In the Nile's Emerald Depths 8
For the rest of the evening, Leora mused over the mummy. For whatever reason, the distorted face could not leave her mind's eye. Even when she and Madam retired to their tent, Madam reading from some Dickens, the young woman was preoccupied. Even when their lamps were turned down and darkness consumed their canvas room, she couldn't draw it from her mind. On her cot, Leora stared straight ahead. What about that corpse was so enchanting? The mummy was horrifying. So, why was it stuck in her head?
After over an hour, Leora sat up. She massaged her temples, then crossed to the water carafe to pour herself a small glass. When this did not clear her mind, she paced. But the face remained. Solid, rippled as though under water. The grimace.
"Some fresh night air," she told herself. "See the stars."
One thing Leora could appreciate about the desert was its distance from the city-and therefore, the stars were more visible. The last time she had seen a night sky so bright she had been sailing to Alexandria with her mother. Stepping outside of her tent, Leora was greeted with a vision of stars. A half moon lighted the campsite. It was quite bright, making the shadows of the ruins appear deeper and darker.
No other life appeared in the campsite. All tents were dark, even Horace's (he was known for being something of a night owl). She was alone.
"Well, that's grand," she thought.
A notion had reached her mind, a whispered suggestion. Leora looked to that ruins, clustered some seventy meters away. They were imposing structures. Sleeping dragons, ancient and powerful.
She went back for a dressing gown (the brocade, a deep burgundy that nicely set off her liquid-black hair), as it was nippy, and her oxfords. Before leaving the ten, she pocketed their electric lamp. With that, she set out to visit her uncle's mummy.
Sand soon filled her shoes, but Leora trudged on. Whatever drew her to the temple ran strong. When she stumbled, when stand scratched her feet, she couldn't seem to convince herself from continuing on.
After topping the stairs, Leora crept into the hall. Inside, she turned on the electric lamp. It flickered once, twice, illuminating the wall carvings. The light swung round on a few reliefs. Words popped out at her. The usual small, baby words. But one echoed through her head- - - "Mouse."
Curious
For a few minutes, she examined the pictures, until a sound caught her attention. Almost a murmur, not quite a hush. Leora looked up, startled. She had assumed she was alone. Drifting toward the temple house, she heard nothing more. However, a faint flicker alerted her to the presence of light. Through the doorway, she looked past the alter in the center of the room. Light seeped in from the vestibule. The mummy's room.
What had Horace called him?
For the life of her, she couldn't remember.
On light feet Leora approached the vestibule. She did not enter, but hung around the threshold, peering in with caution.
There was no one- - - just a small oil lamp resting on the top of the glass. It cast a yellow light about the small room. By no means bright, it was enough to reveal the corners. The clay jar with the lotus was exactly where she'd previously seen it. Though closed, she could see the blooms were still reasonably fresh.
She entered, and the hush fell upon her once more. Leora crept forward, shivering lightly. The scene frightened her yes, but she couldn't bring herself to draw back. For whatever reason, she was compelled to surge on. This undeniable draw perhaps scared her more than the noise or the light.
Who had been here? Had Horace come earlier in the night to visit his specimen, leaving his lamp behind as he stumbled back to bed? Or was it someone else? Horace had never mentioned rivals, but Leora knew that the world of Egyptology was extremely competitive. Might someone have come to damage her uncle's pride and joy? It seemed silly. Her heart sunk with the very idea. "Poor Horace."
Upon entering, she noticed something curious in one of the corners of the room, previously hidden from view by the sarcophagus. A few scrolls. She crossed by the coffin, ignoring it for now, and bent to scoop the papers up. Papyrus. Old. And, she found, unrolling them, they were torn around the edges. As if taken from a book. Pages, she realized. Probably torn out. But for what cause?
Skimming the text, she could pick out a word or two- - -as usual when it came to the ancient Egyptian language. It frustrated her that she couldn't read anything here fully.
Moving toward the light, she held the papyrus up. Were the papers in here this morning? Had they group entirely missed them? Uncle Horace could be a little obtuse sometimes, but this was small. Not something he'd be likely to miss. Had they been placed there?
Once in the light the text seemed to jump off the page. Enchanted, Leora scanned the worn papyrus. Then, the black lines seemed to…to move. Alter, slightly, melting and twisting. Leora made to gasp, but what fell from her lips wasn't anything like a gasp. Words, unfamiliar and loosely flowing fell from her lips. The foreign speech felt heavy. She tried to stop, tried to quit looking at the ancient paper, but her eyes would not move, arms locking, tongue working against her. Internally she panicked. Never before had she experienced such a force against her.
Leora was a mild person, meek. She wasn't the sort to believe in magics, nor would she fiddle with them if she had believed. Tampering with ancient supernatural forces were not her forte. She fought internally, but nothing could release her from reading. She was trapped.
The oil's flame flickered. A wind picked up, first a small breeze, then a rolling flow. The hushing noises filled her ears. And then, finally, finally, she stopped, falling away from the sarcophagus and sinking to her knees. Her dressing gown pooled around her.
Silence claimed the temple.
Leora quaked on the ground, grasping her forearms, struggling for breath. "Oh…oh…my…." Shock overtook her.
But the night's tricks were not yet over. A small "thump" sounded, echoing through the vestibule. Leora froze. Another "thump," and she realized it was close. The third one was harder, more forceful. It was muffled. Slightly hallow. As though against glass-
She gasped this time, and it really did come out. A fourth noise came, and it was followed by a faint tinkle. Like breaking glass.
