Difference between revisions of "The Curse of Sajhelkunem's Tomb"

Revision as of 16:55, 27 October 2011

Samuel Ingram surveyed the sand dunes with his binoculars, knowing the sandy wilderness could contain more than his research team. He knew there were surely bandits camping out here, even under the blazing hot sun, ready to assault an Egyptologist team traveling to an excavation site. The year was 1924, only a few years after the Great War, and Ingram left his position as a flyboy for the Royal Air Corps and found a career in archeology, a career he had only a couple of years dreamt about.

It was midday by the time Samuel’s team made it to the excavation site. It was there he met a familiar face. “Smith? Jacob Smith from London?” Samuel questioned in surprise, “I thought you were going to settle in America!” “I did, for a while,” replied Jacob, who then took a swig from his water canteen, “It’s a great country,” he continued, “plenty of opportunity. But, it is here where my true talent is. Why, I found the location of this tomb all by myself without the aid of the famed Howard Carter, who, if you’ve been living under a rock, discovered the tomb of King Tut!” Jacob brought a handkerchief to his forehead, wiping the sweat off his brow and went on, “I could unearth this tomb without a licensed Egyptologist team, but, it’s only proper procedure. . .” Jacob had changed a lot since Samuel last saw him college back in England. And at his colleague’s last remarks, he felt like a great trouble to him.

Since Jacob didn’t appear that he would stop rambling on his own, Samuel was forced to interrupt, “Excuse me, I would love to sit and chat about this over tea and crumpets, but I don’t happen to have either on me. But, I do have the excavation tools you requested.” “Right then,” Jacob responded in a rather unfazed voice, “start unpacking your gear I the supplies tent. Hold on,” he said, curiously, “that’s an odd looking container for storing excavation equipment.” “It’s nothing,” Samuel vainly attempted to cease his partner’s suspicion.

Kicking up sand as he strode, Samuel approached his colleague who was digging into the huge storage container in awe. “Samuel, my friend, I called for digging tools only, not the Ingram arsenal!” “One has to come prepared to face potential bandits in a foreign country!” Samuel interjected. “Prepared? You are militarized! What have we here? I count at least 20 Le Enfield bolt action rifles, over a dozen M1921 Thompson sub-machine guns, several Browning lever action shot guns, and . . .is that a Lewis gun?” “You know your firearms,” Samuel said jokingly. “Samuel, lad! The war has done strange things to your mind! An archeologist only needs a handgun, contrary to all your—toys! How the blue blazes did you get your hands on these anyway? I mean, legally!?” Their heated conversation in an already heated climate continued to go on while Samuel’s men unloaded the rest of the gear. Only when the Egyptian desert began to cool did the two men cease to argue. The night was a cloudless night; a windy one as well. The breeze carried sand over the excavation team’s tents, while the moon and stars shone brilliantly in the heavens above, casting their glow onto the Sahara sand.

The entire next morning was filled the voices of workers as the tirelessly dug in the spot Jacob marked as this tomb’s location. Most of the workers were native to the country, and wore simple clothing, consisting mainly of a white garment and a white turban or veil, quite appropriate for such a sunlit environment. Samuel wore a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled up, and khaki pants along with knee high working boots, very effective against the desert sand. He carried a Colt .45 semi-automatic in his holster along with an Enfield rifle slung to his back. Jacob wore a similar fashion, but wore a blue shirt instead. He also had a fedora instead of a sun helmet his counterpart wore. He had no rifle, but kept a Mauser “broom handle” automatic in his belt holster.

The digging process took longer than expected; even Jacob was worried his calculations were off, but as the midday sun hung over the eager man, the diggers revealed the entrance of the tomb. It was a stone slab with the markings of Anubis accompanied by two eagles and dozens of other bizarre hieroglyphic shapes. It was midafternoon when the team finally lifted the stone door, revealing what Jacob had hoped to discover, the dark tunnel that was undoubtedly the passage to the prized tomb of Sajhelkunem, a well decorated veteran of one of Egypt’s greatest campaigns. Jacob knew nothing more about this tomb. He did not know about the enchantments and curses set by the priests whose bones now littered the sacred ground of this catacomb.

Down, the stairs took them through the surprisingly wide tunnel with walls adjourned with hieroglyphics. To Samuel and Jacob, these pictures were mere decorations; to Isaac Powell, their highest ranking Egyptologist scholar, these “pictures” served as a clear warning that the whole team should acknowledge. “Gents! If I may?” The two archeologist leaders turned his way. “What is it, Isaac?” Samuel’s voice echoed through the tunnel. The team huddled around his lantern, but it was the hieroglyphics that grew their attention.

