it with a grunt, then came forward with it, huffing and puffing.
"Dratted heavy, you know." Watson complained, setting the stepladder down beneath the vent.
Holmes climbed the ladder carefully while Watson steadied it.
"I don't see how anyone could have used this as a way to get in." The Director said in an annoyed voice, again glancing at his pocket watch to remind them he was a busy man.
"It is never a good idea to assume, Mister Director." Holmes replied drily.
Holmes ignored him and touched the vent gingerly with a finger, then withdrew it. On the tip of his finger something glistened. He looked to Watson, who left the ladder, retrieved his bag and took out several swabs and a vial.
Holmes carefully swabbed the edges of the vent, handing each one back to Watson, who carefully stopped them in their own vials. "Might I have the use of your winter gloves?"
Watson pulled out a pair of bright red gloves. The Inspector started to make a joke about them but when he saw the look in Watson's eyes and heard him clear his throat meaningfully, he immediately retreated back to the entrance to converse with his Bobbies.
Holmes slipped the bright red gloves on and then very carefully shifted the grill over the vent. It made a slight grinding sound, then slid out and fell to the floor, nearly striking the Director on his head.
"God's sakes, Detective Holmes!" The Director yelped.
"Sorry, old man." Holmes replied, though his eyes had no hint of sympathy in them. He did not find the man to be a very likable sort.
Watson caught the drift of Holmes' thoughts and wedged himself between the Director and the step ladder, in case he had any ideas. "Anything up there?" Watson asked.
Holmes pulled out a box of matches, struck one and held it over his head, looking into the vent opening. "Ah!" He noted.
"What is it?" The Director asked, his anger piqued by curiosity.
"It seems you've had someone exit the room."
"A man exited the room?"
Holmes looked at him with an odd look on his face. "Did I say a man?"
The look on Holmes' face caused the Director to shudder as if a very cold wind had suddenly blown across him. He shivered, then stepped back towards the vault door. "I think I'll wait in my office. Let me know when you two are ready to leave."
Holmes nodded, then looked to Watson, who gave him a curious look.
"Not a him?" Watson asked. "Then a her?"
Holmes did not reply.
Now it was Watson's turn to shudder.
Today I begin a new tale in my Baker Street Adventure series starring Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Expect a few surprises and a lot of cool guests to show up to darken or brighten the landscape as we journey this time into a world lost in time, but awakened to our own.
Revenge of the Mummy
(A Sherlock Holmes/Doctor Watson Adventure)
"Something stirs in the dark and dreary
Something wicked, something weary."
-- From the Book of Druids, 845AD --
The museum was very quiet at night and Special Security Guard, Robert Burns liked it that way. He spent his entire day listening to his wife complain about how she never had any time to herself, that she was always washing and scrubbing, chasing and hollering, cooking and cleaning, darning and mending. She would go on and on and he would go on and on...not listening, but instead looking forward to his time with the Mummies.
He turned his badge upwards on his blue uniform and admired it. Ten years now. Soon it would go from silver to gold and in another ten, he'd get a gold watch and a pension, then in another ten he'd get his platinum badge with the gold star in the medial and run the Security Unit himself. But since he was the only security guard, that wasn't as big a deal as it was getting the full pension that would go with the thirty years.
At that moment he never considered that perhaps he wouldn't be alive in another twenty years to collect. Such is the manner of most of us that we swagger through life, young and old, thinking that what happens to others will never happen to us, then one day...it all changes.
Robert sighed and let his badge flop back into place. He straightened his uniform and entered the vault room, the most secure area of the British Museum. It had a storage capacity of close to ten thousand square feet with multi-level shelves, most of which were dusty from never having been used or cleaned over the years.
He reckoned that much of what was here would never be removed and taken out for the public to view, because in all his ten years nothing had been removed. He couldn't for the world of him figure out why, other than the silly warnings of curses and other deviltry that dressed some of the crates and containers, cases and tubules with their dated mummies from every era of modern civilization back to the predawn man.
He grinned once when he looked into one exhibit that showed a primitive ape skeleton and a primitive man skeleton.
