Post by Vypernight on Oct 10, 2011 16:29:59 GMT -5
Getting into the holiday 'spirit,' I decided to try and write a horror story. After watching The Mummy remake, and being disgusted by their turning a classic horror movie into an action romance, I wanted to try a version of my own, with some inspiration from my old buddy Lovecraft. This is my first draft, as I'm looking for ways to make it scarier. I actually have a longer version that I'm working on as well, but I think this will be the version I enter into some Halloween writing contests once it's done and revised.
I'm open to any thoughts, suggestions, etc. to improve this. Thanks in advance.
The Mummy of Saad
To me, the Egyptian mummification process is but a horrid monstrosity. Now I harbor no resentment toward preserving the deceased, nor do I, even as skeptic of the spiritual, object to customs of preparing the bodies of those deceased for whatever they believe is the next life.
What disturbs me, however, are the Egyptian traditions of not only preserving the bodies of the dead, but using methods I cannot fathom (and must settle for viewing as magic) to aid the dead in their journeys. Please understand that I hold no superstitions myself, and I view horror stories in movies and books merely as journeys of the imagination for entertainment.
The nature of my abhorrence lies with the events of the past month, which have also begun to challenge my any doubts concerning spiritual matters. I was sitting in my office one October afternoon (fitting, is it not?) between classes at Howard Phillips University in Drearly Creek, Florida, sipping iced tea while reading student papers. I had just opened my window so I could feel the cool breeze (which is always welcomed after a seemingly endless Florida summer) when I noticed I had received several emails from my friend and fellow professor, Kim Stevens. Stevens and I had taught at HPU for five years now, and he was on his annual exhibition to various parts of the world, this time to Egypt.
Sadly, my schedule had doubled since I took over courses for an ailing professor, but I looked forward to reading about his latest adventures.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 1429
Greetings Logan,
We arrived Mersa this morning, and it's absolutely breathtaking! I'm sorry you couldn't join me this time, but I promise to bring back lots of pictures!
Joining me this year are some old friends. You remember Jane Laughton, right? She just got her doctorate this year, which I was sure they'd deny her after she rightly punched that 'gent' in Aruba last year for those unflattering remarks (Apparently he didn't know she speaks fluent Papiamentu). Also with us are Carl Barrows (who hopes his thesis on Gustave will help his tenure) and Brock Roberts (who's still plenty miffed after you beat him in both the occult poetry trivia marathon and five-mile race. He says you owe him a rematch).
On our way to Saad (which I was told is the Egyptian equivalent of St. Augustine), we got lost (For the record, we're blaming Robert), but in our wandering, we found a hill with no grass or trees growing nearby. We at first thought nothing of it, but when our camels got nervous, we thought that maybe we found a body of someone lost in the desert or something.
Exploring the hill, we found a large round door made of stone, with hieroglyphics etched into it. Jane took several pictures with her digital camera so we could decipher them later. All she could tell at the moment was that it belonged to some priest.
I'll keep you updated.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 1833
Hello again, Logan!
We finally found Saad and asked about the tomb that we found. Several locals admitted that a number of tombs were scattered in the area, but none of them were ever explored. In fact, after watching their animals nearly have heart attacks, they decided to stay as far from the places as possible, especially the one we found. They even claimed they heard screams from the hills that didn't sound at all human.
Jane had taken several pictures of the drawings on the door of the tomb and found some interesting information about it. Apparently, Rakinalem, a tall, intimidating priest who ruled over a village in the area thousands of years ago is buried there. He seemed nice enough though, as all the messages were praising him. His final wish was to be buried with one hundred cats (I know, you hate the guy already!) and a Jewish slave named Zia. Apparently, the priest thought highly of the boy and asked that the boy be buried with him to serve him in the afterlife as he had in this one. In one message on the door, one of Rakinalem's subjects promised that Zia would forever live so he could serve him. A little creepy in my mind, but that's just me. We're going back to explore it tonight.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 2328
Evening, Logan!
