Year 1927. Dark clouds had been hovering over New York for seven days, and the rain had not stopped. The train from Chicago had arrived, and Francis Halloway, a traveling salesman, got off on the platform.
Francis was an aging man who, in the next two years, will celebrate his fiftieth birthday. He had short, graying hair and blue eyes. He was wearing his loyal, long brown coat, which he had bought here in New York twelve years ago to celebrate the biggest deal of his career. Since then, the coat had become sort of a talisman for good luck that he took anywhere he could. Francis also had his favorite black hat, which his wife gave him a few years ago and which now would come in very handy in this terrible weather that surrounded New York. Even though Francis loved his job, which allowed him to travel across the states and which he was good at, he had to admit that time and health were not on his side in recent years.
This was supported by the fact that after a few steps across the platform, he had to quickly put down his big, heavy brown briefcase, which he was carrying, to take a small break. He then quickly looked around and could see that the platform was nearly empty and that the people that were already standing there were too busy to look at him. So, he decided to pull out of his breast pocket a small flask with alcohol and take a sip of it.
After he swallowed the bitter liquid, he quickly hid the flask back in his breast pocket. But before that, he managed to spot the initials R. W. written on the flask. It was the name of Robert Windmill, father of his wife Agnes.
Agnes and Francis married in their early twenties, and it was a marriage of convenience. Agnes's father, Robert, was also a traveling salesman like Francis, but he became ill. Luckily, he found in his younger colleague a suitable husband who could take care of his only daughter. The briefcase and flask were part of the wedding gifts, along with a hundred dollars and a few acres of land near Chicago. Robert Windmill died three years after their wedding, and Francis ensured a proper funeral for his father-in-law and dear colleague.
Even though the marriage between Agnes and Francis was arranged, they liked each other and were supportive of each other. But it was not true love. Perhaps it was the reason they did not have any children. Luckily for Agnes, the local children from the street where they lived compensated for the void of her desire to be a mother. All of them came into their house for her delicious pies. And when Agnes became older and gained gray hair, she was nicknamed by them "Grandma Agnes". Francis, on the other hand, had devoted himself to his job and quickly built a decent reputation in his line of work, but he could not keep up with his younger colleagues.
Francis pulled out his journal to check the list of addresses given to him by his superior, Nathan Woodland, regarding the potential customers he was going to visit in New York. It was over a hundred.
He sighed deeply with frustration, and then again when he looked through the windows and could see that it was still going to rain.
He picked up the briefcase and headed out.
Outside it was lively despite the horrible weather; everywhere that Francis looked, there were people walking to somewhere or waiting for someone. Some would remark that the whole city was here, but Francis knew that this was only a fraction of the population of New York. His walk through the crowds was not easy due to his heavy briefcase.
Francis was looking out for the taxi that could take him to the first address on his list, which was in Hell's Kitchen. He was also thinking about what he would do next after he was done with the first address. He will definitely visit five or six more addresses and then visit his favorite Italian restaurant for a small reward. Then he will try to visit as many addresses as possible until the evening, and then he will find nice hotel and continue tomorrow. Same as usual. Luckily, he had two weeks, so it will be possible to visit all the addresses and fulfill the minimum quota.
His attention was then drawn to a small boy who was at the crossing selling newspapers because he mentioned the neighborhood he was heading to.
"The strange disappearances continue! The police are helpless!" the boy exclaimed.
Francis approached the boy and bought the newspaper.
Over the past five years, the number of disappearances in Hell's Kitchen has increased. The official number is around thirty, but unofficial sources claim nearly a hundred. All men and women in their twenties, but among them are several much older citizens. But the other neighborhoods report strange disappearances too, but Hell's Kitchen seems to be the epicenter. The Police Chief has commented that the police and the city are fully focused on the investigation but the same unofficial sources are saying that the police have no leads, Francis read in spirit and then shook his head. "What is this world coming to?" Francis did not like to read the newspapers. They always seemed to him to bring grim news, especially now, given what was happening across the sea. He folded the bought newspaper and started looking for the taxi again.
After ten minutes, he finally found a free taxi. It was driven by some Italian who spoke poor English, or Francis thought he pretend to. He told him the address, and while the taxi was taking him to his destination, he was thinking about what strategy he would use with a future client or clientess.
When the taxi driver announced their arrival, Francis immediately realized, after he paid and got out of the vehicle, that he was on the right street, but he could not find the house with the right number.
He turned his head toward the taxi. "Hey, do you kno-" He did not finish his sentence because the taxi had already driven away.
You are getting sloppy, Francis, he scolded himself in spirit like he was some kind of rookie. He had to ask the locals. But the weather was not helping him find out if the locals were in their homes and the new buildings they added were not helping him to orient himself either.