He could see precious little difference between them. One Curator at the Museum had even gone so far as to reconstruct both the ape and the man and set them side by side, and he knew that would never make it into the museum proper because blimey if he could tell the difference between man and beast, except for having a bit less hair.
Come to think of it, he mused, last time he visited a zoo he had seen tourists hunched over very much like the apes there, their arms dangling at their sides. He frowned. He hadn't thought until that moment that maybe he also looked that way. He shrugged. Such high and lofty thoughts were for the scientists and the Curators, not him.
That brought him straight back to his own problems. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't bother locking the door behind him, or closing it as was proper procedure. Instead he began his usual patrol down the long dusty corridors of the storage room, musing on his own...to him at least...miserable home life.
What a poppycock life he had been given, treated like Tosh in his own home. He would have done better to sort with the Midnight Angels on the docks, than settle down as he had. But now he had no choice in the matter. His children called him Daddy, and he loved them dearly, even if his wife was an endless nag and bore. That couldn't be remedied, but he could take short vacations away from her. And he did. He called it...work.
So the Mummies he guarded began his entourage, his adoring fans, his family and friends, who never gave him a word of bitter, or a salty remark. It was peace as a man of his stature should have. Even if his stature was just above five feet.
He adored them so much that he began giving them pet names.
The one that had been a boy king, he called Pegleg Pete. The one that had been a famous queen of the nile he called Strawberry Pet. The guards that had been buried with her, he called Icky, Bicky and Nod. He wasn't making fun of them really, it just made the creepiness of the ghastly forms more digestable and...he grinned nastily...fun in a very wicked way.
If his boss had found out his true motivations for wanting this job, he might have been sent instead to sort the mail, or to unload the incoming museum relics. But he didn't and he wasn't. And there was more. Always was. His doctor made sure of that. Mister whiskers all up and down his face made his life even more hellish during his last visit for an upset stomach, which seemed to be happening more and more frequently of late.
What he hadn't told his wife was that he was on medication for ulcers that were growing in his stomach. His doctor, Doctor Watson, a very abrasive sort, but of good heart, had told him quite frankly that if he didn't give up his eating of such poor foods and improve his diet, the ulcers could bleed him dry and could very likely turn cancerous even sooner.
He had laughed. The image of him with holes in his stomach was downright bollocks. Everyone knew if you had holes in your stomach you would die immediately.
Doctor Watson had bristled. "You laugh. But unless you want to end up pickled like those blasted ghouls in the museum, you had better watch out for yourself."
He had thanked the good Doctor, paid his fee and ignored his advice. He enjoyed the finer things of life too much to stop eating them now. He'd rather die with a stomach of sweets and good stout malt liquor, than a stomach of carrots and milk.
Something moved beyond the periphery of his vision.
His heart raced for a moment, and then he remembered seeing a large moth in the room earlier. How it had come to be there he hadn't thought to ask. The room was supposed to be safe from that sort of thing, but that never kept the rats off ships now, did it?
He took his oil-fed lantern and headed to the right, where the really odd mummy had been placed. It wasn't displayed in the usual places the others were and stored safely away for the night. Instead, it was kept locked up, as if it were dangerous, which made no sense at all to him.
He went to that mummy and peered at its display case. "Warning. Do not touch at the peril of your life." The plaque said.
He grinned and stifled a laugh. These administrators really knew how to drum up a crowd.
The older fellow with the...what he called...higher learning had said this one had been found in a deep excavation outside of London in some kind of odd device that they couldn't move because it was buried so deep and was so large. He had asked what kind of device, and the older man had been about to tell him, but a military type had come into the office at that time...late and frowned at both men.
The older man never said and was never seen again at the museum. Which was strange, but not all that complicated to figure out. What tosh would want to work in such a dreary place all the rest of his life, except someone like himself that wanted away from his missy?
He tapped on the case. Nothing.
He turned away, letting the light fall across the rather large storage area he was patrolling. It wasn't in danger of being broken into. No outside windows. No overhead ducts for someone to crawl through. No hidden panels.