“First of all,” Isaac said, pointing towards the blackness of the tunnel ahead, “that tunnel will lead to a dead end. But first a trap, most likely a pit. I’ve been through so many tombs in which the first path is a fake one.” “So we’ll just proceed with caution and watch for another path,” Jacob concluded. Isaac knocked his fist against the stone wall and marveled at the sound. “This wall is hollow; it needs to come down.” At this news Jacob looked at Samuel and said, “Ingram, get your men and have them bring their equipment.” “Will do!” Before he could go, Jacob added, “And bring the right tools; we need to bust this tomb fast. It’s already getting close to dinner.” Right, I have just the hardware you need.” And with that, Samuel hurried to the camp.

During Sam’s absence, Isaac had time to inspect the hieroglyphics more closely, knowing the wall would most likely be completely demolished. “Mr. Smith?” Isaac called, with a touch of fear in his voice. “What is it?” “I expected to find this—a curse.” “I don’t care about any curses!” Jacob scolded, clearly upset to find out his interpreter was affected by such fantasies. “Tell that to Mr. Carnarvon, sir!” “He is dead,” Jacob said, feeling some remorse for an old competitor. “He died last year.” “I know very well about his death, Mr. Smith. A ‘mosquito bite’, I read it in the newspapers. But what I meant was that he was part of Howard Carter’s team when they pillaged the tomb of King Tut. His death was a result of the curse. And don’t get me started on George Jay Gould! Now this curse here is not necessarily a death curse. It—” “Stand clear of the wall—everyone!” a voiced echoed through the tunnel; It was Samuel’s. The tunnel was dark, but Jacob could see this colleague’s workers were holding their excavation tools—or so he thought.

When it all came together, each worker on the far side from the hieroglyphic wall pointing their “tools” at it, he could not object. “Fire!” With that, the tunnel was filled with the deafening staccato report of the worker’s Thompson sub-machine guns. After each worker had unloaded each of their 50-round drum magazines, the wall was but a memory.

“Mr. Ingram!” Jacob bellowed, hardly hearing his own voice, “You may have just kissed your career goodbye. “You are entirely unprofessional—even for a trigger happy military man! Why couldn’t have you just brought the tools?!” “Sir,” one Samuel’s workers answered, “the equipment tent was gone, along with all the tools! It was pitched in quicksand.” “If you don’t believe us,” Samuel continued, “ask your team who lazily watched it all sink. Jacob accepted this, knowing this was his own mistake. “Alright, Sam, no harm done. But you could’ve told us to cover our ears,” he eyed the ear protection Samuel’s team wore. “Let’s get into this tomb.”

“The air was very muggy and thin, like breathing into a box of dust. The team thought it best to let the room air out a bit, but Jacob pressed them on, always reminding them of no dinner until they at least find Sajhelkunem’s sarcophagus. Since the lanterns Jacob’s group initially brought did little to illuminate the tomb, he was forced to bring the electric lamps used for the camp. It seemed a bit of an overhaul, but it was worth it. The room they were in, and the objects it housed were clearly revealed. It was a square room, with no other passageways. In this tomb was the dead Egyptian’s coffin, death mask; countless clay jars, golden treasure, bones—no one paid much attention to those, and alters. But, the object that drew the most attention was a chariot made of the purest gold.

“Unbelievable,” Jacob muttered, removing his hat. Samuel was quite fond of the chariot himself; he even climbed right into the ancient vehicle. Just then, the silence was broken by the earsplitting crackle of one of the worker’s guns. Everyone was startled out of their euphoria. “Who the Tut did that?!” roared Jacob, in a serious but yet humorous tone. “It was from my gun, sir,” a worker confessed, placing his weapon on the floor. “I did not pull the trigger, sir, it was slung to my back—with the safety on!” he started to stammer now, with a look of terror on his face. He felt something, some strange force in the room. To the rest of the team he looked as if he was losing his mind. Then, he really did snap. Out the door he sped, bolting towards the exit of the tunnel with an inhuman shriek that gave everyone the chills. The electric lamp began to flicker, which added to the tomb’s new eeriness. Just then, Samuel was pushed over the front of the chariot and into a pile of dusty old bones. He quickly recovered and noticed he was standing in a horse’s crumpled skeleton. But what left poor Sam wide eyed was that his assailant was nowhere to be seen.

