the Word
Amanda
1.
Last night's storm had been a killer, fortunately not literally. Not so long ago, it would have sent Carolyn Muir to the storm cellar in fear, but with Daniel Gregg's enthusiastic commentary on the wildness of nature, it was more like watching a movie. And the power outage had kept Jonathan from watching that grim horror flick on late night television. A bonus.
Now the sea was calm, the power on, and the beach, littered with debris. Carefully picking her way among the rubble, Carolyn wandered in the fresh ionized air.
Captain Gregg materialized suddenly, but by now it was a common thing, so she did not lose footing. "Madam, what is that?" he asked, pointing to a large pile of rubble down the beach.
She looked up, brushing a stray hair from her face, not realizing how the gesture beguiled her spectral companion. "Let's go see. I don't suppose you have your telescope?"
"It's fixed in place, Madam. But it would be handy," he had to admit, pulling one ear.
Though he could have been there far quicker than Mrs. Muir, Daniel stayed beside her, warding her steps so that no stray flotsam could turn her pretty ankle. He had a suspicion she'd be a terrible patient.
As they reached the hulk, Carolyn realized what it looked like, paling almost more than the captain. "A . . . coffin . . ."
Instinct made the captain want to cover her eyes, but in frustration, admitted he could not. But he did say, "Carolyn," forgetting to be formal, for once. "Call that barnacle infested scull monger, and have him do something useful, for once."
With a nod, she turned, hurrying as much as she was able.
Several hours later, Claymore was prissing around the coffin. He would have hightailed it out of there, but his uncle's glare held him to the job at hand. Trapped between two dead spooks, he silently mourned. He hoped this one was quieter. "There's writing on it. Pictures . . . it looks like the stuff written on King Tut's place on Batman."
Daniel rolled his eyes. Batman? "You mean, Hieroglyphics?"
"Yes! You don't suppose it's a mummy?" Dollar signs started dancing in his head. "How would it get here?"
The captain frowned. "Perhaps . . . I seem to recall there was a ship downed a few years back, twenties or so. It was bearing a load of Egyptian treasures. Nothing was ever found."
"So there might be a reward?"
"Yes, there could be. Wouldn't that help Mrs. Muir out nicely?" The ghost commented.
"It's my beach," Claymore protested.
"And she and I found it," the ghost reminded him mildly. "Now, let's see about moving it somewhere safe."
"Do you think any other treasure washed ashore? Something I could find?" the wretch whined.
The ghost faded out in disgust.
Much to Martha's dismay, the sarcophagus had to be stored in Gull Cottage until museum officials could investigate it. "What if it . . . comes out?" she asked nervously.
"It's dead," Mrs. Muir consoled.
"So is he!" She pointed at the portrait. "And he's not quiet."
"And have I ever caused trouble?" the ghost in question asked, with a warning rumble of thunder.
She chose, wisely, to continue dusting, with no answer. After a moment, she added, "Well, if the mummy does rise, he won't be getting any of my blueberry waffle."
"I should hope not," Daniel noted as he faded.
Carolyn thought the talk about Mummies and waffles was silly, but had to admit, as the sun set, that she was glad the children were away for a visit with their cousins. Emphasis on SIN. She had never thought she would be glad that they were with their father's family for any reason. Shows what superstitious nonsense can do to a mind, she thought.
Long after moon-rise, Carolyn awoke, finding herself inexplicably walking down a hall. Confused, nothing seeming familiar . . . Was Daniel giving her another dream . . . ?
2.
There should be a storm, a high wind, a raging gale . . . Something to justify the feeling of angst that gripped Captain Gregg. Something was amiss, belying the shining moon amidst a sea of stars. He refused to believe that he was giving in to Martha's superstitious drivel. Nonetheless, he found himself wandering from the widow's-walk to the utility room where the ancient box was stored. Claymore had insisted on draping the windows so no sunlight could expose it to harmful rays. Fortunately, he had not needed any sort of light to see perfectly well in decades. What he saw would have stopped his heart, if it had not stopped of its own accord long ago.
Mrs. Muir . . . Carolyn, stood transfixed before the mummy's resting place, one hand reaching out, effortlessly opening the lid, though that should be impossible.
Daniel cried out sharply, in a voice that in one lifetime had commanded instant obedience, but now either was unheard, or not as powerful as the silent one that Carolyn obeyed. As the lid fully opened, a fine mist rose from the darkness inside. Ectoplasm, Daniel thought distantly.
A second ghost stood a hand's breadth from Carolyn. It blinked, seeming vaguely discombobulated by its new existence. The man, a rather handsome one in a prissy, pretty-boy sort of way, spoke in a language that sounded too old. When Carolyn looked confused, he frowned, seemed to listen to something, and tried again.
"You heard my call. You freed me. Are you blessed Isis?"
Carolyn shook her head. She seemed lost, and too far away.
"No matter. You were sent to me by the gods to bring me life. You are my queen!" the jackal-faced ghost declared.
Daniel did not know what the bloody-blazes that might imply, nor did he care. If Mrs. Muir was any ghost's queen, it wasn't that prissy mongrel's! Anger brought a saber to his hand. He stepped from the shadows just as the Egyptian began to reach out to Carolyn. "Unhand the woman, you sea scum!"
The other ghost looked up, bemusement melting into royal indignity. "I am Pharaoh Rahtep III, son of Osiris, my will is law."
"Someone needs to re-kill you, just to shut you up," Gregg muttered. He did not know if he could, but it seemed like a good plan, so with no further words, he ran the mummy's ghost through, pushing the newly released ectoplasm back into its own moldering corpse.
