Cries from the Lost Island

wearing gas masks, and she'd barely escaped with her life.

 

Hypnotized by the idea that a demon might be standing there-a demon only Cleo could see-I stopped raking, and asked, "Which demon?"

 

I've won the Colorado Classics Award three times-which is the state record. It's an award for young ancient history scholars, so I take this stuff seriously.

 

Cleo turned toward the maple. "A huge one with the head of a crocodile, the front legs of a lion and the hindquarters of a hippopotamus. She is known as Ammut, the Devourer of the Damned. Today she has turquoise skin. She and her earthly priests have kept me from reaching the Island of the Two Flames for over two thousand years."

 

The Island of the Two Flames was one version of the ancient Egyptian land of the dead. There were several versions. After all, Ptolemaic Egyptians were way more creative than modern people.

 

"Where do you see her exactly? Where's she standing?"

 

As though the famed demon from the Egyptian Book of the Dead was right there, only a few feet away, dread filled Cleo's eyes. "She's leaning against the maple with her arms crossed. Don't you see her at all, Halloran? Not even her shadow?"

 

I looked. "No."

 

"Well, she sees you. She's watching you."

 

Naturally, my blood had turned to ice.

 

You have to understand, I'm a true fear fanatic. I'm the happiest when I'm scared to the point of filling my Levis, which was one of the reasons I found Cleo so fascinating. Every time she talked about the demons that chased her, I had spectacular nightmares where I found myself running headlong down the streets of ancient Alexandria with giant lion-headed beasts bounding after me. The honking of horns on the Colorado street outside would metamorphose into court trumpets, the traffic on the Interstate became the roar of cheering crowds, and the shadows of tree branches cast upon my bedroom wall by