A great wind enveloped the room, forming a vortex in its center. “Let’s get out of here!” Isaac hollered, bolting for his life. The rest of the team, including Jacob, followed his example, kicking up sand as they sprinted. Samuel, however, was the last to leave. He tripped over one of his men’s Thompsons leaving his biting the dust, literally. He gathered himself in a hurry and picked up the discarded weapon. He spun around and saw what appeared to be a ghostly image of a man hovering inside the dust devil. In a panic, Samuel sprayed the phantom with his Tommy gun, and ran out the tunnel faster than he had ever run before.

“One! Two! Three! Heave!” Jacob commanded. Every man close by helped slide the stone slab entrance in place in a speed that revealed the desperation to forget this horrendous moment. After the tomb door was sealed, they went as far as trying to bury it. When the work was finished, Jacob announced dinner and said they would leave at first light tomorrow morning. No one in the camp argued against his word, for they all knew what had transpired that day; some even pleaded to leave tonight. With all being settled, the team sat down to dine. All except Samuel, who felt the most troubled now. He could not forget what he saw and heard. The ghost said things, things in a language Samuel never heard before, but somehow he knew what it meant. “A curse is upon us,” he muttered to himself.

That night, while the men were still dining, Samuel could keep to himself no more. “Doc!” he gasped as he stumbled into the medical tent, “something wrong with me!” “I can see that,” acknowledged Isaac—not only a professional Egyptologist but a doctor as well, “however, be more specific than a ‘something’s wrong,’ please.” “I have no way of explaining, I feel like—,” he was forced to clutch his stomach as he grimaced. It wasn’t a painful sensation in the abdominal area, but in all senses the only word Samuel could use to describe it was, “odd.”

“Well, have a seat now, Mr. Ingram, and I will see what’s going o here. You didn’t try any of the steak did you? Jacob is not a very good chief from personal experience.” “No,” Sam panted, unbuttoning his shirt, “This is not a stomach ache or pain it’s more like—“ While Samuel searched for a word to describe his condition, Isaac’s eyes were drawn to his patient’s torso, now covered with fine white hair; also quite deformed. “I think I see your problem,” Isaac said, shocked at the site. Samuel looked down at himself with a sudden dread, seeing the cause of his discomfort. “Whoa!” he hollered, “What is this?! Is this common in the desert?!” “No—I don’t think so. . .” Isaac was lost in thought of Sam’s appearance. Never before in his medical experience had he seen or even heard of this ailment. He was just about to give an educated guess on his patient’s condition when troubled shouts and groans emitted from the rest of the camp. One man hollered, “Jack! You are a terrible cook!” followed by a few chuckles which soon quickly changed into moans. “Stay right here,” Isaac instructed, “take a few sips of this water. I’ll be right back!” That being said, Isaac grabbed his oil lantern and strode from the tent, glancing back at Samuel as he left.

By now, Samuel had absolutely no doubt that this was a c curse he and the rest of the team had triggered from the tomb. He began thinking about that golden chariot; the horse’s bones that lay in front of it. He was pulled from his thoughts by a new odd feeling, this one from his head. It began as a common headache, but it stretched from his forehead to his ears, from his ears to his nose. Next thing he knew, he was yanking his boots off, for his feet started a unique sensation as well. They seemed to tingle, then go numb. However, once he pulled off the boots, he no longer had feet, but hooves. Samuel was no longer confused; he fully realized this curse was transforming his body. Into what, though? A bull had hooves, but so did a goat. Feeling his face shift, he desperately felt he needed to have a look. He stood up to walk, but fell to his knees, which had just lost all qualities human knees would have. The pants had to go otherwise they would rip. It wasn’t the loss of modesty that had him worried, for what kind of an animal wore pants? What had him worried was the pain it made on his rapidly growing body. It was good he had removed his pants, especially his belt, because after doing so his hands almost instantly began deforming into hooves. His shoulders shifted to a new position; his neck grew thick and long. It was no question to him what he had become, and was yet becoming. Judging by the formation of flanks from where his knees used to connect to his waist, the shape of all four legs and hooves, his equine tail, and his underside, Samuel was now a stallion.

At this moment, Samuel did not know what to think. At the beginning of his transformation, he was filled with horror, but now, he actually felt quite comfortable, as a matter of fact he felt relaxed. Is this really a curse? He asked himself, almost rhetorically. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of half screams and whinnies echoing through the night. It must be for some, he thought to himself with a soft nicker. Walking with equine legs felt like a simple task as he strode out of the tent; as if walking on four legs instead of two was the proper way to travel. Of course, he rationalized to himself, with his new form came new instincts; a new way of thinking.

