CHAPTER EIGHT
3400 B.C.
My head pounded like a drum. I struggled for a moment to recall what had happened. My surroundings were unfamiliar but I had the nagging feeling that I had been here, or somewhere very similar to here, before. Talk about déjà vu ...
Why couldn’t I remember? Oh crap! I thought. Do I have amnesia?
“Who am I?” I asked the empty room. “Eli Arnold,” I replied. “Ok. Just checking,” I mumbled to myself feeling a little foolish. Brady would know what was happening.
Memories flooded my brain. The cat man had pushed my brother and me into the time vortex. I now had a pretty good idea why no one had ever discovered the lost Patootie tribe. More accurately, I now knew why no one had ever been able to tell the world about the discovery of the Patootie. I wondered how many people had been pushed through the Eye of the gods.
I had absolutely no idea where or when I had emerged from the time rift. The possibilities were as numerous as the grains of sand in an hourglass. Coincidentally, I currently found myself sitting on millions of grains of sand.
“Brady?” I called out without thinking. I immediately clamped my own hand over my mouth. Until I had some idea about where I was, I didn’t want to announce my presence to anyone. Besides, it was very unlikely that Brady and I had been transported to the same time or place.
Worry swept over me. I had to find my brother. I knew he would be looking for me. “I promise I’ll find you, Bro,” I whispered. “Stay safe.”
My brother and I shared a special bond. He had always been there for me. I tried to always be there for him. He looked out for me. For instance, it had been Brady’s idea that helped me win my war with my nemesis, Baylor Stephens.
Baylor and I have been each other’s nemesis for many years. Our epic struggle began in fourth grade. We both found ourselves seeking the attentions of one Suzy Joiner. We sabotaged each other’s efforts to win fair Suzy’s favor, neither of us ultimately ending up with the object of our affection (Suzy ended up dating Lance Washington, an idiot that shouldn’t be able to score a girl like her. I’m not really fond of Lance either but for different reasons).
Since that time, Baylor and I have shared a mutual and intense dislike for each other. We compete at any and every opportunity - science fairs, class projects, burping contests, who can hold their breath the longest - you get the idea. We are sworn enemies, each bent on the destruction of the other. We pranked each other back and forth, neither able to really outdo the other. Then Brady stepped in and helped me put the matter to rest once and for all. He figured out a way to secretly increase the power on Baylor’s fifth grade Science Fair project dealing with magnetism. Long story short - Baylor spent a considerable amount of time with his braces stuck to his project. He was humiliated and I was victorious. Thanks to Brady. And now he was gone.
You know, things weren’t always bad between Baylor and me. Up until the fourth grade, we were best friends and across the street neighbors. We were actually inseparable. But like milk that has soured, so too did our friendship. My best friend, Baylor became Baylor the Wailer (a nick-name that stuck) and a nemesis was born.
Focus, Eli! Brady’s voice bellowed in my head. One step at a time. I smiled. “Focus,” I said standing up. “I need some answers.” Even from another time, Brady was still trying to help me.
I didn’t understand why Jeff had turned on us. It didn’t make any sense. The guy had saved our lives. Why would he do that only to throw us to the winds of time? I couldn’t see any motive for the Cat man’s actions other than keeping his tribe’s existence a secret so I set the problem aside. I needed more information so I decided to take a look around.
A single torch burned in the sconce on the wall above my head. Its dim light barely illuminated the stone room around me. But for the sand, this chamber mirrored the room I had been in at the pyramid in Peru. Not quite as large, but it shared the same type of construction characteristics. The stone blocks fit tightly against each other, making the joints hard to determine. Various tools littered the floor - hammers, chisels, coils of rope. The implements looked ancient in design.
The sand told me I wasn’t in the jungle anymore. The air felt dry and the room was stuffy, the total opposite of the humid and fresh air from the rain forest.
I brushed myself off (the sand was everywhere) and moved to the wall directly opposite from where I had been sitting. At first, I thought children had scribbled in crayons everywhere the eye could see.
Fantastic renderings covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Patterns began to emerge and recognition hit me like a hammer (my head still felt like it had been hit by a hammer).
Hieroglyphics! Only one place on earth would have Egyptian hieroglyphics! Egypt! I had been transported to Egypt. That certainly answered the question of where I was. Now I needed to figure out when.