After a few minutes of roaming the street, he finally noticed someone who could help him. It was an old woman sitting in her chair and reading at the top of the stairs leading into the building. Francis, just by looking at her, could guess that this old woman was the type of nosy neighbor that knew everything that was happening on the street, but in cases like this, she was priceless for a traveling salesman.
"Hello," Francis said when he approached her.
The old woman put down the book and, through her square glasses, looked at Francis. "Yes?" she asked in a shrill voice.
"Good day, madam. My name is Francis Halloway, and I am a representative of Waynard & Co." Francis introduced himself and respectfully took off his hat. "Do you know where I could find house 666/13 on this street?"
"You mean the house of Samuel Livingmort?" the old woman asked.
"Yes, that is correct," Francis replied and mentally noted to himself that he would be dealing with a male client.
The old woman raised a finger and pointed to her left. "It is at the end of the street. The one on the left. You cannot miss it."
"Thank you very much, madam." Francis put his hat back on and was about to leave.
"But if I were you, I would not go there at all."
Francis raised his eyebrow. "Why?"
"There are quite strange things going on in that house." She paused for a moment to gulp. "It was a beautiful house, but when five years ago Samuel Livingmort and his wife moved there, it completely changed, along with the garden there. Not even a year later, the buildings around it started to change too, and since the Livingmorts moved in, no one had seen them leave the house. Many are saying that the place is cursed. So, hear my advice and avoid that house."
"Well… thank you for the warning, madam, but do not worry; I will be careful." He turned around and went in the direction of the end of the street. If he were superstitious like this old woman, he would never get so far in his profession.
An old woman was watching him go in the direction of the cursed house and shook her head. No one will ever listen to her until it is too late.
A few minutes later, Francis stood several meters from his destination. It was a three-story house that stood in the middle of the parcel, and he did not wonder why the old woman was telling him that the place was cursed. The house looked devastated and abandoned and Francis looked into its dirty windows to see if there were any signs of life there, but from such a distance he could not. His gaze then turned to the garden around the house and the right word for it was that it was dead, or at least dying.
Perhaps the Livingmorts are bad gardeners, Francis thought as he struggled to find an explanation for what he was seeing.
He then looked at the buildings besides the parcel and could see that on their sides was some mold or something like that. It looked as if the buildings were slowly decaying.
Francis looked again at the house and started thinking about whether he should cross out this address and move on to the next one.
Oh, come one, Francis! You have visited much worse places than this! he thought as he was collecting his courage. But still, that house was giving him bad omens.
He eventually made a step forward into the parcel and then another and another toward the house. With each step closer to the house, he felt even more tired than usual. The raindrops that were falling on him now felt like weights with each step closer to the house. Francis sighed tiredly as he looked down and saw how much closer he was to the house; the land underneath him was more devastated.
In the end, he made it to the house. The wooden outdoor stairs creaked when he stepped on them. When he was finally in front of the doors, he put down his briefcase and wiped the sweat from his forehead from all the labor he had performed to get here.
Ohhh… I must be really getting older, or what the hell was that? He started searching for the doorbell, and when he found it, he pressed it.
While waiting for someone to open the door for him, Francis mentally prepared himself for work.
A minute passed, but no one opened the door. Something in his mind at that moment was telling Francis to turn around and leave, but the other voice was reminding him that if he did that or did not try enough to make contact, Livingmorts could perhaps file a complaint against him and his hard-earned reputation would crumble.
Eventually the door opened and in front of him stood an old man.
The old man was much smaller than him. He was incredibly scrawny and his eyes had an unpleasant milky blue color. The old man also wore a blue dressing gown and was barefoot.
"Yes?" the old man asked and coughed deeply.
"Mr. Livingmort?" Francis replied with a question.
"Yes, I am."
Francis took off his hat to introduce himself. "I am Francis Holloway, and I am a representative of Waynard & Co. And we would like to introduce you to our latest product. If you are interested."
"I thought…" Livingmort coughed again. "That only younger men were doing this kind of work."
Francis smiled roguishly. "Well, like I always say: 'You cannot replace youth with experience.'" He paused for a moment. "So, are you interested? Or perhaps-"
Livingmort raised his finger to interrupt him and turned his head to the left, like he was trying to hear someone in the back. After a few seconds, he turned his head back toward Francis and looked at him closely, like he was studying him. "I am. Please come in."
"Very well," Francis replied and he walked inside.
Livingmort closed the door and both were in a wooden hallway with a dirty carpet on the ground that led to the doors on the other side. On the left were two entries into other rooms and on the right was a wooden staircase that led to the first floor of the house.
"Follow me, please," Livingmort said and gestured for Francis to go with him into the first room on the left.
"Is your wife here, sir? I have some products that she might be interested in," Francis said.
"She is upstairs and resting."
"Ohhh. Then I should probably go. I do not want to disturb her."
"Nonsense…" Livingmort coughed. "Come in."