“My hands!” cried one man in terror. “Dr. Powell! What is happening to us?!” “It’s the curse,” replied a very horse-like Isaac, now falling to his newly formed hooves. “Is there anything you can do to stop it?” asked another worker, almost completely transformed. “I’m a doctor! Not a sorcerer,” Isaac answered back through his fully formed muzzle. “Isaac!” Jacob’s voice emerged from behind. “Where is Samuel?” he asked, his transformation finished. “Mr. Ingram? Oh, it’s you!” “Yes… and?” “Uh, I left him in the medical tent. He was the first to show symptoms of this mutation.” “Well, go find him and bring him over here. Meanwhile I’ll try to deal with this chaos.”

It wasn’t long before Isaac found Samuel, who was quite close to the excitement. “Mr. Ingram! Is that you?” “Powell, it’s good to see you. Somehow, although we’ve changed, I can recognize most of my workers.” He looked around at the camp, seeing horses everywhere he turned. “It’s over,” Samuel muttered, “I can’t see a single human form” “Yes, I know. Now, come quick. Mr. Smith had sent me for you.” “Alright then,” Sam snorted. “Say, any idea how we can still communicate? Isaac took a moment, his ears pricked forward, and then concluded, “We may still be talking, but not in a way a human could understand. Actually, I don’t hear or understand a difference. Come on, he is waiting,” he said impatiently, stamping the sandy ground with his right fore-leg. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Wait, I couldn’t help but wonder,” Samuel asked, curiously, “what breed am I?” “You are an Arabian horse, quite an excellent build I’d say. If we get caught, you’d surely sell for a high price.” Samuel did not find this as amusing as Isaac did. “I certainly hope we don’t get caught.” “I think that’s partially why Mr. Smith wants you, to figure out a plan for what’s next.”

By the time Samuel approached Jacob, all of the newly formed horses were silent. Most were still wide eyed and trembling on their thin legs, but they seemed to be adapting well nevertheless. “How did you do it, sir?” asked Isaac, “I thought it would take an hour to stop the chaotic mess.” “it was quite easy actually,” he answered, “I just stood in place, calm as I could, and somehow just waiting peacefully got their attention. Now, Samuel, my friend,” he paused, eyeing the stallion who stood next to Isaac,” that’s you, right?” Both Isaac and Samuel gave a low chuckle, as if this was inside joke. “Right you are. I can’t blame you for asking as well.” “I won’t be the last, I’m sure. Anyways, I’m thinking that we sleep here tonight, because we’re all obviously a exhausted from what happened here tonight. At first light, we’ll head East towards the Nile, and if we follow it just a few miles south of Cairo, there is rumored to be a place Isaac Powell here says lies a cure to these enchantments. Anything you have in mind, Sam?” “Yes, how do you know these directions?” he asked, quizzically. “Well, surprisingly we can still read the map,” Jacob replied. “Not even Isaac is sure what we have or haven’t lost along with our human forms.” “Okay,” Samuel continued, “also, what if we come across horse merchants willing to catch us?” “I think the answer is quite obvious, Sam. We outrun ‘em! Anything else?” Jacob asked, this time his voice sounding tired and irritated. Pressured by his colleague, Samuel shook his massive head. “All right!” Jacob announced in front of the entire herd, “it is settled. Tonight, we’ll rest. At dawn, we will head to the Nile River on my lead. Anybody still have a watch? Shuteye is still at 10:00.

The night was as silent as the last, however, the stars and the moon were blotted out by the clouds. Samuel had a dream; a nightmare. It was about the day he was shot down by the infamous Red Baron. However, this time it was different. This time he crash landed in a lush green pasture, unlike the forest behind German lines. He tumbled out of the wrecked biplane and took cover behind a haystack, for he heard someone or something come his direction. He drew his Colt .45 automatic and took a pack from his cover and saw a majestic white Arabian mare. This is odd, Samuel thought, Arabian horses aren’t common in France, they are from— at that moment, he remembered what had happened, he knew he was dreaming. He looked down at himself and he was instantly transformed into a horse again. “Come here,” the mare told him, rather affectionately. Samuel was captivated by her beauty and involuntarily galloped towards her. Before he could get any closer, though, this setting faded way and he stood alone in the middle of the Egyptian desert. But where the mare stood hovered the freakish appearance of the phantom he saw in the tomb. The ghost pointed at Samuel, speaking to him in an ancient language Sam did not know. However, the language shifted to commands in a language he did know, as this scene melted away the same way the previous one did. “Get up! We’re leaving!” Jacob shouted. Samuel was wide awake now. The sound of horses whinnying filled his ears; he felt them twitch at every sound that was emitted. “Hurry!” Jacob yelled, “Another excavation team has arrived, and they’re after us!” “Mr. Smith!” Isaac neighed, “I need help!” Jacob turned to face the Egyptologist, now with a lassoed rope around his neck. At the sight of poor Isaac being captured in such a fashion, both Samuel and Jacob made a break for it, kicking up plume of sand as they galloped.