In fact no way in or out, except the heavily locked door at the front of the room, which was open only because he was now doing the rounds and he had the only key to.
He looked back at the case and the rather oddly shaped mummy within. It was shaped like a...why hadn't he recognized it before. Like a slug!
He had to laugh. His imagination was getting away from him. How could a slug be a mummy and especially a nine foot tall one, which didn't make sense if it was a human either, though the museum did have a section were the purported bones of giants were on display They were called freaks of nature and not normal, but what was normal he thought, as he turned away from the display again.
Wouldn't it be funny if the mummy were just the genetically damned son of some pervert that had made it with his own brood? That thought sickened him and so he ditched it as neatly as if it were a burning charcoal into the back of his mind, where it festered and grew, because deep down inside he knew something was off about it, something dreadfully off.
But then much about his life was off, so what was one more lousy off going to matter he considered as he turned away from the case.
He felt this vibration behind him and turned. He could swear the wrapping about the mummy was throbbing. That wasn't possible, was it?
So now, rather than ignore the warning entirely, but partially, he used a special key on his keychain to unlock the case and swing its door wide. He leaned close inside with his lantern almost poking where the head of the mummy might have been.
Suddenly, the door to the room slammed shut.
"Here now!" He gasped.
He whirled around, almost smashing his lantern into the display glass.
"Who's there?" He demanded. "If you're some kind of bloke with the idea of getting offs on scaring a poor helpless security guard, who scratches his living and escapes his miserable life by hiding behind his badge, then you've done quite well by yourself. Just show yourself and all is forgiven."
Hoping it wouldn't be noticed, he very carefully reached his hand for the service revolver on his right hip. He was an armed guard. He knew how to use the weapon. He had served in Her Majesty's war in the Indian Isles, where it wasn't unusual for the blokes to come at you with these wicked swords with jagged edges that could rip your guts out if you weren't fast on the draw. He had been and so here he was all safe and cozy with some kind of kook trying to gray his hair early in his life.
He drew the weapon and moved cautiously up the row of mummies. "I said, 'Who's There'?"
Then he felt something moving behind him. Just a slight vibration on the floor. But enough to warn him. He spun around, his weapon ready to fire.
Something warm and slimy grabbed his weapon hand and twisted his arm so hard he screamed. Then something horrible and alien to everything he had ever seen or known thrust its face into his.
His scream didn't last long. The lantern fell to the floor and the oil burst free, lighting up the volumes of books that had been stored nearby. The flames etched a line along the aisle, briefly illuminating the fallen man and something unnaturally large near the door. And as if by magic the flames just as suddenly exhausted themselves and dropped the body laying there back into shadows. But at the door. At the door something stood watching where the man had fallen. Something so horrible to imagine, so awful if you could see it that you would probably not live through the night. Something out of a nightmare. Something too horrible to describe or exist!
Samuel almost shouted himself awake on the balcony of his Vegas condo. "What!" He exclaimed as he realized he had fallen asleep on his favorite lounge.
"About time you got that sorry ass of yours up and at it." Jimbo hollered from inside.
Sam, confused and stunned for several moments, stood up and stretched, and then he realized he was still dressed like he had been inside Mount Shasta.
Jimbo stepped out with a plate of fries the size of a mountain and a huge bottle of ketchup, two forks and loads of paper napkins. He set them down on the table next to the lounge chair, then pulled two bottles of Root beer from his side pockets and set them on the table. He popped one, took a huge gulp, belched, then sat down and began heaving fries into his hungry mouth, dumping liberal amounts of ketchup on the fries as he eate.
"Eat up!" Jimbo mumbled through fries and Root Beer.
Samuel sat down on the opposite side, and glanced at the sky. "This is impossible."
"Fries are the most possible thing on the planet."
"Not the fries. The sky?"
Jimbo looked up and almost choked. "Hey!"
There were two suns in the sky.
"Don't say it!" Samuel warned him.
Jimbo looked at his fries, then the two suns, then at his fries again. "Oh hell, a man's gotta eat!"
He tore into the fries again.
"Where are we?" Samuel asked outloud.