Francis stepped into the room and was amazed. Unlike the outside of the house, this room was nicely furnished. As if this room was part of some noble house. But what Francis was focusing on most was the nicely ornate fireplace on the other side of the room. Mostly on the things that were on the mantel of the fireplace. Except for a few photographs, there were a few gold objects. Francis approached the fireplace and examined some kind of gold cross with a circle in the shape of a teardrop on top.
"That is Ankh," Livingmort said after noticing Francis' interest.
Francis turned his head toward him. "Ankh?"
"Egyptian symbol for life. Have you ever been there?"
"No. In my line of work, I travel a lot around the States but never across the sea." Francis turned his gaze back to the Ankh. "But honestly, I am planning to take my wife to Venice when the time comes."
"Yes. Venice. At this time, it is beautiful there."
Francis then looked at the other gold objects on the mantel. There was a gold pyramid the size of a child's palm and a gold bug.
"What is that?" he asked while pointing at the bug.
"It is a scarab, also from Egypt."
Scarab, huh? Strange name for an overgrown ladybug, Francis thought. "You seem very traveled."
"I have only spent some time in Egypt and brought back something from it," Livingmort replied and with great difficulty he sat down on a chair in the corner of the room.
Francis then turned his attention to the photographs on the mantel. On them was a woman wearing a wedding dress and smiling widely.
"Your wife?" Francis asked and pointed at them.
"Yes. Her name is Deborah. Love of my life. I would do anything for her."
"She was very beautiful," Francis remarked.
"She still is," Livingmort said in a tone that sounded like he was correcting Francis.
"Of course… I apologize. It seems that I forgot my place." Francis turned around to find a place to sit down. Opposite Livingmort was a padded chair. "May I?" he asked and motioned to her.
Livingmort silently nodded as a sign of agreement.
Francis approached the chair and sat down. In that moment, he felt the greatest comfort of his life. Livingmort really had to pay a fortune for this chair. But Francis was not here to enjoy the comfort of his host. He was here for business.
He placed the briefcase on the floor and turned its handle toward him. He started to open it while giving his prepared speech to the potential customer, "We in Waynard & Co. are great supporters of progress and innovations, and we are always trying to give our customers the best-"
"Have you ever wanted to visit Egypt, Mr. Holloway?" Livingmort interrupted him.
Francis looked at him. "What?" he asked in surprise.
"Have you ever wanted to visit Egypt?" Livingmort repeated the question.
"I cannot say I wanted to."
"Amazing country… Ancient and mystical." Livingmort coughed heavily.
"Are you alright?" Francis asked with care.
"I will… will be. It is just a phase." Livingmort coughed again and then finally calmed down. "Could I tell you one story?"
Francis's inner voice, which a moment ago was telling him to turn around, was now whispering to him to leave the house. But Francis was doing his best to ignore it. "Mr. Livingmort, I do not think-"
"Please, Mr. Holloway. Hear the story from the old man. Except for my wife, there is no one else with whom I can talk, and you seem like a decent man. I promise to you that you will find it very interesting."
Francis fully leaned into the chair. If he would agree to hear out the old man, he could quickly conclude the business and leave this place. "All right," he said and hoped it would be a short story.
Livingmort coughed for the last time before starting to narrate the story about one lost expedition in Egypt.
Five years ago…
The sun was high above the Egyptian desert, and Samuel Willburn Livingmort was sitting in his tent, which he shared with his wife, finishing cataloging artifacts from recent excavations. It was a long and incredibly boring job, but Samuel got it done. When he was done, he stood up and tiredly stretched out his muscles. During that, his gaze wandered to a small mirror that was nailed to the beam that was supporting the tent.
He looked horrible, but that was the price for glory. Samuel was a slim and vital man in his early thirties who had platinum blond hair and milky blue eyes, all typical features of the Livingmorts. Today he wore a white shirt, brown pants and brown shoes, all designated for living in such a scorching environment.
Samuel sighed and prepared himself for exiting the tent. When he walked out, he was greeted by the view of the camp of about fifteen tents. He headed to the main tent to check out how Professor Angus McDowell and Deborah were doing. Along the way, he could see that the tents were filled with either found objects or local workers, who were resting even though most of them were still supposed to be working, but Samuel did not blame them. In recent weeks, the local temperature increased, so it was much harder to dig during the day and at night they did not have enough lanterns.
Samuel originated from the main branch of the wealthy family Livingmorts, living in Washington. His father, Mortimer Livingmort, was not just a famous architect but also had contacts in government and secretly funded the campaigns of several senators.
As his only son and heir, Mortimer Livingmort sent him to study the law with the vision that Samuel could one day get into the presidential office. But what Mortimer did not plan for was that Samuel would meet and fall in love with Deborah McClusky, the daughter of an Irish policeman and an Italian woman.