We returned to the tomb, wearing full-body suits to protect us from possible diseases (We learned much from the incident at Tut's tomb) and infrared goggles so we could see in the darkness without disturbing anything with torches or flashlights. After finally managing to unseal the door, we entered the tomb, traveling down a single flight of stone steps. I expected the ground to either feel like stone or the sand outside. Instead, I kept feeling something crunchy under my feet, like tree branches or glass. Once we got to the bottom of the steps and turned down a long low-ceiling hallway, I felt as if my boots crushed something soft and liquidy with each step. Brock also noticed that the walls and ceilings were designed with numerous alcoves, but most of them were empty, save for broken ceramics or rocks.
We emerged from the hallway into a large room covered with similar alcoves. We finally deduced that these alcoves were to hold vases with the bodies of the cats to watch over the priest, but now, they were missing. I thought this might've been the work of grave robbers, but as Jane pointed out, the door to the tomb was sealed. We then turned to the room itself.
In the room were two stone slabs, one large and one small, positioned like an upside down "T" at the foot of it. On the larger one lay a single short figure, garbed in cloth. As we looked closer, we noticed it was way too short to be the priest. It had to be Zia, the servant boy. But this was not like any mummified figure I've ever seen. I expected a figure wrapped tight in the cloth, head to toe, forever suspended in this state.
However, Zia lay on his back with his legs slightly apart, as if he had collapsed there. Strands of brown hair ran down his head from patches torn out of the cloth. His face was barely visible, but his mouth was, with sharp teeth sticking out from withered lips. His arms rested on his chest, and clutched in his fingers was a single, shattered skull that was much too small to be human. His nails were actually digging into the skull as if in the final throes of a dying grip.
Looking around the room, we found the priest's burial robe, torn to shreds and cast aside, and on the ground, we found pieces of bones and other bodies parts that I'd rather not know the details of.
Then Jane remembered the exact words on the door to the tomb; "The servant boy will live to forever serve his master," and realization struck us with a chill. They didn't just bury the boy's body with the priest; they buried the boy alive in this tomb! The boy must have snapped and eaten the priest and cats to survive until ultimately collapsing onto the slab.
I felt nervous enough walking through the tomb with night-vision goggles and the door wide open; I can't imagine what it was like for poor Zia! The idea that this child, probably in his mid-to-late teens, had been trapped here for who knows how long, with nothing but death and darkness around him, made me tremble, and I raced outside into the night air, falling to my knees in the sand, and losing my dinner from hours before. The others followed, and none looked any better.
I'll get back to you in a bit.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/11/2010 0051
Logan,
After we managed to regain our composure (more or less), Carl, ever the adventurer, wanted to explore the tomb more. Throwing common sense to the wind, we camped outside and awaited him. Jane set her digital camera so we could view the pictures of the tomb, the hallway, the room, and of young Zia. While viewing the pictures of the boy though, Brock noticed something pecular. Zia's hair and nails resembled the way hair and nails grew following Rigor mortis. He also wondered how long the boy could've survived to eat everything if there were no air vents of any kind in the tomb. The only conclusion, which we can't even find possible, is that Zia had snapped, torn apart, and eaten the priest and cats After he had already died!
"The servant boy will live to forever serve his master,"
Our thoughts were jolted by a scream heard from inside the tomb. We raced to the entrance and saw a lone figure appear at the bottom of the steps, holding what looked like a stick. Jane, who had remembered her goggles, suddenly backed away, falling back as she yelled, "Seal it! Seal it!"
"What about Carl," I asked.
"Do it now! Seal it!"
The figure paused and seemed to turn as if to regard us, emitting what sounded like a hiss. We frantically struggled with the stone door, when suddenly, the figure let out an inhuman shriek and lunged up the stairs, arms flailing, directly toward us. Throwing her goggles off, Jane slammed her shoulder into the side of the door, and we rolled it shut. We heard something slam against the other side of the door, followed by more of that high-pitched shrieking. I thought I heard something clawing the door, then more shrieks, and then nothing but silence. We grabbed what we could and, as we raced back to town, I asked Jane what had happened to Carl.
