Part 4
We entered the city sewer at the entrance beside the train station, under the assumption that it was most likely the one Dean used. Xena released the leash on the ciegona and it lumbered off into the darkness. I felt terrible. We'd no idea what this creature would do or what we'd just unleashed - literally - on the city. Other than the visitor's word that it would destroy the caparra, there was nothing to say that it wouldn't make its way out of the sewer and randomly attack someone. But what other option did we have? Our weapons were useless against it.
Chuck refused to come with us to the entrance. We found him unconscious and very pale when we got back to the truck about an hour after leaving him. Remembering the wound, I opened his jacket and swore. There was blood everywhere; my hands were covered in it, so was the floor of the truck.
It took a lot of manoeuvring, two women trying to move the bulk of a man into the passenger seat, but we eventually managed to move him enough so I could drive to the hospital. They assumed it was a stab wound, but they couldn't stop the bleeding.
Chuck died. Xena - that's all I've ever known her by - disappeared when the hospital called the cops. They arrested me for his murder. They're also trying to pin Dean's murder on me too, but it will never go to trial. Thanks to my lawyer's disbelief and the subsequent plea he entered on my behalf, I was deemed unfit to stand. I'll spend the rest of my days confined to a cell in the nut house; the eastern wing of Liteon Prison.
When they let me watch television, I keep the channel tuned to News 24. Torn between the hope that I don't hear of any unusual deaths and praying that some evidence of the creature would present itself and prove to the world I'm not crazy. That we're not alone.
Back to start
Trapped
Awareness returned with a sense of foreboding, a familiar feeling since the accident a few months ago. Whether it was dawn or dusk, I couldn't tell, but as I pulled the curtains, I saw the evidence of what she had done lying discarded in abstract abandon all around the sitting room. My eyes strayed from the throw-covered corpse, absently catching a reflection in the mirror over the mantel. I had to take a second, then a closer, third look at what I saw reflected in the blood-spattered glass. I gasped, horrified beyond words as my fingers traced the latest endeavour my other half had taken to improve her looks with the aid of Bethany, one of the neighbours. There was no way I could cover this one up; not when I wore Bethany's face.
Whatever pain meds she had taken were wearing off, the numbing effect fading so I could feel the pins nipping at my hairline. I took a fortifying breath and began the arduous task of removing them. One by one, the pins joined the birthday gift Bethany had given me the day before. As the last fell from my shaking hand, I watched it pierce the once pristine-white petals of the orchids now stained with my blood.
I should have listened to my instincts and ended the facade the first time I woke with no memory of events. The absences were coming more frequently and I feared that someday soon I wouldn't wake.
Light glinted off the razor blade on the mantel, an omen for what I knew I had to do.
The first cut was deep and the only one she needed to take control.
Now it's me who sees through her eyes, my screams that go unheard in the darkness of her mind.
Retribution
Applause thundered as the curtain fell on the final scene. Stage lights faded throwing the cast into absolute darkness. Someone - a woman - screamed in fear, but it went unheard by the audience over the calls for an encore.
We stood frozen in shock when the curtain rose for the customary bow, allowing light to penetrate. The leading lady crouched over the stricken body of the leading man, her dress spattered, her hands and face coated in his blood. Beside him lay the implement of his demise: an overhead spot-light.
My first thought was that it could have been me. If it hadn't been for Dirk dating the casting director, it would have been.
Again the audience cheered, apparently ecstatic at being given what they requested. But this was no encore.
It was at this point I remembered the video camera in my hand and zoomed in on the body, panning out again to encapsulate the faces of the cast. My next thought being how much the media would pay for the footage. It's not every day one witnesses this type of incident, I needed to get as much of it as I could.
The police arrived before the theatre had cleared of patrons, uniformed officers shuffling the cast members into the main changing room to wait questioning by the plain clothed detective.
Others must have mentioned the camera because when my turn finally came about, he demanded the memory card as potential evidence. Thankfully I managed to slip the card into my phone and upload the file to my dropbox before then.
Something niggled at my subconscious, urging me to watch the video. I drove to the nearest McDonalds and used their free wifi. Two cups of coffee later, 'download complete' appeared on the small screen. Eagerness turned to bitter disappointment as I watched the curtain close and nothing I didn't already know presented itself.
I don't know what I'd hoped to see, perhaps someone tampering with the fittings? An explanation for why the spotlight chose that exact moment to come loose? Something, anything, to put my mind at ease after the whispers in the changing rooms that blamed the Scottish curse. Surely there was nothing to the stories. Uttering a single word couldn't possibly be to blame for the unfortunate incident that took Dirk's life, could it?
