UNLUCKY TOMB RAIDERS, THEN AND NOW
The Gay Detective: The Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb
How did the curator end up in the sarcophagus?
“The old man stirred the embers of his dying fire and gazed at the great pyramid, dark against the night sky. The chanting priests were gone. But to the old man, their hymns to the dead king lingered on the jasmine-scented breeze.
He’d waited with his sons until the watchers retired. Now, they could begin the dangerous task of digging down through a maze of dead-ends and false rooms to the burial chamber.
A low moan floated up from the base of the pyramid. Swelled into a chorus of hundred-times-a-hundred shrieking voices. It filled the old man’s ears. Froze his marrow. And stopped his heart with dread.
When the watchers returned in the morning, they found his withered corpse kneeling at the base of the monument. His sons were never seen again. And so began the legend of the curse.”
Patsy stopped reading. Gazed at me over her heavy, tortoise-shell glasses. “It’s a dramatization I wrote for the opening of the ‘Dark Pyramid’ exhibit. D’you think Uncle Ian’ll like it?”
She smiled at me, her heart in her eyes.
