The Curse of the Mummy

Ebon skinned slave girls knelt at the foot of the black stone dais upon which his throne was set. Twenty-seven steps led from the foot of the dais to its head, and along those steps snaked a vein of red and white in the shape of a scaly serpent, its unnatural form a very part of the stone cut stairs. Thick, dark incense floated up from golden braziers. Two stood on either side of the black dais, while the hot coals of another set glowed next to a dark and cruel altar. The altar jutted from the floor like a sawed and broken tooth. Imhotep glanced down at it from atop his throne with fondness. The top of the altar was overlaid with a smooth slab of scarlet tourmaline, but the dark blood of countless human sacrifices was still clear for all to see, and for the evil immortal thing called Imhotep to enjoy.

A gong sounded from without the chamber and a procession of priests and slaves filed in. Shechem was at its head, his ceremonial robes flowing, his golden vestments worn proud. Twelve altar maidens danced behind him, their movements stiff and unnatural. Two acolytes followed, their faces hidden behind black masks filigreed with red. And at the rear was a group of slaves, upon their shoulders mahogany poles that held aloft a stone sarcophagus. Their backs strained under the weight, their muscles knotted. But they said no word or uttered a sound.

Shechem reached the foot of the dais, his eyes traveling up the stairs to gaze in worshipful awe at his master. Turning round, he motioned the slaves forward with their burden. They stood the sarcophagus upright, the sculpted effigy that was its lid set to face toward Shechem. The acolytes stood behind it, their backs to the altar. Black hands began to beat upon round drums stretched tight with the skin of newborn infants. The maidens now moved forward and danced in a slow circle around the dais. Shechem clapped his hands and the sarcophagus opened.

Inside rested a linen wrapped figure. Only the face remained uncovered. Its features however were anything but fair. The skin was stretched, as if it had been soaked in some noxious fluid and then dried beneath the heat of a desert sun. Not a hair remained; not on lip, or cheek, or brow. Two sets of bone white teeth set in black gums grinned hideously from between its pale, colorless lips which were pulled back in a frozen rictus of pain. The overall effect of the death's head, framed as it was in a mummy's bandages, was not of a face peering from within a linen shroud but rather of a mask, skinned from some unfortunate soul and transplanted onto the mummy's head. Profane and sickening though it was, the face was still quite recognizable. It was the face of Paulito, Knight of the Great Kingdom.

Shechem began to anoint the lifeless mummy with black oils and foul smelling incense as the two acolytes chanted out a dirge-like litany. The altar maidens continued to dance round the dais, their lithe bodies stretching and bending in arcane designs. When Shechem had completed the preparation of the body, he turned once again to face his master. Imhotep stood. In his hands was a single scroll, what he had kept hidden in the alabaster box. The Scroll of Thoth. The Scroll of Life!

He read aloud from the scroll, his voice filling the chamber with the eerie incantation in a tongue unspoken by living men. And the air itself seemed to shudder and back away, for not a single echo was heard in that hollow pyramid. The hanging oil lamps swayed above their heads and the fire of the sconces danced about and burned low. The room, so brightly lit, found itself darker, as if a shadow had been cast upon it, the shadow of some giant, nameless titan. And with a hush, Imhotep spoke the final word. And the mummy's eyes flickered open.

The gaunt, age-old sorcerer descended the dais. When he reached the last step, Shechem held out to him a bronze bowl filled with a greenish liquid, still steaming. Three smooth edged leaves floated upon the hot broth. Tana leaves. Imhotep took the bowl and Shechem moved away. "Come to me," the ancient evil spoke. And Paulito jerked forward and stepped out of his cold, stone tomb. With uncertain steps, his limbs trembling and spastic, the living mummy obeyed his master. He could do nothing less. And when he reached Imhotep, the bronze bowl was raised to his wrinkled lips and Paulito drank. Leaves and all. And then Paulito's body was suddenly filled with a strength and power he had never known in life.

The curse was now complete. Paulito, body and mind if not soul, was now recast in the form and visage of one of the most dangerous of necromantic servants. Paulito had become a Living Mummy. And Imhotep's obedient slave.

1. Sometime Later...

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