But she could only reply with, "He . . . it . . . was holding Carl's arm!"
We plan to return in the morning to search for Carl, but only if we can get members of their police force to join us.
I'm open to any thoughts, suggestions, etc. to improve this. Thanks in advance.
The Mummy of Saad
To me, the Egyptian mummification process is but a horrid monstrosity. Now I harbor no resentment toward preserving the deceased, nor do I, even as skeptic of the spiritual, object to customs of preparing the bodies of those deceased for whatever they believe is the next life.
What disturbs me, however, are the Egyptian traditions of not only preserving the bodies of the dead, but using methods I cannot fathom (and must settle for viewing as magic) to aid the dead in their journeys. Please understand that I hold no superstitions myself, and I view horror stories in movies and books merely as journeys of the imagination for entertainment.
The nature of my abhorrence lies with the events of the past month, which have also begun to challenge my any doubts concerning spiritual matters. I was sitting in my office one October afternoon (fitting, is it not?) between classes at Howard Phillips University in Drearly Creek, Florida, sipping iced tea while reading student papers. I had just opened my window so I could feel the cool breeze (which is always welcomed after a seemingly endless Florida summer) when I noticed I had received several emails from my friend and fellow professor, Kim Stevens. Stevens and I had taught at HPU for five years now, and he was on his annual exhibition to various parts of the world, this time to Egypt.
Sadly, my schedule had doubled since I took over courses for an ailing professor, but I looked forward to reading about his latest adventures.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 1429
Greetings Logan,
We arrived Mersa this morning, and it's absolutely breathtaking! I'm sorry you couldn't join me this time, but I promise to bring back lots of pictures!
Joining me this year are some old friends. You remember Jane Laughton, right? She just got her doctorate this year, which I was sure they'd deny her after she rightly punched that 'gent' in Aruba last year for those unflattering remarks (Apparently he didn't know she speaks fluent Papiamentu). Also with us are Carl Barrows (who hopes his thesis on Gustave will help his tenure) and Brock Roberts (who's still plenty miffed after you beat him in both the occult poetry trivia marathon and five-mile race. He says you owe him a rematch).
On our way to Saad (which I was told is the Egyptian equivalent of St. Augustine), we got lost (For the record, we're blaming Robert), but in our wandering, we found a hill with no grass or trees growing nearby. We at first thought nothing of it, but when our camels got nervous, we thought that maybe we found a body of someone lost in the desert or something.
Exploring the hill, we found a large round door made of stone, with hieroglyphics etched into it. Jane took several pictures with her digital camera so we could decipher them later. All she could tell at the moment was that it belonged to some priest.
I'll keep you updated.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 1833
Hello again, Logan!
We finally found Saad and asked about the tomb that we found. Several locals admitted that a number of tombs were scattered in the area, but none of them were ever explored. In fact, after watching their animals nearly have heart attacks, they decided to stay as far from the places as possible, especially the one we found. They even claimed they heard screams from the hills that didn't sound at all human.
Jane had taken several pictures of the drawings on the door of the tomb and found some interesting information about it. Apparently, Rakinalem, a tall, intimidating priest who ruled over a village in the area thousands of years ago is buried there. He seemed nice enough though, as all the messages were praising him. His final wish was to be buried with one hundred cats (I know, you hate the guy already!) and a Jewish slave named Zia. Apparently, the priest thought highly of the boy and asked that the boy be buried with him to serve him in the afterlife as he had in this one. In one message on the door, one of Rakinalem's subjects promised that Zia would forever live so he could serve him. A little creepy in my mind, but that's just me. We're going back to explore it tonight.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/10/2010 2328
Evening, Logan!
We returned to the tomb, wearing full-body suits to protect us from possible diseases (We learned much from the incident at Tut's tomb) and infrared goggles so we could see in the darkness without disturbing anything with torches or flashlights. After finally managing to unseal the door, we entered the tomb, traveling down a single flight of stone steps. I expected the ground to either feel like stone or the sand outside. Instead, I kept feeling something crunchy under my feet, like tree branches or glass. Once we got to the bottom of the steps and turned down a long low-ceiling hallway, I felt as if my boots crushed something soft and liquidy with each step. Brock also noticed that the walls and ceilings were designed with numerous alcoves, but most of them were empty, save for broken ceramics or rocks.
