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The Curse on the Tomb

John Ragusa

    I’m Richard Hedrin. I’m on my second trip to Egypt. It might be my last trip anywhere.
    As I sit here on this plane with you, I pray that I can find a certain tomb and do what is necessary to save my life.
    If you’ll listen, I’ll explain my bizarre situation.
    Harry Wetherton will probably be remembered for the enigmatic circumstances surrounding his death, rather than for his unspectacular life. He was a History professor at a high school where I taught Algebra. At faculty meetings, he suggested that he take his students on a field trip to Egypt. This request was always denied.
    One day, he approached me in the school’s parking lot.
    “Hey there, Richard,” he greeted me.
    “Hi, Harry,” I said. “What’s up?”
    “I want to ask you for a favor. I’m sure you’ve heard me beg the faculty to let me take my class to Egypt.”
    “Indeed I have.”
    “The buggers constantly say no to it, damn them.”
    “What do you want from me?”
    “Soon we’ll be on vacation for three months. You and I could visit Egypt.”
    I had never wanted to travel to that country. What else is over there but sand, the blazing sun, and pyramids?
    “Well? Would you like to go with me?” His tone was pleading.
    “I don’t know; I had plans to relax during my break.”
    He frowned morosely. Obviously, a visit to Egypt was his ultimate ambition.
    “It won’t be much fun going there alone,” he said.
    I gave in. “All right; I’ll accompany you.”
    He beamed. “Splendid! We’ll take a plane there. We’ll have a great time!”

* * *


    When we got there, the country seemed as I had pictured it: austere, boring, and lifeless. Cairo is not exactly an exciting land.
    Wetherton was thrilled, though. His face lit up as soon as our plane touched ground.
    First we saw the Cairo Museum. He was as ecstatic as a kid on the last day of school.
    “The Egyptians had a skill for architecture,” the tour guide said. “They put intricate care into the making of their pyramids. Dedication was as crucial as craft to them.”
    It was high praise for people who worshipped pagan gods and supported slavery.
    Next we looked at some Egyptian pottery.
    “Don’t you admire the look of these vases?” Wetherton asked.
    “They’re beautiful.” I looked at my watch. We had been there for only a few minutes, but it seemed much longer.
    We were then told how the Egyptians cooked their food. This gave me an idea on how to spare myself from more boredom.
    “I’m getting hungry,” I said. “I have some sandwiches in my knapsack; why don’t we stroll outdoors and have lunch?”
    “Don’t you want to see more of the museum?”
    “We can see it later.” And later I’ll claim to have a headache, I told myself.
    “My stomach is grumbling,” Wetherton admitted. “We can go out there and eat.”
    We went outside and walked to a secluded area near a cave.
    “What do you say we go inside this cave?” he said. “The heat is murder out here.”
    “What about bats? I’ve heard they can get into your hair.”
    “They won’t bother us. Come on.”
    We entered the cave. I had to agree it was cooler in there.
    “Just think,” Wetherton said, “a few centuries ago, men lived in places like this. There were no appliances, yet they survived!”
    I could tell that he wanted to go farther into the cave. Sure enough, his next statement confirmed it.
    “I’d really like to explore this passageway.”
    I sighed. “I guess we might as well.”
    We advanced into the cave. The passageway opened up into a den, and what we saw in there amazed us.
    “Look, Harry!” I said.
    “Good grief, it’s a mummy’s tomb!” he cried.
    “If I weren’t seeing this with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.”
    We walked toward the coffin with fascination.
    “It must be several centuries old, yet it looks brand-new,” Wetherton whispered.
    “What are these animals?” I asked, pointing to drawings on the lid.
    “They’re images of the Egyptian gods, Anubis and Isis.”
    “Should we open it?”
    “No!” Wetherton said, horrified.
    “Why not?”
    “Do you see the words here?”
    “Yes. What do they mean?”
    “I don’t know. I can’t read Egyptian. But I suspect that they’re a curse forbidding the tomb to be opened. Many explorers have done so in the past and have died young.”
    “It couldn’t have been a curse that killed them! The supernatural doesn’t exist, Harry.”
    “Then what caused them to die so early? I don’t want to take any risks.”
    He was genuinely scared; he truly believed in the “curse.”
    “Okay, we won’t open it,” I said. “But can’t I take a picture of it?”
    “Go ahead. There’s no curse on photographing a tomb.”
    I took a picture of it. Then we checked into a hotel and caught a nap. I woke up later, but Harry didn’t. He was dead.

* * *


    The local coroner said he’d suffered a fatal heart attack. I thought it odd that he should have a coronary in the prime of life. Something was wrong here.
    Back home, I consulted his physician, Dr. Perry Gettmann. According to him, Wetherton and his family had no history of heart trouble, which made his death mysterious.
    But stranger things have been known to happen, and I would have dropped the matter if it hadn’t been for one thing.
    The curse had promised early death to anyone who opened the tomb. But Wetherton had not opened it! What made him die so suddenly?
    I visited Steven Holtz, a historian in my hometown, to try and get an answer.
    Showing him the photograph of the tomb, I related our experience.
    “That explains it!” he said.
    “What do you mean?” I said.
    “The words on the lid explain what the buried pharaoh wanted.”
    “And what was that?”
    “He wanted someone to open his tomb so he could enjoy the afterlife on Earth.”
    I was still confused. “Why did Wetherton die? That’s what I can’t understand.”
    “Don’t you see, Richard? The curse is not meant for someone who opens the tomb, but for someone who doesn’t open it.”

* * *


    That’s my story. Now you know why I must find that tomb. If I don’t open it, I’ll be a goner. What killed Wetherton will kill me.
    Did you just feel the plane swooping down? I did. And I swear I can see the ground getting closer.
    I think I know what’s happening.
    We’re crashing!



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