The situation got even worse when Samuel decided to propose to Deborah. Mortimer refused that his son and heir would marry someone like her, but Samuel stood his ground. Eventually, Mortimer decided to pay off his son and remove him from his will. Samuel, who did not love his father anyway, accepted the money and walked out of their estate. A few weeks later, Deborah and Samuel married, and no one from the Livingmorts was present at their wedding. But the newlywed couple did not care; they had to plan their journey into Egypt.
Hopefully we will finally make progress soon, Samuel thought as he was looking at the camp, the workers and the equipment he had paid for with the money given by his father. They have been here for four months now and still nothing.
When he arrived at the main tent, he saw his wife Deborah standing beside Professor McDowell, who was studying the papyrus — the very reason why they were here.
Deborah was the same size as Samuel. She had brown, curly hair and brown eyes. She wore a pale blue shirt and brown pants with brown shoes. Immediately, when she spotted Samuel entering the tent, she quickly gestured for him to be quiet. That usually meant that Professor McDowell was very close to translating another part of the papyrus.
Professor Angus McDowell was smaller compared to Deborah and Samuel. He had a bald head and a long brown beard. He wore a blue shirt with green suspenders attached to black pants and brown shoes. At the table where he stood with Deborah, he had his cane leaned against it.
Samuel met Professor McDowell during his studies, where McDowell was, besides being a professor of law, also a professor of archeology. Samuel met him again, shortly after he severed his connection with his father, and learned from the professor that he was currently looking for sponsors for the expedition to find the tomb of the unknown pharaoh. Sadly, for Professor McDowell, the expedition was based on the old papyrus, which was the only source of information about where the tomb was, so no one was interested in funding it. But Samuel, on the other hand, saw this as a great opportunity to make his mark without his family, and he always loved history over the law. So, after talking about it with Deborah, he decided to financially support the expedition and use it as their honeymoon. But so far, they had no luck finding the tomb.
Samuel slowly counted to thirty and then decided to speak. "Everything cataloged, Professor."
"Hmmm," Professor McDowell replied, not even lifting his gaze from the papyrus. Samuel could confirm that ever since Professor McDowell had obtained the papyrus, he had been trying to translate it for days and nights, but it had been difficult. Mostly because the papyrus had marks of burning, like someone in the past was trying to destroy it, but somehow the papyrus was still holding together.
"So, do we make any progress today? Or will it be another dusty day?"
"Actually, the professor made progress with it," Deborah replied.
Samuel gave his wife a wide smile. "Really?!" At least some good news after all these months.
"It is just another part of the text, Mr. Livingmort," Professor McDowell said.
"But still, it is progress." Samuel took a step forward toward him. "So, tell us what you learned."
"According to what I just learned," the professor said, "it is apparent that the pharaoh, whose tomb we are looking for, was supposed to be erased from any known history. No statues of him were to remain; no mentions of him were to remain; absolutely nothing. This is supported by the fact that my friends in Cairo could not find any information about him."
"How is that even possible?" Deborah asked. "I thought the Egyptians worshipped them as gods. That is why they built them the pyramids and the Sphinx."
"They did…" the professor shook his head. "But this could be considered something like excommunication. They practically made sure that no one would ever remember him."
"That means we are about to make a much more valuable discovery," Samuel said and kept his smile. And why not? They will practically find the lost history of Egypt, and soon the history books will be rewritten.
But Professor McDowell did not share his enthusiasm, and with each translated part of the papyrus, he was more and more confused. And Deborah had had a bad feeling about this place ever since they arrived. She shared this with her husband once, but Samuel told her it was just the feeling of the trip to Egypt and that she would get used to it. However, she did not.
"And where is the tomb?" Samuel asked.
"Where are the last sectors we dug?"
"Sector 12 and 13?" Samuel paused for a moment to think. "Northwest."
"Then it could be in the South."
"Could be?" Samuel asked wryly. The happiness from the progress quickly abandoned him.
Professor McDowell finally looked at him. "Mr. Livingmort," he pointed at the papyrus, "this is not the map to some pirate treasure with an X marking the spot. This is a more accurately a record of something that someone more than a thousand years ago was trying to destroy. Additionally, this whole area where that tomb could be indicates that they were trying to hide the tomb of that pharaoh at any cost. And I would like to know why."
Samuel took a deep breath to calm himself down. He did not want to yell, especially not in front of his wife. He will not be like his father. "Professor, please-"
"I completely understand, Mr. Livingmort," Professor McDowell interrupted him. "I understand that you do not have unlimited resources. And I promise you that you will not suffer loss. But these things need time."
Deborah placed her hand on Samuel's shoulder. "Samuel, please give him some time."
Samuel sighed and was about to agree when a young Egyptian entered the tent.
"Hatem, what is it?" Samuel asked.
"Mr. Livingmort!" Hatem said in his bad English and turned his head toward Professor McDowell. "Professor! We found it!"
Professor McDowell quickly turned to him and looked at him in disbelief. "What?"
"We found the tomb!" Hatem reported with enthusiasm.