We emerged from the hallway into a large room covered with similar alcoves. We finally deduced that these alcoves were to hold vases with the bodies of the cats to watch over the priest, but now, they were missing. I thought this might've been the work of grave robbers, but as Jane pointed out, the door to the tomb was sealed. We then turned to the room itself.
In the room were two stone slabs, one large and one small, positioned like an upside down "T" at the foot of it. On the larger one lay a single short figure, garbed in cloth. As we looked closer, we noticed it was way too short to be the priest. It had to be Zia, the servant boy. But this was not like any mummified figure I've ever seen. I expected a figure wrapped tight in the cloth, head to toe, forever suspended in this state.
However, Zia lay on his back with his legs slightly apart, as if he had collapsed there. Strands of brown hair ran down his head from patches torn out of the cloth. His face was barely visible, but his mouth was, with sharp teeth sticking out from withered lips. His arms rested on his chest, and clutched in his fingers was a single, shattered skull that was much too small to be human. His nails were actually digging into the skull as if in the final throes of a dying grip.
Looking around the room, we found the priest's burial robe, torn to shreds and cast aside, and on the ground, we found pieces of bones and other bodies parts that I'd rather not know the details of.
Then Jane remembered the exact words on the door to the tomb; "The servant boy will live to forever serve his master," and realization struck us with a chill. They didn't just bury the boy's body with the priest; they buried the boy alive in this tomb! The boy must have snapped and eaten the priest and cats to survive until ultimately collapsing onto the slab.
I felt nervous enough walking through the tomb with night-vision goggles and the door wide open; I can't imagine what it was like for poor Zia! The idea that this child, probably in his mid-to-late teens, had been trapped here for who knows how long, with nothing but death and darkness around him, made me tremble, and I raced outside into the night air, falling to my knees in the sand, and losing my dinner from hours before. The others followed, and none looked any better.
I'll get back to you in a bit.
TO: lhbell@hpu.edu
FROM: kistevens@worldnet.com
DATE: 10/11/2010 0051
Logan,
After we managed to regain our composure (more or less), Carl, ever the adventurer, wanted to explore the tomb more. Throwing common sense to the wind, we camped outside and awaited him. Jane set her digital camera so we could view the pictures of the tomb, the hallway, the room, and of young Zia. While viewing the pictures of the boy though, Brock noticed something pecular. Zia's hair and nails resembled the way hair and nails grew following Rigor mortis. He also wondered how long the boy could've survived to eat everything if there were no air vents of any kind in the tomb. The only conclusion, which we can't even find possible, is that Zia had snapped, torn apart, and eaten the priest and cats After he had already died!
"The servant boy will live to forever serve his master,"
Our thoughts were jolted by a scream heard from inside the tomb. We raced to the entrance and saw a lone figure appear at the bottom of the steps, holding what looked like a stick. Jane, who had remembered her goggles, suddenly backed away, falling back as she yelled, "Seal it! Seal it!"
"What about Carl," I asked.
"Do it now! Seal it!"
The figure paused and seemed to turn as if to regard us, emitting what sounded like a hiss. We frantically struggled with the stone door, when suddenly, the figure let out an inhuman shriek and lunged up the stairs, arms flailing, directly toward us. Throwing her goggles off, Jane slammed her shoulder into the side of the door, and we rolled it shut. We heard something slam against the other side of the door, followed by more of that high-pitched shrieking. I thought I heard something clawing the door, then more shrieks, and then nothing but silence. We grabbed what we could and, as we raced back to town, I asked Jane what had happened to Carl.
But she could only reply with, "He . . . it . . . was holding Carl's arm!"
We plan to return in the morning to search for Carl, but only if we can get members of their police force to join us.