Albert appeared, perched on the railing in front of him. Marilyn appeared next and stood next to him. She waved.
Jimbo almost spit his fries out. "I can see them again!"
Albert gave Jimbo a sad smile. "Sorry, Jim. Time to go."
"Time to go. We just got..."
The balcony and everything vanished.
White light which had surrounded and engulfed them vanished, and they were now on the balcony again, minus the fries, with only one sun in the sky.
Nanny screamed inside.
Jimbo ran inside, with Samuel hot on his heels.
Nanny stood in front of a gigantic crystal that had her image in it and some kind of strange creature that was looking back at her.
Albert and Marilyn appeared again.
Jimbo looked at him. "Sorry again?"
Another explosion of light and this time they found themselves laying in freezing snow just outside the entrance to Mount Shasta's hollow interior.
Jimbo rolled over, spitting out snow. "I want my...."
A flurry of fries spilled out of the air and buried half his body.
"...Fries." He finished.
He sat up, noticed Samuel and Nanny also laying face down. He shoved the fries off and helped them to sit up.
Samuel gave Jimbo a weary look. "Time to go home, buddy."
"Just look at this mess, Sammie. Those darn angels can't even get a man's meal..."
A huge plate of fries materialized on the ground with three stools, a small table, bottle of ketchup, napkins and Root Beer bottles.
...Right!" Jimbo finished.
"I don't care. I'm not touching them. No more yank-ems!" Jimbo protested.
Samuel sat down and tasted a fry. "They're still hot!"
Nanny sighed, then got up and joined him. "Please remind me never to go anywhere with you two again. Ever. Ever. Ever!"
Then as her stomach gurgled loudly, she joined Samuel in eating fries.
Jimbo sighed, then gave up. He dropped onto a stool, poured a ton of ketchup on the plate and looked at his friends. "Can't beat 'em. Join 'em. That's what I always say."
Chapter Seventy-Two Samuel and Jimbo stood at the entrance to the diner of the forest ranger lodge restaurant, the Narrow Sparrow watching Nanny talking excitedly to an older woman of about forty-five. The older woman looked back at them and smiled, then returned her attention to Nanny, who wouldn't let go of her hands as she talked.
"Guess this whole trip turned out to not be such a waste of time after all."
"Time to go back to the heat again."
Jimbo didn't nod.
Samuel looked at him.
"I gotta go back to Texas. Sis sent me a text message about that Haunted Outhouse again."
"What! But that family of spirits was sent into the Light."
"Evidently another family moved in, and they're threatening to shut down every toilet for the next ten square miles around it."
Samuel shook his head. "I guess sometimes..."
"Crap happens." Jimbo laughed.
Samuel looked at his friend. "Need help?"
"Nah. I think I got this one handled."
Nanny and the older woman came out. They joined them.
The older woman was almost a carbon copy of Nanny, just with gray hairs and wrinkles. Her mouth crinkled in a smile at Samuel. "Your friend asked if we could join him in Texas for a few days."
Jimbo gave Samuel a shy look.
Samuel looked at Nanny.
Nanny shrugged. "Mom's psychic too."
Nanny's Mom waved at Al and Marilyn who were standing next to Samuel, enjoying his expression.
They waved back.
"She's going to help that new family mosey along and I thought it'd be nice to show my fiancee our spread while she was there."
Samuel's face lit up. "You're getting married?"
Nanny lightly punched Samuel on his arm and grinned. "Not letting this cowboy loose on his ownsome. No way! Besides..."
You looked embarrassed about her next words.
Jimbo picked it up. "She wants to help us."
Samuel's face lit up. "Wow! That's great. We'll be like the guys in Ghostbusters."
"Except with a girl." Nanny laughed.
"One thing I still don't understand though, Sammie." Jimbo said. "When we ended up in those two weird places, what was going on?"
Nanny's Mom's eyes widened as she picked up the answer from her own angels, who stood behind her. Samuel couldn't see them. He wasn't supposed to.
"Al told me last night. Evidently our world is not the only one. There are an infinite number of them just like ours, only people on them made different decisions and the outcome changed everything around them."