"Yes! Yes! Hatem, that is great!" Samuel reacted.
"And where was it?" Professor McDowell asked.
"Sector 22! South from here!" Hatem answered.
"Just like you said!" Samuel added.
Professor McDowell took his cane and gestured for Hatem to go. "Then lead the way, young man!" And with a swift pace, he followed Hatem out of the tent.
Samuel turned his head toward his wife. "Come on, Deborah! Let's have a look."
"Samuel… I have a very bad feeling about this," she said with great concern.
"You still have that feeling? Oh, come on!" Samuel approached her and placed both his hands on her cheeks and he looked directly into her eyes. "We are so close, Deborah, to making history. After this, my father will regret not agreeing to our marriage. I cannot lose you at this critical moment," he whispered to her.
Deborah gulped and then nodded. "Good then. You are right. Let's go."
They both then walked out of the tent.
Deborah and Samuel arrived at a group of celebrating workers standing inside a nearby canyon. They had to get through the crowd to see what the entrance to the tomb of the forgotten pharaoh looked like. During that, Deborah noticed that one of the workers was looking at her with a deadly serious expression. It took only a few seconds for her to recognize him as one of the workers who had refused to work here and was arguing with Professor McDowell that this land was cursed. Professor McDowell considered it a superstition among the locals, but Deborah could see in the worker's eyes that he was speaking the truth. But for further elaboration, there was no time because Samuel forced them through the crowd.
After a few seconds of pushing their way through the crowd, they saw that the entrance to the tomb was inside the rock of the canyon, but it was blocked by a thick wall with carvings on it.
"Hatem said to me that they found it buried under a pile of rocks when they were preparing this place for excavation," Professor McDowell said while he was looking at the wall with confusion.
Meanwhile, Samuel joined the workers' celebration, while Deborah was watching the blocked entrance with concern.
After a moment, the professor came closer to the wall, and with the assistance of Hatem and other workers, he removed the rest of the dust from the wall, revealing the rest of the carvings on it.
"It seems that the entire Egyptian pantheon is here, including Seth," Professor McDowell said after a few minutes of studying the carvings.
Deborah looked closely at the carvings and saw that they depicted various men and women with animal heads standing in a fighting position against the depiction of the entrance, at which she and the professor were standing.
"What do you think it is?" she asked.
"Hmmm… I think it is some sort of request for protection. They were asking their gods to protect them from something that was inside." He turned his head toward her. "One of my colleagues spent some time in Japan, and he told me that they were using written papers that they placed on places that they believed to be cursed. He showed some of the photographs of the houses completely covered with these papers. This must be a local version of it. Very unusual."
"Go get the dynamite!" Samuel ordered Hatem.
Professor McDowell looked at him with indignation. "Excuse me, Mr. Livingmort, but what do you think you are doing?"
"Getting us into the tomb," Samuel replied.
"But not by destroying something like this!" Professor McDowell pointed at the wall. "No one in history in archeology has ever encountered such a tomb being sealed like this, and you want to blow it up?"
Samuel took a step forward toward him. "We are so close to getting there, Professor. And the only thing that is standing in our way is that piece of rock."
"A historically valuable piece of rock," Professor McDowell corrected him.
Samuel turned his head toward Hatem. "Go get the dynamite!" he ordered.
"Livingmort!" Professor McDowell raised his voice.
"Samuel, please," Deborah finally said and looked directly into her husband's eyes. In that moment, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger.
"Let's calm down now," Professor McDowell said. "Now that we have real proof that the tomb exists, we can now contact my colleagues across the sea to help us with this."
"You mean the same people who rejected your theory about the tomb because it was based on that papyrus, Professor?" Samuel paused for a moment. "We are so close to making a great discovery. To putting our names in the history books. Please, Professor. We can do this."
Professor McDowell turned his gaze to the wall for a moment, and then he turned it back to Samuel. "All right, but no dynamite, is that clear?"
Samuel nodded. "Good," he agreed to the compromise.
"Perhaps we could use the ropes to open it," Hatem suggested.
"How?" Samuel asked him.
"Let me show you." And he pointed to the upper left corner of the blocking wall.
The trio looked in that direction and could see that the upper corner of the wall was shattered, forming a hole, proving that the wall was actually block, so they could easily get a rope through the hole and pull the block down.
In the following minutes, Deborah silently watched as her husband and the workers prepared to open the tomb. Then she looked behind her, and her gaze was looking for the worker she spotted earlier. She found him aside from the crowd and saw him talking with some other workers. Then their gazes met, and she quickly turned back to focus on her husband and his attempt to get into the tomb.
When the ropes were in their places, the workers along with Samuel started pulling.
"One, two, three!" Samuel ordered.
They pulled the ropes. Nothing.
"Again! One, two, three!"
"It moved a little bit!" one of the workers reported after another attempt.
"Again!" Samuel ordered.
