Night Fantasy
by Alan Sheng | Grade 8 | Scholastic 2023 | Flash Fiction | Silver Key
Dirty, white strips squeeze my neck. My feet stumble as I claw and scratch, ripping free of the cloth.
Misty fog swirls around my head as I totter on a swaying bridge. I glance down over the old, wooden railing above a pitch-black gorge. The walls of the canyon tower over my head. Dark clouds shroud both ends of the solemn bridge.
I hear a moan. I whip around.
A wrapped, musty figure emerges from the gloom, scarlet eyes gleaming from behind knotted paper, ragged white strips, and a shaded veil. Creaks echo through the air as the rope holding together the oak bridge bounces up and down.
The mummy edges closer; I shiver.
A wet, old smell fills my nose; I tremble.
The mummy eyes me; I stare back.
Then, it dashes towards me, and I scream.
Rickety bones and cloth barrels into me and I land flat on my back, head hanging over the thousand-foot drop. I throw out my hands to grip the ropes, to steady my mind, to slow the beat of my frantic heart. When the mummy darts towards me, yellow teeth snapping, I kick it, flip it over, then grab its legs and swing the monster over the edge.
For a moment, all is silent, then a resounding splat resonates through the canyon.
I roll over and exhale, but the breath escapes my lungs as a wrinkled hand clamps around my neck, drags me upright, and tosses me several meters away. I choke and hold my bleeding head, staring at the second mummy that must be at least eight feet tall. Dried crust lines its eyes, pieces of a sarcophagus still hanging on its shoulders.
I back away towards the other side of the bridge, maggots tumbling out of the mummy’s cloth as it waddles toward me, fog fading in front of me, groans rising closer to my face, but out of the smoke, a tall rock overhang appears and desperately, I throw my bloodied face onto it. I toss my scraped arms over the ledges, and I thrust my torso up the wall but as I scramble up the rocks, a stained hand grabs my trousers. Cracked fingers grip my skin as a hiss emerges with a yank on my shin; then I yell, I jerk, I kick and I climb with all my might onto the overhang.
After a final muscle-up, I clamber onto the edge, rolling over onto my back, breathing hard. I gaze to my left and notice blue marble pillars lining the sides of a jagged opening to a shadowy cavern. Above the mouth of a cavern, there’s a scorched skull and a flaming torch. I glance down, back over the edge and I can still see the shadow of the second mummy illuminated by the light… except something is wrong.
He is too close to the wall. He is climbing.
I jump to my feet and sprint into the tomb, into the gloom, into my doom, the wrapped figure growing ever closer and closer.
Dark hallways and pathways greet me. I pick one and spring through. Ingrained lines of hieroglyphics line every wall. Painted eyes pop out of intricate drawings, trailing my feet and my every movement. Finally, I find a small door; behind it is a room with paintings, furniture, and jewelry. I squat behind an open chest full of clay tablets and wait, sweat dripping off my palms. Steps rattle louder and louder, and moans ricochet closer and closer.
A wrinkled hand clamps over my mouth.
A papery stench fills my nose.
A metallic shriek pierces my ears.
Two unblinking eyes peer into mine.
My vision swirls.
The nightmare fades.
As my body leaves the forsaken canyon, I glance down and see a dirty, white strip.
It’s stuck to the sole of my sneaker.
My eyes blink open and I stare up, sweat dripping into the cartoon hippos and crocodiles printed on my covers. They stare back, jaws wide open. I scramble out of bed, pulling the blanket off as I pop up and leap down onto the carpet floor. Dead skin lines the edges of my lips, and I walk to the sink to wash it off. I turn towards the door and just as I open it, I find a mummy gazing at me, silent and sinister.
Shaking, it holds its bandaged hands up, curls its fingers into a linen fist, and lumbers toward me.
My heart drops. My mind stops. The mummy’s arm rises as it takes a step forward.
I scuttle under my bed like an ant, pressing my cheek against the wooden frame underneath my mattress. I wait, but after ten minutes, no mummy, mummy rags, or mummy parts appear. I inch out into the open, dart up, and flick on the light. Nothing.
Golden trophies stand like solemn sarcophagi on my dresser. Stuffed animals collect dust like old hieroglyph tablets in the corner. My door remains empty like the open cavern to a tomb.
What just happened?
I run to the bathroom and douse my face in the water, shaking droplets all over the walls and mirror and curtain and sink. Then, I return to my bed and stare at the tendrils of light streaming through my windows.
When I open the shutters, the warmth of a sunrise envelops my face. I sigh and lay back on my bedroom floor. For many more minutes, I remain glued to the ground. Finally, an itch forces me to groan and sit up. I reach down and scratch my ankle, but I feel something rough and uneven. I see something white and dirty.
The strip.
The bedpost resonates as my feet crunch into it, and the closet door creaks as my back crashes onto it. I hold the torn cloth in my hand, every bone trembling, each muscle dancing a furious jig, unsure of whether I was awake, or I remained in a time long past–a dream that was all too real.