One step at a time, my brother’s voice echoed in my head again. Our dad had taught us both a long time ago that most people don’t pay attention to their surroundings. So much of the world around them is missed, my dad would say, because they fail to take notice of the details.
“Ok, Eli,” I muttered, “let’s notice those details.”
The fact that a torch burned indicated that the pyramid (at this point I assumed I was in another pyramid or at least some similar structure based on the construction I had observed) was actively being used. The hieroglyphics appeared to be freshly painted, not faded and damaged like you would see in a museum. The colors were amazing; bright, fresh and vibrant. Based on these observations, it seemed probable that I was in ancient Egypt. I needed to be sure.
I gathered up my pack and headed through the doorway leading from the small room. A hallway stretched away before me, torches unevenly spaced down its length. The torches cast flickering light into the otherwise gloomy passageway. About thirty feet ahead, the tunnel turned to the right.
As I approached the turn, I could hear voices echoing in a strange language. I crept forward as quietly as possible. I reached the intersection and peeked around the corner.
Two shirtless men stood in a gigantic chamber. They packed up what appeared to be paints while carrying on their conversation. Engaged in their discussion, I watched unobserved for a few moments, now sure that I was looking at actual ancient Egyptians. I strained to get a better look and clumsily scraped my foot against the stone wall. The sound drew the men’s attention.
I don’t believe they saw me, but they certainly saw my shadow. Both men screamed and pointed in my direction. They turned and fled from the large chamber. Leaving their tools behind, they entered a small tunnel on the opposite side of the room. I couldn’t understand what they were saying but their fear was obvious. I was able to make out one word, repeated over and over, as they ran in terror.
“Anubis, Anubis!” they shrieked.
I glanced over my shoulder at the shadow I cast on the wall. The position of the torch combined with my baseball hat to create a shadow that did, indeed, look like it was cast by Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead.
In Egyptian mythology, Anubis was a jackal-headed deity that struck fear into his followers. He presided over Egyptian funerary proceedings to make sure that the process of mummification was done correctly. Anubis also welcomed those who had passed from this world to next conducting their souls through the underworld like a guide overseeing a tour.
With his long snout and canine appearance, no wonder those guys assumed my shadow was that of the feared deity and fled. I’d flee from the guy who took souls to the underworld, too. Brady would have thought their confusion was hysterical.
I figured I should probably go up and introduce myself, maybe try to straighten things out, smooth the waters. Heck, they’d probably get a kick and a giggle over mistaking a time traveling kid for a mythological monster.
I stepped around the corner and ran across the chamber, hoping to catch the poor fellows and make things right. I raced up the tunnel and could see sunlight streaming in from a square o
pening directly ahead of me. The fleeing workers were nowhere in sight. I ran faster toward the light.
I could hear people shouting just outside the opening. And then a funny thing happened. Not funny ha-ha or funny in a comical sense. Funny strange. The square exit before me became a rectangle. The rectangle got narrower. And narrower. The realization that the door was being closed gripped me like an overzealous aunt looking for a hug.
Just a few more steps and I would reach the portal.
“Wait!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The echoing boom of the door slamming shut drowned out my desperate plea. The tunnel fell into darkness and silence, the only noise, my labored breathing. My only means of escape had been cut off.
I guess I’ll never be sure if the ancient builders actually heard my scream or if they heard it, panicked, and slammed the door. To be honest, it did sound like some kind of death chant an ancient Egyptian god of the dead might have yelled.
I pounded on the door in a desperate frenzy. More accurately, I pounded where the door had been only moments ago. The wall before me appeared solid with no indication that an opening had ever existed. Only muffled thumps came from under my fists. I doubted if anyone outside the pyramid could have even heard. And if they did, I’m sure they would not have been inclined to open the door and explain to the god of the dead why they slammed it in his face. Certainly not a conversation I’d want to have.
I felt hope drain out of me. Stupid baseball hat, I thought, snatching it off my head. I ran a hand through my sweaty hair and put the hat back on. With no other alternative available, I returned to the large chamber. I tried to pull myself together. My dad always told me, “Every problem has a solution, Eli.” I hoped his words held true. My dad has a lot of little sayings like that.
Back in the large central chamber, I took stock of my surroundings. More hieroglyphics covered the walls and the numerous columns that supported the roof high above my head.