After the third attempt, the block started to wobble. It was a sign that they almost got it. They pulled the ropes again, and the block tilted, and due to its weight, it fell down. The entrance to the tomb was open.
When the dust settled, Professor McDowell kneeled down to the block to see if it had not been damaged. Not a scratch, but he was not sure if the carvings on the other side were in good condition either. In the evening, he will have to order the workers to carefully take the block into the main tent for him to study it.
"Professor, come on!" Samuel called at him.
Professor McDowell looked up and saw that Samuel and a few workers took lanterns and went inside.
"Samuel, wait!" he said and he quickly went after them as fast as his cane would allow him.
Deborah, who was standing aside, looked at the fallen block and then at the entrance. Her feelings were telling her something was very wrong.
"Deborah, are you coming?" Samuel's voice sounded in the dark tunnel.
Deborah turned her head around and spotted that the worker, one of the troublemakers, was standing a few meters away from her, and he was looking at her. His look was saying to her: Do not go there! She quickly turned back to the entrance. She was Samuel's wife, and they promised to be each other's support forever. And before she could have second thoughts, her legs got her into the tunnel.
The tunnel leading into the tomb was very dark. The only source of light, except for a few lanterns that Samuel and the workers were holding, was the daylight coming from the entrance. Deborah quickly caught up with the rest of the group.
"Strange. Very strange," Professor McDowell remarked.
"What?" Deborah asked.
"The walls," Professor McDowell answered and he pointed to the walls that surrounded them from both sides. "There should be hieroglyphs. The records about the ruler who is buried here and about his rule. But here… absolutely nothing."
"Professor, there are some hieroglyphs over there!" Deborah said after a while of their walking through the tunnel and she pointed to the distance.
"Finally!" he replied and when the group approached the hieroglyphs, he ordered one of the workers to shine a lantern on them.
Samuel extended his hand with the lantern to see how much of the tunnel was remaining and it would seem that they would walk for a while. He turned his head toward the rest of the group and waited for the professor's translation of the hieroglyphs.
Samuel… a foreign voice sounded in his head, as if it were right next to him.
Samuel looked around to see if one of the workers had said that when it sounded again.
Samuel…
Samuel turned his head toward the dark tunnel. That voice was coming from the other side. From where the tomb was. After a second, he slowly started moving toward the source, unbeknownst to the rest of the group.
"It is a warning," Professor McDowell said after a few minutes of reading the hieroglyphs.
"Warning?" Deborah asked.
"For anyone who dares to enter the tomb." He paused for a moment. "It is telling the story about the pharaoh who ruled this area. He was very wise and beloved by his people until one day when an object fell from the sky…" He looked closely at the hieroglyphs. "A pyramid. The farmers took it to the pharaoh as a gift. But pretty soon, the pharaoh changed. He started to sacrifice the animals to the object. Firstly, it was single animals, then whole herds. And…"
"And?"
The professor turned his head toward her. "Then he started sacrificing people. He started with criminals and soon he was massacring his own people. Even the land around the object was dying." And he turned his head back to the hieroglyphs.
"Samuel…" Deborah said with concern and fear. "I think we should probably leave this place." But when she did not get any response from her husband, she turned her head to where he was standing. He was no longer there. "Samuel!" She then noticed a light several meters away from them in the dark tunnel. She recognized that it was Samuel, walking toward something. She wanted to yell at him, but she was stopped by the professor's continued translation.
"The people revolted against the pharaoh, and when they entered the palace, they saw that the pharaoh slit his own throat in front of the object. Pharaoh's court wizard declared that the object that fell from the sky was cursed and… contained a great evil. They took the body of the pharaoh and the object and buried them here so that no one would find them." He paused for a moment to translate the last hieroglyphs. "The last thing that is written here is that may the gods have mercy on anyone who dares to enter this tomb."
"Professor!" Deborah said but when the professor did not react, she repeated it. "Professor!"
The professor turned his head toward her. "What?"
"Samuel…" she replied and motioned further into the tunnel.
The professor turned his gaze in that direction and saw Samuel quite far away from them. "Mr. Livingmort, wait!" He was about to order the workers to bring him back when they heard the yelling outside the entrance.
"What is that?" Deborah asked as she and the others turned to the entrance. Then the last thing she remembered was a hissing sound several meters in front of them.
Samuel, in the meantime, was continuing his journey to the source of the voice in his head, which was getting stronger with each step.
Samuel… Samuel…
Samuel did not know why he went forward, only that he had to get to that voice. He was in a trance, and only two sounds were able to break him out of it.
"Samuel!" his wife's voice sounded, followed by the sound of an explosion.
Samuel quickly turned around and saw that the light from the entrance was gone. "Deborah? Deborah?!" He quickly ran back, but the only thing he could find was debris of the tunnel. The tunnel must have collapsed. No. That second before, it was the sound of an explosion of dynamite. Someone must have thrown it into the tunnel and trapped them here.