"That maybe, but I think I prefer my fries staying on the plate I served them on." Jimbo growled angrily, then he barked with laughter. "Just listen to me, as if that would ever happen again."
He stopped laughing when a seven foot tall bunny walked past, then waved.
"Hi Harvey!" Nanny said and it waved back.
Jimbo looked at her, then at Samuel. "I'm not going to ask. Not going there. Let's go home!"
Coyote, a universal and mischievous spirit, lived near Mount Shasta in what is now California. Coyote's village had little fish and no salmon. His neighboring village of Shasta Indians always had more than they could use.
Shasta Indians had built a dam that served as a trap for fish, especially the wonderful salmon. They ate it raw, baked it over hot coals, and dried large quantities for their winter food supply. Other tribes came to Shasta Village to trade for salmon, which created wealth and respect for the Shasta tribe.
One day Coyote was dreaming of a delicious meal of salmon. His mouth watered at the thought of a nice freshly cooked, juicy salmon.
"I am so terribly hungry," he said to himself upon waking. "If I visit the Shasteans, maybe I can have a salmon dinner."
Coyote washed and brushed himself to look neat and clean, then started for Shasta Village with visions of fresh salmon swimming behind his eyes. He found the Shasteans at the dam hauling in big catches of salmon. They welcomed him and said that he could have all the fish he could catch and carry.
Hunger and greed caused Coyote to take more fish than was good for him. Finally, he lifted his big load onto his back and began his homeward journey, after thanking the Shasta Indians for their generosity.
Because his load was extra heavy and he still had a long way to go Coyote soon tired.
"I think I had better rest for a while," he thought. "A short nap will do me good."
He stretched himself full length upon the ground, lying on his stomach, with his pack still on his back. While Coyote slept, swarms and swarms of Yellow Jackets dived down and scooped up his salmon. What was left were bare salmon bones.
Coyote waked very hungry. His first thought was how good a bite of salmon would taste at that moment. Still half-asleep, he turned his head and took a large bite. To his great surprise and anger, his mouth was full of fish bones! His salmon meat was gone. Coyote jumped up and down in a rage shouting, "Who has stolen my salmon? Who has stolen my salmon?"
Coyote searched the ground around him but could not locate any visible tracks. He decided to return to Shasta Village and ask his good friends there if he could have more salmon.
"Whatever happened to you?" they asked when they saw his pack of bare salmon bones.
"I was tired and decided to take a nap," replied Coyote. "While I slept, someone slightly stole all of the good salmon meat that you gave me. I feel very foolish to ask, but may I catch more fish at your dam?"
All of the friendly Shasteans invited him to spend the night and to fish with them in the morning. Again, Coyote caught salmon and made a second pack for his back and started homeward.
Strangely, Coyote tired at about the same place as he had on the day before. Again he stopped to rest, but he decided that he would not sleep today. With his eyes wide open, he saw swarms of hornets approaching. Because he never imagined they were the culprits who stole his salmon, he did nothing.
Quicker than he could blink his eyes, the Yellow Jackets again stripped the salmon meat from the bones and in a flash they disappeared!
Furious with himself, Coyote raged at the Yellow Jackets. Helpless, he ran back to Shasta Village, relating to his friends what he had seen with his own eyes. They listened to his story and they felt sorry for Coyote, losing his second batch of salmon.
"Please take a third pack of fish and go to the same place and rest. We will follow and hide in the bushes beside you and keep the Yellow Jackets from stealing your fish," responded the Shasta Indians.
Coyote departed carrying this third pack of salmon. The Shasteans followed and hid according to plan. While all were waiting, who should come along but Grandfather Turtle.
"Whoever asked you to come here?" said Coyote, annoyed at Grandfather Turtle's intrusion.
Turtle said nothing but just sat there by himself.
"Why did you come here to bother us," taunted Coyote. "We are waiting for the robber Yellow Jackets who stole two packs of salmon. We'll scare them away this time with all my Shasta friends surrounding this place. Why don't you go on your way?"