A quick inventory of the contents of the cavernous room revealed hundreds of brightly painted ceramic jars. I looked in a few. The contents ranged from grain to oils to things better left to the imagination. I knew from the online Egyptian history class that my mom made Brady and I take last year that some of the vessels, called canopic jars, contained the internal organs of whoever was entombed in this pyramid. Gross, I know. Oh well, at least with the grain, I wouldn’t immediately starve to death.
Chests of gold, silver and precious stones also lay interspersed with the ceramic jars. Statues of gods and pharaohs littered the floor. An overturned tool box sat in one corner. It appeared as if all the contents of this tomb had been placed quickly and without reason.
Numerous small tunnels traveled away from the main chamber. Most led to small ante-chambers like the one I found myself in when I arrived. Others twisted and turned their way through the depths of the pyramid, descending deeper and deeper into its heart. I feared becoming lost in the extensive tunnel system so I only explored a few of the passageways and then returned to the central chamber. With things going like they were, I figured I’d have plenty of time to explore the tunnels later.
A large pedestal dominated the center of the central chamber. It rose out of the floor and supported an enormous golden sarcophagus.
The ancient casket was truly magnificent. It sparkled and shined in the flickering torchlight. Its lid, shaped in the form of a man lying on his back, jutted up at the face and feet, giving it depth. The face had been painted like a mask with bright blues, whites, and blacks.
The pedestal held the sarcophagus roughly four feet off the ground, itself as magnificent as the treasure it supported. Hieroglyphics again covered every available space, top to bottom, all four sides.
With nothing better to do to, I began translating the inscriptions adorning the raised platform.
My grandfather, Ezekiel I. Arnold, was a famous Egyptologist who spent many years discovering and cataloging ancient tombs and pyramids. Heck, he may even have discovered this one in the future, which would be his present but my past ... my head is starting to pound again. Most of Grandpa Zeke’s later work involved the translation and preservation of the well-known Rosetta Stone.
The Rosetta Stone is a stone (as the name implies) tablet discovered in Egypt that contained the same text in several different languages, one being Egyptian hieroglyphics. Up until the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, no one had been able to translate hieroglyphics. With the aid of the other languages contained on the stone, scholars eventually translated the ancient Egyptian writings. For those of you who are interested, the Rosetta Stone is currently on display at the British Museum in London.
Grandpa Zeke taught Brady and me all about hieroglyphics when we were younger. He would leave messages written in the ancient symbols for us to decipher. A successful translation typically brought a reward in the form of candy or ice cream. After many years of playing this game, Brady and I became very proficient with hieroglyphics. Thanks, Grandpa Zeke!
The torches burning along the walls had begun to go out so I grabbed an unlit torch from a nearby sconce and wrapped some bandage-like material around its end. The bandage stuff littered the floors of the tomb. It looked like someone had wrapped a birthday present and left the extra wrapping paper everywhere. I ignited my torch from a low-burning one further down the wall. Luckily for me, the material burned well and my torch provided me with more than enough light to read the inscriptions.
I circled the pedestal and sarcophagus several times, trying to determine where to begin the translation. After a few revolutions, it became evident that the same symbols repeated themselves on all four sides of the pedestal. I chose a side, sat down, made myself comfortable, and began.
Three distinct sections made up each side of the pedestal. An oblong enclosure called a cartouche contained each section. Each cartouche reminded me of a bubble over a person’s head in a comic strip.
The first cartouche contained information about the occupant of the sarcophagus, Haphazard IV, Pharaoh of Egypt, son of Haphazard III, grandson of Haphazard, Jr., etc. The identity of the occupant certainly explained the unorganized manner in which the pyramid had been left. The first cartouche ended describing Haphazard as “a disarray of sunshine to his people.” It seems those puns are timeless.
The second cartouche spoke of Haphazard’s numerous accomplishments during his reign as Pharaoh. Although unorganized, he built dams, pyramids, bowling alleys and, in general, made great improvements in Egypt. Apparently his most important achievements, however, came in the area of science.
The writings recorded, in great detail, the many scientific discoveries made during the time Haphazard ruled. Advances in astronomy, botany, and mathematics were profound and plentiful. Regulations for the royal bowling league were also established ending centuries of unnecessary bloodshed and needless bickering. The second cartouche ended with a reference to the Heart of Ra, of which Haphazard was the protector and keeper. Considered to be the most valued treasure of Egypt, the Heart of Ra possessed incredible magical powers.
