Not the Beatles: The F.A.B. (For All Britain) Four is a parody spy series that imagines a fab foursome consisting of John Lemmon, Paul McCartwheel George Harristone and Ringo Scarr were spies at the height of Fabmania in the 1960s. Your Mummy Should Know is an ebook tale that pits the Four From F.A.B. against the likes of Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, a Werewolf and a Mummy. Eric Hermanson wrote the tale which is illustrated by Pat Carbajal. F.A.B. Four was created by Yakman Press’ Edward Gross. An excerpt from Your Mummy Should Know is below, as well as a link to order the whole tale.
Written by Eric Hermanson. Illustrations by Pat Carbajal
The headquarters for F.A.B. (which everyone knew was the top secret acronym of “For All Britain”) buzzed with activity. All of the workers milling about over various tasks and consoles wore lab coats or business suits. Dr. Robert was busy working on a new serum he had been testing when the main elevator door opened and the Four from F.A.B. stepped out.
“Good morning boys,” Dr. Robert welcomed, “how are you?”
“Depends,” John Lemmon yawned.
“On what?” Dr. Robert demanded.
“On whatever new mission’s so important it pulls me outta bed. I was only sleeping.
Dr. Robert checked his watch, then looked at the giant digital timepiece above the main computer console and responded in a slightly condescending voice, “But John, it’s almost noon!”
“We did play a gig last night, y’know,” Paul McCartwheel chimed in.
“And met some birds afterwards,” added George Harristone with a wink. Dr. Robert shook his head, then looked around for Ringo Scarr, who had headed straight for the lab materials on the Doctor’s table cluttered with electronic gadgetry.
“Look here, dear boy, don’t touch that syringe! It’s extremely dangerous!”
Ringo turned around as if caught stealing, holding the syringe containing the fluorescent blue liquid in his hand. “You don’t have to get all hoofy; I’m just lookin’, is all,” he said. “Wot is it then?
Dr. Robert sighed, walked up and snatched the syringe away from Ringo, who looked to his mates sheepishly.
Paul shrugged. George combed his hair in a large vial’s reflection. John rubbed his eyes and finished yawning.
“It’s my latest invention,” the doctor explained. “I’ve been trying to develop a neural immobilizer to counteract bio-electric engineered reanimation.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Yes, well that explains it then. And this bloke thought it was a new energy drink.”
“No I didn’t!” Ringo snapped. “I knew it was a neural immob… immob…what did you say it was?”
“It seems to be on the level,” the doctor continued, examining a printed chart, “however, you boys might have to test it on the fly.”
“Test it?” George asked. “You want us to inject someone with that guff?”
“Not someone, George, something.” Seeing now that he finally had their undivided attention, Dr. Robert informed them of their latest assignment.
He told them of the two missing agents in Transylvania, how headquarters received the distress beacon from the British agent’s discarded communicator and confirmed its location outside of Castle Dracula. All four leaned in like campfire children as Dr. Robert briefed them on the top secret news that, yes, Dracula was indeed real.
“So who’s he look like?” asked Paul.
Dr. Robert didn’t really understand. “Who?”
“Why Dracula, of course,” Paul responded matter of factly.
“Who’s he look like?” the doctor was perplexed.
“He asked you first,” John chimed in.
Paul let out an exasperated sigh. “Does he look like Christopher Lee or Bela Lugosi?”
George smiled. “Christopher Lee’s gear. He’s got those red eyes. Doesn’t say much, of course, but he’s got real presence.”
Ringo shook his head. “I’m a bit partial to Bela,” he offered. “He’s in black and white, like our first film.”
“He’s got a speech impediment,” said John, “substituting his w’s with v’s. What kind of role model is that for kids?”
Dr. Robert put up his hands to stop the group before they could launch into one of their usual exercises in nonsequitors. He quickly added that in addition to Dracula, they had discovered that the Mummy, the Wolfman and Frankenstein’s monster were real as well. The Four from F.A.B. looked at each other and then back to Dr. Robert, who lowered his head in defeat. “I don’t know whether Frankenstein’s monster looks like Christopher Lee or Boris Karloff.”
John patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, Doc,” he said, “but next time you should be more prepared for the briefing.”
Doctor Robert raised his head, glaring at John. In response, John removed his hand from his shoulder and took a step back. “As you were saying…”
“Where’s Abbott and Costello when you need them?” asked Ringo
“This all sounds a bit cheeky, Doc,” George said.
“You won’t think so when you come face to face with one of them, eh? Unfortunately, they captured two of our international agents out scouting the area. Those boys are presumed dead.”
“Which one’s runnin’ the bloody show?” John asked.
“Sources have confirmed that the great-great grandson of Dr. Frankenstein is the mortal behind it,” Dr. Robert detailed. “He had been following in his famous ancestor’s footsteps, perfecting his reanimation techniques. A rather large Rugby player died on the field in Wales last month and was taken to the morgue where this young Frankenstein worked. We believe he stole the body and moved his lab to Dracula’s castle where the Count enlisted him to help bring the creature to life. There was also a two-thousand year old mummy stolen from a Romanian museum, on tour from Egypt around the same time. We think Dr. Frankenstein also has the ability to bring this creature back to life, if he hasn’t already.”]
“Alright, so where does this Wolfman chap fit in?” Paul asked.
“That remains a mystery, but the town locals have been reporting seeing and hearing him around those hills for the better part of the last two months. We suspect the Count has some sort of power over him to do his bidding.”
“Well,” said John, “let’s have done with it then. When do we leave, Doc?”
“Right away. The agency helicopter is waiting for you on the roof. One more thing, Agent Sadie will rendezvous with you in Transylvania with an American agent as back up, since they also lost one of their top spies.”
“Another Yank, eh?” John said, “It’s not our buddy Elvis is it?”
“No. He’s a champion heavyweight fighter who has some spare time on his hands since they banned him from boxing for refusing his induction into the U.S. Army. Little did the Army know, his services to his country were already being used in secret. Changed his name a few years back to Muhammad Alley.”
“I’ve seen him fight. He’s quite good,” Ringo said.
“I’m sure he would relish the compliment,” Dr. Robert replied with no small amount of sarcasm. “Believe it or not, he’s even a better secret agent than he is a boxer. Now get going, and leave no weapons behind!”
Dr. Robert put three syringes loaded with the strange fluid in a folding pocket case and started to hand it to Ringo, reconsidered, then handed it to George. Ringo pouted as he loaded extra pairs of his special drumsticks on his belt.
The weather in Transylvania was cold and grey when they arrived after sunset. Thick, billowing clouds were moving in from the north and south, as if in a hurry to meet each other directly over the location of the Castle. After being dropped off, the Four From F.A.B. walked up a steep embankment until they noticed the Jeep parked near the woods that surrounded the sinister residence. The Jeep’s doors opened and Sexy Sadie and Muhammad Alley stepped out. Sadie was dressed in a skin-tight black leather body suit zipped down low enough to show off ample, albeit gratuitous, cleavage.
Normally, they would not have been able to look away from Sadie so quickly, but agent Alley’s intimidating frame drew their eyes away. He wore a white boxer’s long robe, despite the cold, and his red boxing gloves hung at his side from the robe’s belt. Just as the Four from F.A.B.’s trademark collarless suits were specially designed and enhanced, the foursome assumed the same for Alley. The big man greeted them with a half scowl, half smile.
“I was gettin’ ready to storm the castle myself if you bugs took any longer,” he said.
“Bugs?” Ringo asked.
“Yeah, bugs! That’s what you’re named after, ain’t it?”
“Not in this copyright wary world we live in,” John responded.
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