But Turtle was not bothered by Coyote; he continued to sit there and rest himself. Coyote again mocked Grandfather Turtle and became so involved with him that he was completely unaware when the Yellow Jackets returned. In a flash, they stripped the salmon bones of the delicious meat and flew away!
Coyote and the Shasta Indians were stunned for a moment. But in the next instant, they took off in hot pursuit of the Yellow Jackets. They ran and ran as fast as they could, soon exhausting themselves and dropping out of the race. Not Grandfather Turtle, who plodded steadily along, seeming to know exactly how and where to trail them.
Yellow Jackets, too, knew where they were going, as they flew in a straight line for the top of Mount Shasta. There they took the salmon into the center of the mountain through a hole in the top. Turtle saw where they went, and waited patiently for Coyote and the other stragglers to catch up to him. Finally, they all reached the top, where turtle showed them the hole through which the Yellow Jackets had disappeared.
Coyote directed all the good people to start a big fire on the top of Mount Shasta. They fanned the smoke into the top hole, thinking to smoke out the yellow jackets. But the culprits did not come out, because the smoke found other holes in the side of the mountain.
Frantically, Coyote and the Shasta Indians ran here, there, and everywhere, closing up the smaller smoke holes. They hoped to suffocate the Yellow Jackets within the mountain.
Furiously, they worked at their task while Grandfather Turtle crawled up to the very top of Mount Shasta. Gradually, he lifted himself onto the top hole and sat down, covering it completely with his massive shell, like a Mother Turtle sits on her nest. He succeeded in completely closing the top hole, so that no more smoke escaped.
Coyote and his friends closed all of the smaller holes.
"Surely the Yellow Jackets will soon be dead," said Coyote as he sat down to rest.
What is that rumbling noise, everyone questioned? Louder and louder the noise rumbled from deep within Mount Shasta. Closer and closer to the top came the rumble. Grandfather Turtle decided it was time for him to move from his hot seat.
Suddenly, a terrific explosion occurred within the mountain, spewing smoke, fire, and gravel everywhere!
Then to Coyote's delight, he saw his salmon miraculously pop out from the top hole of Mount Shasta--cooked and smoked, ready to eat!
Coyote, the Shasta Indians, and Grandfather Turtle sat down to a well- deserved meal of delicious salmon.
To this day, the Shasta Indian tribe likes to conclude this tale saying, "This is how volcanic eruptions began long, long ago on Mount Shasta."
Superman is a superhero that appears in comic books published by DC Comics, and is considered an American cultural icon.The Superman character was created by writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster in 1933, and the character was sold to Detective Comics, Inc. (later DC Comics) in 1938. Superman first appeared in Action Comics #1 (June 1938) and subsequently appeared in various radio serials, television programs, films, newspaper strips, and video games. With the success of his adventures, Superman helped to create the superhero genre and establish its primacy within the American comic book. Superman's appearance is distinctive and iconic. He usually wears a blue costume, red cape, and stylized red-and-yellow "S" shield on his chest. This shield is used in a myriad of media to symbolize the character.
The origin story of Superman relates that he was born Kal-El on the planet Krypton, before being rocketed to Earth as an infant by his scientist father Jor-El, moments before Krypton's destruction. Discovered and adopted by a Kansas farmer and his wife, the child is raised as Clark Kent and imbued with a strong moral compass. Very early on he started to display superhuman abilities, which, upon reaching maturity, he resolved to use for the benefit of humanity. Superman resides and operates in the fictional American city ofMetropolis. As Clark Kent, he is a journalist for the Daily Planet, a Metropolis newspaper. Superman's primary love interest is Lois Laneand his archenemy is supervillain Lex Luthor.
Superman has fascinated scholars, with cultural theorists, commentators, and critics alike exploring the character's impact and role in theUnited States and worldwide. The character's ownership has often been the subject of dispute, with Siegel and Shuster twice suing for the return of legal ownership. Superman has been labeled as the greatest comic book hero of all time by IGN, as the editors pointed out that Superman was the blueprint for superheroes as we know them today. Several alternative versions of Superman have also been produced.