After hours of crawling through dark tunnels, Doctor Horton stood before the entrance to Ratoutep III’s tomb. Doctor Horton shone his torch on the painted wooden door that sealed the tomb. Its brightly coloured images of ancient gods and hieroglyphics had barely faded in 4000 years as the undisturbed and airless tomb had preserved the paintings perfectly. Breathing in deeply, Horton gently pushed open the door and stepped into the room. As the door swung silently back, he heard a slight hiss of air break the silence. Suddenly, green flames sprung into life in ancient bronze braziers arrayed around the edge of the room.
“Chemical fires lit by the rush of air from the door,” Horton said to himself as he turned off his torch.
Slowly, he looked around the newly lit room. Finely carved stonework covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Around the edges of the room were brightly decorated chests filled with precious gems and gold that glittered sickly in the green light of the chemical flames. In each corner of the room stood a life-size stone statue of a crocodile-headed sentinel clutching a stone mace. The four statues looked towards the centre of the room. Looking at what he had come for. The golden sarcophagus of Ratoutep. Ratoutep’s final resting place.
Without hesitation, Horton dashed over to the tomb. He gazed down upon the intricately worked metal at the face of the long-dead pharaoh who stared back at him through green enamelled eyes. Horton ignored the cold glaring eyes and lifted the heavy lid of the sarcophagus and saw the mummified remains of the pharaoh lying still inside. In his hands, he clasped a crook and a flail which were the twin symbols of Osiris. On his head, he wore a ruby covered crown. However, Horton’s eyes were drawn to the black scarab beetle necklace around his neck. Horton looked down at the necklace. It was relatively plain and could easily be forgotten in a room filled with treasure but it was unique. One of a kind. Priceless. Greedily, Horton reached down and grasped it in his hand and held it aloft.
The scarab seemed to glow.
“That’s strange,” Horton muttered quietly to himself.
Mesmerized, he didn’t hear the sound of stone scraping softly on stone. He didn’t hear it edging closer and closer to him.
He felt a cold stone grip on his shoulder. In an instant, he snapped out of his trance and spun around. He stood facing a crocodile-headed stone statue. Its eyes glowed black as it lifted its stone mace.
Horton screamed and the green flames died plunging the tomb into darkness.
In London, Horton’s house stood dark and empty in the night. It had done so for many months since Horton had left for Egypt. With a crackle and a hiss, the log fire burst into life with strange sickly green flames. The flames lit the living room up brightly with a green glow as the fire roared fiercely in the darkness. The fire grew more and more intense and a sudden blast of heat sent sparks flickering across the room. The sparks caught fire and soon the whole house was ablaze. Within minutes, the house was reduced to a smouldering ruin and the strange green flames flickered and faded as suddenly as they appeared leaving the neighbouring houses completely untouched…
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