It was mid-afternoon, and the sun blazed over the “abandoned campsite” presumed by the newcomers. Things had turned out very fortunate for them, not the fact that they managed to catch nearly half of the 30 Arabian stallions nearby, but mainly because their work here was half done. The tomb of Sajhelkunem was left mostly exposed by the previous campers, and the term “finders’ keepers” was upheld by the new team.

While Carl Evans, the leader of these newcomers, led his crew down into the tomb, Samuel and Isaac spoke amongst themselves, already having the fate of the new excavation team predicted. “I got to say,” Isaac muttered, “it’s not even fair. The warning was on the wall we destroyed. Now these poor buggers are blindly walking into a trap.” He snorted and gave a strong tug on the rope that tied him to an iron stake. “Even if we weren’t tied to his pole,” Samuel pointed out as he reared and hammered the stake with his hooves, “they still would have no way of understanding our words. Pretty strange, we can understand both human and horse talk.” “I’m pretty sure a normal horse does not understand human language just as they don’t understand horses.” “Aye, but they will very soon… I wonder were Jacob has gone to” Samuel said, changing the subject.” “He abandoned us,” Isaac replied,” he even left you after your fall. Speaking of which, how’s your arm—I mean—leg? Sam lifted his hoof and stomped into the sand, testing the movement of his scraped leg. “It’s fine, the bleeding’s stopped—not too painful now. Despite your firm, not much has changed, you’re still a doctor.” “Yeah, though there is one change I am grateful for. My vision has improved, no need for those glasses, where ever they are.” “Really? Mine isn’t as…” he stopped as he saw the angelic appearance of a white Arabian mare. “Mr. Ingram? Are you alright?” For a moment Samuel just stared at the mare as she strode down the sand dune overlooking the camp. “Isaac, I have a better idea. Do you know how to undo knots?” “I do, sir, I—” he looked down at the knot in the rope around Samuel’s neck. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Isaac whinnied, amused at Sam’s simple but clever solution. “I should be able to get your lasso off in no time, and then you can do the same for me.”

Isaac tugged at the knot with his teeth and eventually Samuel was freed from the rope. Sam did likewise to his companion, and after doing so, he looked back towards the mare. She was closer now, and her beauty increased with their closeness; Isaac saw her as well. “You are new here,” the mare spoke in her soft and friendly voice. “I saw what happened to you all last night. This is a very strange place.” Her ears pricked upward as she looked towards the tomb entrance. “We must leave before the ruckus starts again,” she continued, “I know an oasis not far from here. That is where we took many of your friends. We should be safe there…”

The oasis was a fair sight to see. The vegetation was plentiful; the water reflected the starry clear sky in a quality no mirror Samuel knew could. The mare was right; several of the stallions here were some of his workers. They seemed to be getting along very well with the other residing horses; however, Jacob was nowhere to be seen. His selfish partner went off to end his curse alone. But now, it really didn’t matter. Samuel had grown quite comfortable with his new shape; he didn’t want to change back. Besides, he was in love with the mare of his dreams. Although there would be no wedding, it’s safe to say they were married ‘til death sets them apart. “Isaac, we really don’t need you here; give us some privacy will you?” Sam said impatiently. “I don’t mind him, dear,” his new “wife” replied. Samuel nickered as if he were chuckling, then added, “No, you don’t understand, you see—” silence fell on them both as their eyes met. She was absolutely beautiful tonight. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ingram. I’ll be on my way now.” “Wait,” Samuel replied, “there’s something I keep wondering about this ‘curse.’ What was it exactly?” he questioned, his eyes never leaving the mare. Isaac answered him in a voice that almost resembled his lecturer, “Here is the curse as follows. ‘To those who disturb this sacred ground, to whosoever intends to loot this holy tomb, they shall be stripped of their humanity and take the form of my chariot bearers.’ And, although others may take it differently,” Isaac turned his face away from the lovers, for “privacy” reasons, “this is the Curse of Sajhelkunem’s Tomb.”

--ClydesdaleTF 20:12, 27 October 2011 (UTC)