The young woman scrambled to her feet. A fifth and final hit, and all of the glass fell away with a loud chink. A thousand sparkling pieces fell into the sarcophagus, along with the lamp. The container broke, causing the light to fail. Darkness consumed the room. She fumbled for the electric light in her dressing gown pocket. Fingers shaking, somehow she found the slide and it flickered to life.
Swinging the beam around for the door, she was stopped by a noise. The light aimed for the center of the vestibule.
A shape shifted, dark and solid. It struggled from the coffin, pieces of glass falling to the stone with slight jingles. Several seconds later, it stood, full and tall.
Leora gaped. The mummy. The mummy was standing. The mummy was moving. Climbing from its sarcophagus. And moving toward her at a surprising speed.
She did not have time to shriek (though she dearly wished to do so). Scrambling to her feet, the young woman fled the room. She rushed into the temple house. Judging from the noise behind her, the creature was not far behind.
"A dream, a horrid dream," she begged herself.
Running was difficult in oxfords. She nearly tripped while dashing up the dais, but managed to keep on her feet, until-
She met the table. Centered, it blocked her way and slowed her down, forcing Leora to halt and turn.
The mummy loomed over her. Leora tried to keep the light off of him; she did not want her last living sight to be of such a terrible visage. A hand, leathery, found her wrist, wrapping around the limb. She released a muffled squeak. "Oh, if it is now, let it be fast. Please," Leora pleaded. "Oh, please. Let it be quick…."
No bones were broken. No blood shed. Instead, the electric lamp was plucked from her hand and held aloft. She closed her eyes, shielding herself from the light. But the hand on her wrist moved to her chin, shifting her head, compelling her to look forward. Blinking, Leora peeked.
The sight was horrifying. With the light directed on her she could just make out the bare and brown skull of the mummy. A pair of bright eyes focused on her, startlingly human. The hand on her chin, its texture shudder-worthy, drifted upward to skim her right cheek. Leora whimpered, wanting dearly to draw back. But she was trapped between the mummy and the table. He moved closer, sensing her discomfort.
"Masika."
Leora blinked. He'd spoken. A single word. He had vocal chords?
Again- - -"Masika."
She didn't know what this mean and had an even fainter idea of how she was expected to respond. After all, she could scarcely read ancient Egyptian, let alone speak it. At a loss, she tried the only response she could think of, the first word that came to mind.
"Panya."
A look crossed over the mummy's distorted features, something soft. He touched her cheek again, repeating the word. Leora nodded eagerly, saying it too. The word didn't seem to incite any murderous feels. It couldn't hurt to agree. Curious, that "mouse" would be so exciting to him, but she didn't question, merely agreed.
However, he began to say more. Full, complex sentences that left her blinking. When she did not answer, he tried again and then again. Even with a face bare of flesh, frustration managed to show itself clearly on his decayed features. Meekly, Leora shook her head. "I don't know." Considering, drawing away slightly, the mummy spoke again in a different kind of language, one that was vaguely familiar to her. She'd heard several of her uncle's workers speaking in the nasally tones. The Jewish ones. "Hebrew?"
She also didn't know this language. Biting her lip, Leora gave English a shot.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
For what felt like years, her words echoed around the temple house. Her voice made her cringe. High-pitched, whiney. Not attractive in the least. Madam would've scold her. "Young Ladies of Quality do not whine."
"You speak," he whispered. "Masika…."
Leora coward away, blood draining from her face. He responded. In English. She wasn't the fainting type by any means, but this might break her otherwise solid resolve.
"This must be a terrible dream…just a dream…a nightmare, to be sure…." But even as she assured herself of this, the young woman felt herself shaking. Somehow, she slid around the table. Backing away, one hand extended behind, the other between herself and the supernatural corpse. The mummy, naturally followed, trying again to communicate in clearly enunciated words. Funny, that in the shock of the moment, she was picking out odd details- - -such as his diction. She was so caught up, she barely knew what it was he was saying. She caught the tail end of a sentence, latching on desperately.
"-fearing me? Three thousand years or more, and you're still a mouse. Some things shall never alter, shall they? But you must not fear me, Masika…."
While his tone was rough, sandpaper on a chalkboard, his words were surprisingly gentle. This did little to slow her, however. Leora uttered a low cry when her back hit a wall. Somehow she'd walked straight into a corner, exactly diagonal from the alter, miles from the nearest doorway. Pressing herself together as best she could, the young woman sunk against the stone, resigned to her fate.
He'd stopped talking, simply stood before her. She dare not look up.
"I disgust you." It was not a question. "Perhaps, then you do not see that it is me? It's hard to look past this, sometimes." A pregnant pause. "I can change. Shall I? Would you…I know I would much rather have my own skin. Well-" There is a coarse laugh. "I suppose this is mine, in a sense. Does it not feel revolting? I hate to mar your perfection with such hideous limbs…and yet…."
She heard a faint rustle, and realized he'd bent to level with her. The rotting hand graced her arms. Leora shuddered away.
"Your beauty might be enough for both of us," the mummy said in a low voice. "It was before. I was never the handsome one."
Oh, she couldn't look! He was pressing upon her, gaze burning, attempting to draw her to him.
He was stopped, however, with one loud whistle. It came from a distance. A short tune. But a familiar one to Leora. "Horace." Madam must have woken to find her charge absent from her bed. Horace would've come to search for her, of course.
It was how they communicated around the house. He would come home, and rather than search every room (he had a rather large house), her uncle would whistle. Leora would return with another line of music, and based on the approximate volume in relation to distance, he would use the noise to determine where in the house she was. Just another quirky feature that came from living with her uncle.
One she was extremely grateful for tonight.
-XXX-
I'm very much ignore the "coming-back-to-life-w/o-eyes" bit, and several other things. But we'll just assume since he got 'em once, they're keepers? Eh?