Samuel quickly put down the lantern and started removing the debris. "Deborah! Hatem! Professor!" he yelled.
But all he found were the lifeless bodies of Professor McDowell and the workers. Samuel started to pray that he would find Deborah alive while he frantically removed more and more debris.
After a few seconds, he finally found her buried under a bunch of rocks.
"Samuel…" she said weakly.
"Deborah! Hold on!" Samuel yelled and removed the rocks from his wife.
"Professor and the others…"
"They are dead! Do not worry, Deborah! Everything will be alright!"
He finally pulled her out of the debris, sat down on the ground and took her into his arms.
Deborah coughed up blood. "Samuel…"
He started crying. "Please, no! No! No! Do not die!" In that moment, he made a vow that if there was any chance or any way to save her, he would take it.
I can save her… I can save both of you… the voice in his head said to him and Samuel looked into the darkness in front of them.
Samuel collected all his strength to lift his mortally wounded wife.
"Samuel…" she said.
"Do not worry; everything will be alright! Just stay with me!" He and his wife then proceeded into the darkness.
"And then what happened to them?" Francis asked after Samuel Livingmort was done telling the story.
"The expedition vanished without a trace," the old man said.
"Quite a grim story."
"I did not say it would have a happy ending."
"Samuel…" the female voice sounded from upstairs.
"If you will excuse me, my wife needs me. She recently cannot leave her bed and I am the only one she has." Livingmort, with all his strength, stood up and went to the stairs.
"Of course," Francis replied.
"When I am done there, we will conclude our business." Livingmort then looked at the stairs with frustration. "Those stairs will be the death of me. I am coming, my beloved!" And he slowly ascended the stairs.
Francis was still sitting in the chair and waiting. A minute passed. Two. Three. And even though he was sitting quite comfortably, his bad feeling was increasing with each passing minute. Eventually, he decided to stand up and leave this place. Hell with his reputation. He started to think about what to say to Mr. Livingmort. Perhaps he will say to him that he has to visit other people and that he will come back here tomorrow or some other day.
He stopped at the door leading out and was about to say it when he suddenly heard a voice in his head calling him.
Francis…
Francis looked in the direction it was coming from. It seemed to be coming from the doors on the other side of the hallway, where he had entered the house.
Francis… the voice repeated.
Francis took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase. I am probably hearing things, he said himself in spirit.
Francis…
Francis's heart started pounding like crazy in that moment, and then he started moving toward the closed doors. He did not know why he was doing that. Only that he could not control his body.
He stopped in front of the doors and slowly pressed the handle. It was open. As the doors slowly opened in front of him, the smell of death and decay greeted him. He could see the staircase leading down into the basement. He kind of expected that there would be darkness, but instead down there was pulsing purple light.
Francis… the voice said loudly while pronouncing each letter of his name.
Francis gulped and wanted to leave, but he could not. His foot stepped on the first stair and the second on the next.
He descended down and could see that the basement was huge. On both sides were a bunch of thrown-away clothes. But what was emanating that purple light was a pyramid that was levitating and rotating above the ground.
The pyramid was as big as half of a human figure; it was made of glass; it had metal apexes; and inside there was some purple liquid that was the source of the light and it was constantly moving inside.
Francis, for the moment, was wondering if what he was looking at was real when the pyramid stopped and turned its side toward him.
Francis understood that it was time to leave, but when he turned around, he saw Samuel Livingmort standing in front of him. How was it possible that he was able to sneak up behind him like that?
"I am very sorry, Mr. Holloway, but I have no other choice," the old man said and unfastened his dressing gown, revealing his old body.
"Oh my god!" Francis shouted.
All over the old man's chest, the depiction of the pyramid was carved into the flesh, like it was done with a knife.
From the old man's navel and nipples, tentacles began to grow.
"Please forgive me, Mr. Holloway," Samuel said and the tentacles, which had grown to massive lengths, grabbed the shocked Francis with a swift motion, wrapped around him, and lifted him above the ground. "But you are the last one."
Samuel, carrying Deborah, was doing his best to get to the other side of the dark tunnel as fast as he could. He was praying to whatever gods for Deborah's survival. He finally saw some purple light at the end of the tunnel and increased his pace. When he finally got to the other side, he realized that they had arrived at the tomb. There were, of course, treasures around, but right now all he could think about was Deborah. There was also a sarcophagus in the middle of the room, and that pyramid levitated above it.
Bring her here, the voice in his head said. But he knew that it was coming from that pyramid.
"You will save her life?" he asked whatever that pyramid was.
Yes… Lay her on the sarcophagus…
Samuel obeyed and laid his dying wife on the coffin of the dead pharaoh. He then placed his hand on his wife's cheek. "Deborah, please stay with me!" He looked up at the pyramid and noticed that a purple fog started coming out of it.