Look closer.
"Look at what closer? There's nothing there." I snapped, shooting the man beside me a glare.
The man raised a single eyebrow in question.
Look closer.
"Who said that?"
"Said what mate?" the man asked, perplexed.
His companion leaned closer to him and mock whispered, "I think he's been out in the sun too long, Joe. Grab your coke, it's time we were leaving."
I ignored them and started the last ten minutes of the footage again, plugging the earphones in so I could hear it over the background chatter of McDonald's customers.
There!
"Yes!" I shouted, drawing unwelcome attention from a group of kids in the corner. "You're right. I saw something move just before the light fell."
The ear buds were yanked from my ears when one of the kids snatched the phone from my grasp. He danced away, waving it in the air like a trophy. His friends followed him outside. Under normal circumstances I would have let it go, confronting a gang of teenagers in a dark corner of a car park isn't advisable, there's no telling what they'd do.
Not this time. That same something urged me to follow.
"Give it back, guys," I said casually, figuring a placid tone might be more amenable.
Racious laughter was their reply.
I took another step closer and glared at them. "I said give it back." It came out more like a growl, but they got the message.
The one closest to me stood up from his seat on the wall, withdrawing his hands from his pockets as he squared his shoulders. "What you gonna do? Call the cops?"
His buddies laughed, all except one who's gaze was locked somewhere over my shoulder. He tapped the boy beside him on the leg and indicated in my direction. The second's eyes widened in apparent fear. A chain reaction occurred, each boy stopped laughing abruptly within a second of each other. By the time the closest realised his mates were no longer backing him up, he too stopped.
Snatching my phone from his hands, I stomped away, glancing over my shoulder to see if they were coming after me. It could have been because I'd reached the glow of the street lighting again, but the corner seemed darker, like a void. Not a single ray of light could penetrate the gloom.
With no recollection of getting into my car, never mind driving home, I stumbled up the dozen steps to my flat on jelly legs. I needed something sugary to replace the energy I'd used during the adrenalin rush in the car park. Even while I ate the stale donut I found in the cupboard, I kept asking myself what the hell I thought I w
as doing, confronting a gang of kids; they could have had knives. Then where would I have been?
Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, I flicked the power switch on for the PC. A bigger screen should let me see whatever it was on the video.
Ten minutes from the end, the same movement caught my eye. A shadow moving across the stage floor and up the wall behind Dirk, the leading man, as he watched the final scene of the play from the wings. Dirk's shadow lengthened as if the light in front of him lowered, but I could see the stage lights from where I was filming on the opposite side of the stage, and they hadn't moved. For a second or two, the camera lost sight of Dirk as it followed the actor on stage. When he came back into view, his shadow was gone. That's when the curtain came down and everyone rushed on stage for the final bow. It was too dark for the camera to pick anything up.
I played it again and again and again, hoping that tweaking the brightness might show something more. That one area directly above were Dirk had stood when he stepped on stage for the last time, remained in darkness; darkness so complete that no amount of brightness or contrast would display an image. The only thing I could get were two tiny, green dots that I think were the power LED's on an adjacent spot-light.
So much for having something; shadows alone wouldn't prove foul play. I called it a night, deciding to have another look in the morning when my mind was fresh.
Awareness gradually returned with the closing stanza's of John Legend's All of Me, one of my favourite tunes at that moment, playing on the clock radio. Stretching, I contemplated getting up or hitting snooze. The headline news made the decision for me.
"Five local teenagers were slaughtered in gang fight at a McDonald's restaurant," the newsreader stated.
I sat up. It couldn't be the same five boys, could it?
Sure enough, the TV news showed the same car park I'd used the previous night, flashing pictures of the boys - younger, better dressed versions - who took my phone. "It is estimated to have been around eleven pm last night. Police are looking for witnesses and asking customers who were in the restaurant around that time to come forward." Then it played a snippet of footage from a car park security camera. My car sat in clear view. I saw myself stop and look back at the dark corner before getting into the car and driving off.
Hoping that Detective Mills wouldn't be investigating this lot as well, I made the call. It wasn't like I had anything to tell them anyway.
Mills wasn't surprised to hear from me, claiming to have been waiting for my call. I explained what had happened with my phone.
"That confirms what the staff said. Did you see or hear anything in the car park?"
"No, sorry, it was pitch-black. I could just about see the boys when I took my phone back."