Shock gave the captain an edge, allowing him the seconds needed to push the sarcophagus shut with a thought. Old ropes flew to snake around the ancient coffin, forming intricate knots.
A heartbeat passed; when Daniel was sure the ghost was locked in, he turned to the stunned Mrs. Muir. "Madam, are you . . . unhurt?"
She blinked, looked down at herself, then around. "Where am I? What happened?" Then, looking up at the Captain. "You sent me another dream . . . I was some kind of princess . . . you told me to open the door . . . why was there so much sand?" She looked again. "And why the sword?"
"Madam, you are still dreaming. Come, let me put you back to bed," Captain Gregg commanded sternly, taking her hand, lest she trip over Jonathan's skateboard or some other modern menace. He resolved to send her a real dream, one to blot out all of this nonsense. Something with no sand.
3.
With Carolyn safely tucked in and dreaming about a cotillion, Daniel Gregg mulled over his course of action. He was not copasetic with leaving that creature downstairs. Once it got over the shock of being stuffed back inside, it'd probably figured out that it could just dematerialize itself out of the sarcophagus, and be on the loose again. Perhaps he could move it, let Claymore baby-sit the blasted thing.
No . . . Nothing could guarantee that the mummy would rest, now that it had been awokened, except exorcism. But that was damned risky. Perhaps he should have another look at the box. Whistling, he called Scruffy to Carolyn's room.
"Watch her, lad. If she tries to get up, don't let her."
The little terrier seemed to get it, and Daniel knew that he was hard headed as a bull dog. So the sleeping beauty should be safe.
He materialized beside the pharaoh's coffin. None of the pictures made a bit of sense. Looked like something a three-year-old might draw . . . stick figures, somewhere between human and animal. Blast it, couldn't they have used English?!
An idea struck him, and he shifted upstairs to Jonathon's set of encyclopedias and history books. One flew to his hand. Yes, there was that moldy manatee's name.
He read rapidly. The pharaoh had been murdered by his son or nephew and placed in a tomb under a curse. Unfortunately, the law of curses was that there had to be a way to break them. If his spirit could convince a woman to love him, he'd be free to wreak vengeance.
Not helpful.
He rubbed his eyes, a reflex left over from another time. Blast. Perhaps he did not need an answer. It would be morning soon, Claymore and the museum people would be there, and it would be over and done. Daniel glanced at one of the clocks. Odd. It was the same time as it had been when he found Carolyn and the mummy. Daniel listened, it was ticking, but not moving. He popped from clock to clock. All were the same, none of them were moving forward.
The mummy had stopped time.
Damn and blast. No stowaway, bandage head was going to mutiny on his ship.
Before anger could cloud his mind, he remembered Carolyn. His mind shifted to look into her dreams. Instead of a Victorian ballroom, he saw pyramids, sand.
This was not going to happen . . . Not on his watch.
In a blink of an eye, Daniel Gregg was in Egypt, hundreds of years before Christ. He'd forgotten how hot it was in the Middle East. He'd forgotten what hot felt like. No help for it, but to find Carolyn quickly and get out of there, back to rainy, cool New England. Of course, he wouldn't feel the cool, but at least he wouldn't be hot either.
He looked around the dusty streets of Alexandria. No sign of his quarry. Pursing his lips, he considered what to do, and the answer was simple.
Carolyn's thoughts were a clear beacon. When he focused on them, the ghost was drawn to her in a second.
Now he stood upon a Nile barge. Carolyn and the mummy were there also, both decked out in Egyptian robes like the ones Yul Brynner had worn in the Ten Commandments. But what really shocked Daniel was seeing his own face on the Egyptian monarch. Carolyn had not seen him yet, but he could see that she looked truly confused.
"I thought we were going to a cotillion?" she sipped something in a stone chalice. "And the Madeira tastes like bilge water."
"Just a detour, dear lady," the imposter assured her. "I just want you to see the world as it will be if you will open the sarcophagus, the world we can share."
Daniel heard enough. Time to throw someone to the alligators or crocodiles, whatever it was that patrolled the Nile. Cobras. Sharks . . . anything handy would do.
Another thought took him to Carolyn's side. She looked up, and caught between two 'captains,' and she was really puzzled. "Daniel? But —"She looked at the prince. "Who? Which is which?"
The real captain looked at her, "Madam, do you really need to ask?"
She looked again, and shook her head. "No. No I don't. You are you and he's — "
"A beknighted bottom feeder," the captain growled. "And a dead one."
Daniel started to move to pitch the imposter off the barge, but Carolyn interjected: "Wait."
"Madam!"
"No, I'm the one who let him out. I have to do this."
She closed her eyes, and a necklace appeared on her neck, a familiar one. Her grandmother's cross. Daniel wanted to ask if it wasn't vampires that feared a cross, but decided that it might be a matter of faith. He'd argue if it didn't work.
"Return to the ether and the land of the dead, Pharaoh. You don't belong in this world anymore. Go, and let us free. I don't love you, no matter what face you wear."
The words were mild, weak even. But enough. The pharaoh morphed into his true face, then into dust. As the dream collapsed around them, the captain took its shreds and formed a new one, whisking them to a safer place, a dream shared often before.
Carolyn smiled at him. "Do you think I could just rest without dreams? I'm kind of tired. It ought to be dawn soon, you know."
Daniel didn't tell her time had been monkeyed with. Perhaps it had corrected itself.
"Very well, Madam. Do you want to remember any of this?"
"Just the rescue part, maybe."
With a smile, he kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, dear lady."
The End
I GUESS I OWN THE MUMMY USED HERE, BUT THAT'S ALL