The Trouble with Mummies

"Probably the first really noticeable thing was Mum coming back from the hairdresser's on Friday afternoon, wearing a small black beard."
The Trouble with Mummies by Fleur Hitchcock

Probably the first really noticeable thing was Mum coming back from the hairdresser’s on Friday afternoon, wearing a small black beard.

Sam comes home one day to find his family turning strange – his mum is redecorating using hieroglyphics and his dad is building a pyramid in the back garden. He hopes it’s just a weird new fashion… but then the strangeness starts to spread. With the help of his friends Ursula, Henry and Lucy the Goat, Sam must save his town from rampaging Roman rugby players, hairdressers turned cavewomen, and a teacher who used to be a ‘basket of kittens’ but now wants to sacrifice the Year Ones to the Aztec sun god. As history invades Sam’s world, will he be able to keep the Greeks away from the Egyptians and discover the cause of the Mummy madness?

WARNING: contains dangerous dressing-up, mild historical violence and prolonged scary humour.

Publication Date:
ISBN Paperback: 9781471400469
ISBN Ebook: 9781471400476



Fleur Hitchcock

Born in Chobham, by an airfield, and raised in Winchester on the banks of the river Itchen, Fleur Hitchcock grew up as the youngest child of three. When she was eight, she wrote a story about an alien and a jelly. It was called THE ALIEN AND THE JELLY and filled four exercise books. She grew up a little, went away to school near Farnham, studied English in Wales, and, for the next twenty years, sold Applied Art in the city of Bath. When her younger child was seven, she embarked on the Writing for Young People MA at Bath Spa and graduated with a distinction. Now living outside Bath, between parenting and writing, Fleur Hitchcock works with her husband, a toy-maker, looks after other people's gardens and grows vegetables.

Fleur's debut novel SHRUNK! was THE SUNDAY TIMES 'Book of the Week', and you can follow her at: or on Twitter: @fleurhitchcock


In the sitting room, Marcus is shooting things on the TV. But nothing else looks at all like it did last week. The sofa's gone; so have all the lights. Loose cables hang from the walls, torches burn on the mantelpiece, Finn appears dressed in a towel and socks, eating more chocolate. Dad's sitting in the chair he took from the museum, holding a pair of walking sticks across his chest. 'Hi Sam,' he says. 'Shoes off in my presence.' Marcus rolls his eyes at me and points at his bare feet, so I take off my shoes and socks. 'Hi Dad,' I say, going upstairs to my bedroom. I close the door and lean against the inside, trying not to panic, but even my room's changed. Where my pillow and my rocket ship duvet should be, is half a wooden salad bowl, and nothing else. The sheet and the mattress have gone too. 'Sam, my revered second son,' says Mum, stepping into the bedroom, clutching a large mug and a carrier bag. 'Mum, where's everything gone? Where's my pillow?' 'Pillow?' She looks at me oddly. 'You mean the filthy bag of feathers?' She pulls a sheet of blue sacking from the carrier bag and lays it on the bed. I wouldn't have called my pillow filthy, but she's probably right. If you looked under a microscope, there's probably a universe of bugs living in there. Nothing compared to Marcus's though. 'Yes?' She points at the wooden bowl. 'This, oh my revered son, is a head rest. Much cleaner. And more in keeping.' 'In keeping with what?' I say. But Mum's already heading out of the room, leaving a burning oil lamp on the floor as she goes.