The final cartouche contained a warning which, for the sake of brevity and convenience, I’ve translated here:
“Beware he who would disturb the slumber of Haphazard IV, Pharaoh of Egypt, god among men, builder of empires, maker of messes. Let not the eternal rest of those departed know end. For he who trespasses upon this sacred place among the tomb of Egypt shall be cursed to a life, a short one, of woe and pain. Scarabs shall descend upon your body and eat you from the inside out. Locusts shall feast upon whatever the scarabs don’t eat and a lot of other really bad things will happen to you. Seriously, get out of here.”
Not the best written curse as far as curses goes, but the message was certainly clear. I had read and Grandpa Zeke had confirmed that most Egyptian burial places contained curses such as this in an effort to dissuade grave robbers from looting the tombs. Regardless of whether or not this curse had any merit, I intended to honor Haphazard’s final resting place and leave the pr
emises at once. Or at least attempt to. As I’ve previously mentioned, I am not a superstitious guy, but scarabs eating me from the inside out - why roll the dice on something like that?
With a renewed sense of purpose, I decided that it was time to explore the passageways more thoroughly and hope to find another exit. I knew the ancient Egyptians worshiped the sun and typically buried their dead with their feet facing east. I headed for the tunnel directly across from Haphazard’s feet.
I shouldered my pack and prepared to begin my explorations. A wave of energy washed across my body causing me to jump. Goosebumps crept up my arms and back. When I stepped into the tunnel and left the burial chamber, the tingling stopped. As quickly as it began, it ended; as if someone had simply flipped a switch from on to off. Puzzled, I chalked it up to the toll my recent ordeals must have taken on my body and kept moving.
Torches lined the walls of the tunnel I had chosen to explore at irregular intervals. Using the torch I had made, I lit each of them as I passed. The expanding light pushed the darkness back like a bulldozer moving a pile of dirt. It also helped comfort me, if only just a little.
I had probably gone no more than two hundred feet when a loud scraping sound echoed up the tunnel behind me. My first thought involved scarabs coming to eat me from the inside out. I got a hold of myself and backtracked to see what had made the noise (and to be sure scarabs weren’t following me).
The scraping sound came again followed by a loud boom that literally shook the walls around me. Perhaps the builders had returned to rescue me from my prison. Maybe the door had somehow fallen open. Maybe scarabs had knocked something over. I hurried back to the door to the burial chamber and discovered the source of the sounds. There was good news, bad news and worse news.
The good news - the noises had absolutely nothing to do with scarabs (or locusts, for that matter).
The bad news - the top of Haphazard’s sarcophagus lay overturned on the floor at the foot of the pedestal.
The worse news - Haphazard, mummified and wrapped in bandages, slowly pulled himself out of the sarcophagus. The white material covered the Egyptian ruler from head to toe.
I stood rooted to the ground like a tree in the forest. The whole idea of being in an ancient Egyptian pyramid, facing a real live (yet technically dead) mummy seemed inconceivable. To make matters worse, the strange electrical charge I had felt before returned as soon as I stepped into the giant room. If I hadn’t felt the energy before, I would have thought that it was simply fear. I shook off the feeling. I could deal with that later (assuming I survived).
What would Brady do? He’d tell you to focus, I thought.
I tried to remember every book I’d ever read and every movie I’d ever seen that dealt with mummies and, more specifically, how to fight them.
Two ideas sprang to mind. First, in almost all the movies I had seen involving mummies, some type of magical spell or incantation was usually necessary to return the attacking monster to its state of slumber. You know, something like, “Hocus Pocus call off the locusts.” That, of course, is a rough translation. All incantations designed to defeat mummies would have to be spoken in some ancient dead language. I had no incantation to utter anyway. Strike One.
Second, I remembered a movie in which mummies were afraid of cats. Cats apparently guarded the gates to the underworld. Since mummies had escaped the land of the dead and returned to earth, they were fearful that cats would pursue and bring them back. I have no idea if there was any truth to that theory, not that it really mattered. Currently I did not have a cat in my possession. Strike Two.
Movement from the pedestal brought my attention back to the center of the room. Haphazard stiffly stepped from his coffin. He pointed directly at me and screamed ... at least he tried to scream. The gauze covering his mouth caused his cry to sound more like a gagged whimper.
“MMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHH!”