"Took it back?"
"Well, I asked and they gave," I admitted.
"Did you see anyone on the street when you left?"
"No one, sorry."
He sounded tired when he told me I could have my memory card back. "We've made a copy of what we need. Thanks for your assistance, we'll be in touch."
I honestly believed that would be the last I heard from him. How wrong was I? No more than fifteen hours later, Mills pulled into the spare parking space at the front of the flats.
His impatient knock on the narrow, glass window beside the door spoke volumes in itself; his added, "I know you're in there Roy, open the damn door," left me wondering what the hell I'd done to deserve his anger.
"Give me a minute," I hollered, tying the belt of my robe as I ambled along the narrow hall, not yet fully awake.
He didn't give me the chance to open the door. No sooner had I turned the latch, it slammed against my forehead with the force of his kick.
My eyelids felt like they had lead weights attached to them. It took every ounce of strength I had left to open them a mere crack. Someone was dragging Mills along the walkway toward the railings that overlooked the river. Forcing my eyes open again, I tried to focus on what they looked like, but it was too dark, the light at the end of hall wasn't working. Between my bleary vision and the lack of light, all I could make out was a silhouette. A shadow of someone much larger than Mills.
Don't worry, Son, the shadow voice soothed. I'll look after you. I know I wasn't around much when you were growing up - okay I wasn't around at all - but I'm here now and I'm going to make up for it.
Awareness returned with the soothing melody of my favourite song playing on the radio alarm. Sudden inexplicable feelings of déjà vous washed over me, jerking me awake. I lay there, waiting for the news with a sense of dread.
Am I to believe that all those people are gone, killed by my father's hand? How could it have been? How could I have seen him on the walkway when my dad's been dead for five years?
Back to start
Resurrection
An Omen
During the night of the second new moon of the year 1325BC, a star fell from the heavens to land in the grounds of a pharaoh's palace. It was considered by the Prophet Moses to be an omen, a sign from God that the Boy King's reign was soon to end. An inferno burned for thirty days and thirty nights at the crash site. On the thirtieth night, an explosion rocked the palace walls, bringing a curious nineteen-year-old to the balcony of his bedchambers.
Something slithered unseen from beneath the lush potted shrubbery, drawn to the young man by his body heat and the intoxicating scent of mating lingering on his skin. It rose up to stand on its tail, reaching knee height, a soft hiss escaping from its serpent-like mouth. The male spun on his heel to face it. The creature yawned, stretched its body thin and dove into the open, waiting mouth of its stupefied host.
Bronzed skin rippled as the creature sent hair thin tentacles throughout its host's body, the final chord reaching the cerebral cortex allowing it to take complete control.
"My King?" a young female called breathlessly from within the darkened room, and when he failed to answer, she stepped hesitantly into the flickering light to join him. He sat on his knees clutching his stomach. "Tutankhamun, my love, are you ill? Shall I send for the healer?"
Searching the host's memory, the creature sought the information it required to communicate, "No," it croaked through Tutankhamun's mouth. "Help me... inside."
Tutankhamun staggered to the lavish bed with the aid of the concubine. Inhaling deeply, he smelled the arousal lingering within her nubile body and found himself suddenly overcome by desire. The creature's need to procreate over-ruled its mind. He threw her pearl wrapped body upon the bed and ravished her, taking her quickly and repeatedly throughout what remained of the night. By first light, finally satiated, he slept the sleep of the dead, the seed of his progeny safely installed within the womb of the female in his arms. When the noon sun peaked, a servant entered the chambers to find both King Tutankhamun and his concubine dead.
Egypt mourned the passing of the Boy King. On the fortieth day his embalmed body was placed in a sarcophagus within the tomb that's construction began the day he became King. Along with food, herbs, and spices to aid him in the afterlife, golden statues, figures and various treasures were also enclosed within the tomb. By the time it was sealed, the contents' combined worth was immense. In order to preserve this, traps were set within the maze of tunnels built into the pyramid.
Over the following years, numerous attempts were made to breach the seal, however, anyone who set foot within the tomb died. Some by means of the traps set, some by mysterious accident and some simply dropped where they stood.
A stark warning was inscribed upon the tomb entrance advising any potential thieves of the dangers. In later years, it became known as the 'The Curse of Tutankhamun'.
"It is I who hinder the sand from choking the secret chamber, and who repel that one who would repel him with the desert-flame. I have set aflame the desert. I have caused the path to be mistaken. I am for the protection of the Osiris. This is to repel the enemy of Osiris, in whatever form he may come."
