We abandon our battered camels outside the lower entrance to Khafre’s Pyramid after midnight, Landon still bitching about the price he managed to haggle. Inside the pyramid, the narrow stone corridors are freezing – even colder than the desert air. An eerie quiet envelops us. My body shivers out of coldness, claustrophobia, superstition, and the prospect of photographing Landon’s asshole in the near future. My Maglight’s beam shakes in my hand causing shadows to dance as if by firelight. Ahead of me, Landon leads while nonchalantly humming a nondescript tune.
To my surprise, the vertically cracked wall behind the subsidiary chamber circled on the crude map is a real landmark. We push hard against the rightmost cracked slab and a portion of the rock slides backwards before toppling over, revealing a narrow portal to the hidden labyrinth. Landon’s laughter and celebratory yelling echoes through the tunnels. His high-five almost shatters my wrist.
Minutes later we’re deep in a narrow maze of winding corridors, walking in circles. The handler’s map, which depicts an arrow from the secret portal to the hidden burial chamber, is useless at this point. Landon studies the arrow before ripping up the map in a cursing fit, and then takes a swig from his flask. I dig through my pack for navigational items – a spool of thread, a bag of corn nuts, anything – but only find photography equipment and batteries.
Dumb luck eventually leads us to a small burial chamber. A stone sarcophagus rests in the center of the chamber and we approach it slowly, speechless. I drop the pack and retrieve the camera, confirm film is loaded, and affix the flash. Landon circles the sarcophagus, running his fingers along the lid’s edge. I imagine this to be his proudest moment. Hell, it may be mine as well. I take a photograph of the sarcophagus and then of Landon sitting on top of it, giving a two thumbs up review.
At the count of three we heave the massive lid – sliding almost too easily – off the stone box and it crashes to the dusty ground. I begin gagging, the smell of death wafting from the revealed wrapped corpse. Landon seems to savor the aroma, bending over to examine the corpse more carefully. The mummy looks abused. Some of the linen wrappings have eroded, exposing decayed limbs and a damaged face with disintegrated eye sockets and gaping maw. I creep backwards, gripped by fear.
“BRAAAH!” Landon roars, lurching his head up quickly. I scream and fumble with the camera while he laughs. “It’s fucking dead,” he says. “And now I’m going to shit on it.” He unbuckles his belt and drops his pants. Summoning my final wits, I mechanically approach the sarcophagus and lean in with the camera raised, Maglight tucked under my arm. His ass and the corpse’s chest are both clearly visible in the viewfinder. With a grunt, Landon pushed out a long wet turd and I successfully capture the action before turning to vomit on my shoes.
“We’re done,” Landon says, pulling up his pants. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and turn to face him from across the stone box. We sigh over the mess.
Then we hear a muffled groan.
Landon cocks his head to one side and stares at me. I’m still as stone, wide-eyed and listening. Another groan, louder and longer. Peering down into the sarcophagus I witness a wrapped hand slowly reaching upwards. I gasp and do the first thing that comes to mind: run the fuck away from the horrible thing we’ve awakened.
Landon screams, racing after me into the labyrinth. “What the fuck? What the fuck?” he barks. My Maglite’s potent beam darts between the narrow corridor walls, sometimes disappearing down dark stretches of hallway. I’m drenched in sweat, terrified, and completely lost in the winding passageways, frantically turning corners like a Cairoian motorist. The moaning echoes throughout the labyrinth around us. All Landon can do is curse repeatedly.
My heart beating out of my chest, I stop at a fork to catch my breath and assess the situation. There’s a chance I might die very soon. There’s also a chance I’m hallucinating. We’re both hallucinating. Together. The moaning echoes louder. I laugh deliriously.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Landon screams, his eyes darting from each corridor, to me, then back again. “What the fuck is wrong with us? This isn’t real. This is bullshit. This is—“
Suddenly, Landon begins to vomit uncontrollably. Beginning as dry heaves, it quickly escalates to steady streams of puke, splattering against the wall he’s propped against. I step back and watch my partner collapse to all fours, retching and spitting blood. Then a long, horrible cry echoes through the hall in front of us. I shine my light down the corridor and step back against the wall, locking into paralysis. The awakened corpse – our mummy pursuer – floats steadily towards us, its curled toes dragging along the dusty floor, thin arms reaching forward with wrappings dangling. I sink to the ground and glance at Landon, still retching his insides out.
The mummy halts a few paces away from Landon and floats in place, six inches from the ground. I stare, sitting as still as death, holding my breath and fighting tears. The only sound is raspy choking; Landon is curled up in a pool of blood and fluids, barely conscience. A faint glow begins to emit from the wrapped terror. It’s head rolls backwards, faint beams of light shooting from the neck and face holes. A howl, building deep within its maggot-ridden belly, begins low and grows louder. And louder. I cover my ears and scream with the mummy as Landon’s head explodes like a squished grape.
I’m still screaming as the mummy turns to me, the glow dissipated. It stares at me for the longest minute of my life. My screaming ceases but my ears are still squeezed closed by my palms, hoping perhaps my arm strength will keep my head whole. The mummy motions to me slowly. It reaches out with one shattered hand and raises the other to its face, arching its intact fingers like it’s pretending to hold something. I’m still frozen in disbelief until it groans, motioning towards me again. It points to its chest.
I look down at the camera still around my neck. I look up at the mummy and rest my hand on the lens barrel. It nods slowly and turns its back to Landon’s stained body. Mechanically, I lift the camera and position the mummy’s ass and Landon’s chest in the viewfinder, Maglight tucked under my arm. The floating corpse squats over Landon in midair. With a horrible moan, a volcanic blast of black shit and maggots erupts from the mummy’s ass, covering Landon with the most epic of dumps. I capture every moment of the action.
When the shitting is complete, the mummy turns to me, stares for a second, and then floats peacefully down the hallway it came from. I’m still paralyzed, unable to comprehend my trip to Cairo. All I know is that Stanley Seymour is getting much more than he bargained for and that I’m asking for double.