In frustration, the mummy reached up to his face and ripped the cloth covering his head away. The grotesque visage beneath the wrappings haunts me to this day.
The skin of Haphazard’s face barely concealed the bones beneath. Cracked and split in several places, a yellowish puss oozed down his cheeks and dripped to the floor. His lips shrank away from his teeth revealing a blackened tongue and giving his mouth a perpetual evil smile.
Clumps of greasy hair peeked out from around the edges of the torn bandages, jet black against the white wrappings.
I wanted to turn and flee but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the beast before me. Coming from the center of Haphazard’s chest, beneath the bandages, a diffused red light pulsed and beat like a heart. I stood hypnotized, unable to move.
Scarabs ran from one empty eye socket to the other making my skin crawl like scarabs from one empty eye socket to another.
Haphazard howled in rage again, this time unmistakable and clearly audible. He moved slowly, yet purposefully toward me with both arms outstretched as if to grab or strangle me (most likely both).
His right foot dragged as he walked making a distinct “thump - swish” sound.
“Thump - swish. Thump - swish. Maniacal scream. Thump — swish.”
The spell was broken. I’m not sure if it was the scarabs in the eyes or the maniacal scream, but I awoke from my trance, turned, and then ran down the tunnel, pumping my legs like two giant pistons. I rounded corners, descended steps, ascended steps - I lost all sense of direction.
I figured if I just kept running, maybe old Haphazard would become as lost and confused as I. Rounding a corner to my right, I found myself confronted with one of the many dead-ends of the pyramid. I examined the wall closely, hoping there might be a concealed door or hidden passageway. I found none and turned to backtrack up the tunnel to try to find an alternate route.
“Thump - swish. Thump - swish.”
The familiar sound echoed up the passage to greet me.
Haphazard came into view moments later, trapping me in the passageway.
Desperately, I waved my torch, yelled, cried (I think some sand had gotten in my eyes), and kicked sand in an attempt to scare off my pursuer. Turns out none of those things are very effective in scaring mummies away.
I continued to back away from the hideous beast bearing slowly down on me. Finally, I ran out of room, my back literally against the wall.
“Ideas?” I asked no one in particular.
A dry rasping laugh crackled from Haphazard’s parched throat. He moved closer and closer, laughing and making unintelligible noises as he did so. The goose bumps that had been covering my body exploded into goose mountains. The energy sensation I had been experiencing increased in level from a prickly feeling to an almost painful burn. It seemed to surround my body.
Haphazard, close enough now for me to smell the foul odor of his decay, raised his arms to grab me. The red light pulsed at a frantic rate in the center of his chest. Suddenly the energy field shot away from my body. A sharp flash erupted in the passageway behind the mummy. The bright light faded to reveal a time rift pulsing in the corridor ten feet from where I stood.
Haphazard stood between me and the portal. He blocked my chances of finding Brady or a possible way home. At a minimum, I figured any time and place would be better than this time and place. Later, I would learn that that theory had numerous holes in it, but at the time, it held water. I had to get past the mummy and enter the rift.
As when I dealt with the previous time portal, everything seemed to speed up and slow down. Movements looked exaggerated, alternating between fast and slow. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.
Haphazard continued to move steadily toward me. His foul odor preceded him. Time was running out—again, literally.
The rift began to get smaller behind my attacker. I had to act. Fighting a mummy is a fool’s endeavor. He’s already dead - no pain or damage could be inflicted by my punches and kicks. I needed a better plan.
Without hesitation, I ran toward Haphazard’s right. As he stepped and reache
d for me, I planted my foot and spun sharply, reversing my direction, and sprinted past him on his left. The exaggeration of movement caused by the rift made the mummy overreact and he completely missed me as I sped by.
Running hard, I felt a small tug on my right foot. I stumbled but continued forward, wind milling my arms in an attempt to keep my balance.
The mummy’s roar behind me was deafening. I leapt / stumbled into the rift, chancing a look over my shoulder. A long trail of bandages streamed out behind me.
Haphazard’s wrappings had become stuck to the bottom of my right shoe like a piece of toilet paper. I could see the mummy spinning like a top as he unraveled before my very eyes.
A bright multicolored flash filled my vision as the rift closed around me. The colors merged into an intense shade of red only to give way to complete darkness. I clicked my heels together three times and said, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
Hey, it worked for Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, right?
It didn’t work for me.