Perhaps the most noted of these unfortun
ate victims was the esteemed Howard Carter, who, on the 26th November 1922 breeched the top left corner of the tomb doorway. His men, after reading the inscription, begged Carter to leave the tomb and its treasures intact, fearing the curse would kill them all. Carter refused. A moment later a sand storm blew in, trapping Carter and his companions, Lord Carnarvon and his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert, inside. They were never to be seen again.
One survivor of the sandstorm lived to tell the tale, a man who refused to assist the dig in any way. He claims the desert sand rose up like a great serpent beast and swallowed them all, whole. Newspapers in Carters hometown had a field day with the tale of the mysterious curse. Word spread around the world like a virus. From that day forward, no one was brave enough to face the wrath of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun.
Awakening
Tutankhamun blinked open his eyes, and saw nothing. He gasped, drawing a lungful of air, only to find it stale and putrid. His hand connected with something hard and heavy as he attempted to ease the restriction in his chest. In panic, he fought to push the weight from him.
Blinded by the sudden light, he threw his arms over his face. The cloth wrapped around his arm fell away to reveal dried and crumbling flesh. He screamed, heaving himself from the sarcophagus to cower against the wall in terror.
Torches around the walls of the room burst to life, casting flickering light on the treasures lining the tomb. He knew immediately where he was and ran to the door that held him captive. It wouldn't move, regardless of how hard he pushed. Finally exhausted, he fell to his knees in horror. The afterlife was supposed to be paradise, not this. He was supposed to be surrounded by his ancestors, not trapped in this prison for eternity.
"No!" he yelled in anger at the gods. "I will not spend eternity locked within my own tomb!"
Rage at the gods, virtually blinding in its intensity, descended upon him to wake the creature slumbering within his chest. His eyes, once Sepia in hue, swirled and pooled black when the creature took control.
"It is time," he said, rising to his feet. "At last they are ready."
Skin and sinew reformed, hair sprouted from his head, the length bound with golden bands at his nape, restoring Tutankhamun's body to how it was the night the creature took it over. Raising his arms above his head, the cloths swathing him falling to the floor, he sent a pulse of energy into the ground causing everything around him shudder.
Sand swirled in the desert as the wind grew fierce, whipping it away from the pyramid as it rose from the depths. The sky grew dark. Ferocious winds brought clouds full of more water than the desert had seen since the beginning of time. Brilliant forks of lightning flashed as thunder split the heavens apart.
Tutankhamun stood atop his tomb and laughed at the destruction around him. Buildings burned. Great rivers swept wheeled monstrosities aside as if nothing more than tiresome flies. Craters formed with the cracking and shaking ground. People screamed as their world fell apart.
"Anakhamun, come to me. Join me," he roared into the night.
She rose from the ground, sand falling from her head, shoulders, breasts and swollen belly as she emerged. "I hear, my King. I obey," she chanted as she strode across the sands, the soft clicks of her loose pearl wrappings unheard over the roaring winds. Sand parted, creating a wind and rain free tunnel through which she walked.
Authorised
"This had better be bloody good, Jones. Anything less than the imminent end of civilization and I'll have your pins, Soldier."
Jones cleared her throat. "I'm sorry Mr. President, Sir. Reports are coming in about a major disturbance in Egypt."
"What kind of disturbance are we talking about?" President Nicholson sat up in bed and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Terrorist again?"
"No, Sir, this is more of an anomaly. Severe electrical and sand storms in the Valley of the Kings."
"Even the desert gets a little rain now and again, Jones. Abnormal weather conditions do not qualify as an emergency."
"Sir, the thing is our weather guys say it's not natural. It just appeared out of nowhere. There are earth tremors too, magnitude six on the Richter scale."
"Still not sufficient reason..."
"There was something else, Sir."
"Spit it out, Jones. I've had exactly twenty minutes sleep in the past forty-eight hours and I'd like to get back to it."
"Satellites picked something up at the epicentre just before the clouds obscured it. Sir, it looks like a pyramid."
"And?"
"And it wasn't there two minutes previous."
"Perhaps the tremors helped uncover it. Is that everything?"
"I'm sending Foxtrot two to investigate; we'll have more in an hour."
"Good, update me in the morning. And, Jones?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"I'm unavailable for the next seven hours; make sure I'm not disturbed."
"Yes, Sir, I'll disconnect your line as soon as we're done. Goodnight Sir."