In the next moment, the fog took the shape of a hand and placed it on Deborah's chest. After a few seconds, Deborah gasped for breath and the fog disappeared back into the pyramid.
Samuel did not waste any time and happily embraced his healed wife. "Deborah!"
"Samuel…" Deborah started crying out of happiness.
Then they both looked at the pyramid. "Thank you," Samuel said.
Do not thank me… My help has a price…
Samuel looked again at his wife, whom he had almost lost, and then turned his gaze back to the pyramid. "Anything you want!"
Good… We have a lot of work to do…
The tentacles started slowly crushing Francis, and he screamed in pain along with the sound of crushing bones.
"It is a god…" Samuel said. "A god from afar. From the stars. And this pyramid is his prison. He was put there by the other gods, his family, with the assistance of a group of sorcerers. He and his prison were then sent to aimlessly wander the stars, the empty darkness of space."
The tips of the tentacles stabbed Francis into his limbs, and as they drilled through his flesh, he screamed in agony and dropped the briefcase he was still holding.
"Everything changed when he fell here on this little, petty planet," Samuel continued. "The fall created a breach in his prison, not big enough for him to escape but enough for him to use his influence through it. Another stroke of luck for him was that he was brought to the pharaoh. He started communicating with him and offered him knowledge in exchange for the souls and lifeforce of the living creatures. The pharaoh started offering animals, and with each kill, the breach grew, and with it, the god's influence on the pharaoh grew. Soon, humans replaced animals. But when the people revolted against their ruler and he sacrificed himself to the god trapped inside, they decided to seal the body of their corrupted ruler and the prison into the tomb. They were trying to destroy any mentions of the location of the tomb, but the god ensured that the record about the location of the tomb would survive and that someone would one day find it."
Pieces of flesh started falling off, and Francis's blood was running down the tentacles. Francis only continued to scream as the blood poured out of his mouth.
"When we found the tomb, the descendants of the people who revolted against the pharaoh tried to stop us by destroying the tunnel and trapping us in the tomb. They nearly killed my wife. But the god saved her life and got us out of that tomb and in exchange for that, me and Deborah had to collect souls and lifeforce for him. We started with the workers at the excavation site, but when we moved here, we had to be more discreet. So, for the last five years, we were bringing him souls and lifeforce, but due to the slow pace, the god started slowly draining our lives, which is why we are looking like this. But it was not just us; he was also draining the land and the area around the house. Fortunately for us all, the pharaoh made most of the sacrifices, and you, Mr. Holloway, are the last one. With you, he will be freed."
Samuel looked at the clothes, pieces of flesh and bones — the remains of Francis Holloway. It was done. With great relief, he turned his gaze to the pyramid and could see that the purple light had started pulsating and the pyramid was trembling. Samuel slowly closed his eyes as the pyramid exploded.
When the dust settled, he opened his eyes with a feeling of regained youth and health. He looked at his hands to confirm it, and they were truly young again. His gaze turned to his revealed chest, and he could see that it once again belonged to a young man; even the carved pyramid was gone.
He then turned to the staircase behind him, and his thoughts belonged to Deborah. She will be able to walk again.
After all those sacrifices, Samuel now wanted to embrace her, kiss her, and celebrate their freedom, but he knew that after all those years of serving a being trapped in the pyramid, it was much wiser to ask permission beforehand.
He turned back to the shattered remains of the pyramid and saw a male figure standing there. He was all composed of that purple liquid that was inside the pyramid; he had no eyes or mouth, and with every movement, it looked like he was pouring from one glass to another.
"Finally, I am free…" the god said while looking at his hands.
Samuel humbly knelt down. "My lord… we did what you asked…"
The god slowly approached him and then he placed his hand on his shoulder. Samuel felt like a real person was touching him.
"You and your wife have done well, Samuel," the god proclaimed with a calm tone. "After so many eons I spent in that wretched prison, I am free and prepared to exact my revenge."
"Are… are… are we really free now, my lord?" Samuel asked with great fear because there was a possibility that when they were no longer useful to the god, he would dispose of them.
"Your wife is, Samuel. But you… you will still be useful to me. But for such good service you have done me so far, you and your wife will have one day for yourselves. Use it well, Samuel."
"Thank you… thank you…"
"Now go. I have to plan our next move. Tomorrow we will set out."
Samuel quickly stood up and ran up the staircase to his wife. He was not going to waste any second of the time they had been given.
The following day, a crying Deborah watched from the window as Samuel, dressed in a long gray coat and black hat, was walking away from the house carrying the briefcase from their last victim. She then noticed that the land around the house was slowly recovering, and then her gaze moved above her husband, whom she was sure she would never see again, and she saw a transparent purple being levitating above him.
Before he and Samuel set out on their journey and left Deborah with the treasures of the pharaoh, the god told them his real name. His name was Jaakh'hoon, the Purple Star of the Void and the god of order and he would take revenge on the other gods.