Witches Tales 5

A knock on the door echoed through the old house and down into the basement.  The spoon in Mrs Loomis’ hand froze as she stared up at the dirty rafters on the ceiling.  Bobby waited with his mouth gaping, oatmeal crusting on his lips.  The basement was quiet, with all focus upward.  An impatient knock on the door informed Mrs Loomis that whoever it was, wasn’t going to go away.  She sat the bowl down, put a wrinkled finger to her lips and shot a warning look at her prisoners.

The old woman knew she had a small window to get rid of whoever was interrupting her.  She went up the stairs, her creaky knees matching the sound of each wooden step.  At the top of the stairs she bolted the door to the basement and whispered a spell to keep the three away from the door.  She barely had a chance to feed one of them and it wouldn’t be long before the others started to complain about being hungry.  Excuses and gruff responses ran through her head as she shuffled to the front door.

Dusk shown through the lacy curtains hung over the windows next to the window.  Who’d be at my door at this hour, she thought.  They banged on the door again, this time rattling the glass panes.  She peaked through the curtains to see two men, one in a police uniform and the other in a trench coat.  The man in the trench coat waved a badge at her through the window.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat.  She raised her index finger to let them know it’d be a second.  Mrs Loomis looked at her aged face reflected in the mirror. A memory of a halloween mask looked back at her.  She studied the deep lines grooved into her cheeks, the hawk-like nose, and cracked lips.  She told herself she can do this.  Maybe they are here to check on an old woman, she hoped.  Her hands fumbled with the lock on the door, leaving the chain in place.  The door cracked open and let in the cool night air.  “What can I do for you fine gentlemen?”

“Well, ma’am, we’ve gotten some reports of noises coming from your house.  We wanted just to check to make sure you are okay.”  The one in the coat said.

“I’m just fine.  Thank you for checking.  I don’t know anything about any noises.”

“Are you sure you are okay?  We had some calls the last couple of weeks of break-ins.  Some of your neighbors called in saying there were some suspicious people walking around the street.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible.  I haven’t seen anything, but if I do, I’ll make sure to call it in.  Thanks for stopping by.”  Mrs Loomis went to close the door.

“Well, like I said we got a call that your neighbor heard some noises coming from your house.  Maybe you were asleep and didn’t hear anything.  Do you mind if we come in and just do a quick check?”  The officer in the coat put his shoe in the door jam, stopping her from closing the door.

Those damn neighbors.  As soon as I can get a handle on this demon I’m going to curse them, she thought.  She smiled at the officers, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

“Thank you for caring, but I was sitting in my living room reading a book for the last hour.  I didn’t hear anything.”

The man in the trenchcoat smiled back at her.  His face beamed like a boy that was on the step of his grandparent’s house.  “I’d feel a lot better about myself if I could just come in and do a quick sweep.  My mother would hate to hear I left an elderly woman’s house and there were criminals creeping around.  I promise we won’t disturb anything.  I’ll even make sure Jason here wipes his feet.”  Jason smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

She knew it wasn’t going to be long before the three in her basement would wake up and start creating a racket.  Her eye twitched.  The cops were not taking the hint.  Forgotten words sat on the tip of her tongue, a spell that could make these two turn around and forget her house.  It was time for her to end this conversation and finish feeding her captives.

As wrinkled and ugly as her face was, she knew how to contort it to freeze blood and ruin days.  When she was younger she remembered walking through stores during Halloween and seeing a frightening witch’s mask.  Staring at the two cops now, she conjured that mask in her mind and began to contort the muscles in her face to emulate the look of horror.  The blood in Jason’s face drained and he started to sweat.  The officer in the trench coat took a step back.  But, before Mrs. Loomis could shut the door, she could see the officer steel himself.

“It’ll just take a minute.” He said.

“Fine.” She spat.

Her face settled to its normal state and she exhaled deeply.   Resigned to letting them in, she undid the chain and opened the door.  They thanked her and stepped over the threshold.  Jason’s face was still pale and he watched her warily.  The other one smiled warmly and waited in the foyer as she shut the door.  She put the chain back on and locked the door. Then lead them into her living room.

“You didn’t need to lock the door.  We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.” Jason said.

“Apparently there are criminals wandering around the neighborhood.  I wouldn’t want them to come in through the front door, would I?” She said.

The officer laughed and patted Jason on the back. “She’s right. Can never be too careful.  Do you mind turning a light on in here?”

Mrs. Loomis went to the wall and flicked a switch, two yellow bulbs flashed on revealing the living room to the police officers.  She watched them as they looked around in awe.  Their eyes were drawn to the many different taxidermied creations scattered about.  Their heads scanned the paintings of satanic rituals, demons, and creatures from other worlds that hung on her walls.  The officer looked at a dusty book of folklore that was opened on the coffee table and smirked for a second.  She innocently smiled at them and shrugged her shoulders, “We all have our hobbies.”

“Uhm, yes, I guess we do.” The officer said. “Is there a Mr. Loomis?”

“Oh no, it’s just me Mr…”

“Ah yes, I guess I didn’t say who I was.  I’m officer Barron.” Barron said.

“Anyway, can I direct you around the different rooms officer Barron?  It is getting close to my bedtime, and I wouldn’t want you to be stuck doddering around an old woman’s house when there are probably more pressing matters to attend to.”

Barron adjusted his pants as he sat down on the overstuffed couch.  Jason continued to stand, staring at the strange insects framed in glass.  Mrs. Loomis’ thoughts drifted down to the basement, knowing the possessed humans were close to waking.  She shifted impatiently in her slippers, hoping to shuffle them through the house as quickly as possible.  Barron picked up the folklore book and settled into the couch. “I think I’ll have Jason here do a quick search while you and I talk.  My grandmother passed away a little less than a year ago and well, I miss her.  It would be nice if you could just humor me for a minute.”  He said as he closed the book.

Jason looked at Barron and then back to the old woman.  “Uh, Barron, are you sure?  Wouldn’t it be smarter if she came with me?”

“Jason, it’ll be fine.  I’m sure you can handle a quick walk through.”

“I’d prefer if I go with him, Mr. Barro., I don’t know normally get visitors and well, I just don’t think it is proper for a man to wander around a woman’s house.” Mrs. Loomis said, the locked door of the basement flashing in her head.

“Don’t worry about it. Jason, promise Mrs. Loomis here that you won’t go snooping through her bedroom or take anything from her kitchen.” Mr. Barron said to the two of them.

“I don’t know, isn’t this against procedure?” Jason asked.

“Jason, that is something we don’t need to worry about. Go search the rest of the house, that’s an order.” Barron said. “Mrs. Loomis, please come sit here.”

Tension filled the room.  Barron stared at Jason, his features set in stone.  Jason stood still, his face a mixture of fear and confusion.  Mrs. Loomis could see Jason working out whether it would be better to question his superior or wander through a creepy house.  She snuck a look into her kitchen and the basement door.  Would Jason see the padlock on the outside of the door and ask to go down there?  Or would he just ignore it?  She hoped that the house had upset him enough that he would quickly scan the house and disregard anything that might take him out of earshot of Barron.  Barron turned his gaze toward Mrs. Loomis and patted the seat next to him.  His eyes and voice seemed familiar to him, causing her to steel herself before sitting down..

“Thank you for allowing this grandma’s boy a moment of your time.” Barron smiled and Jason was forgotten.

Mrs. Loomis studied Barron’s face.  It was a square face with a wide chin.  There were dark circles under his yellowing eyes, eyes that reminded her of someone.  Patchy hair sprouted from his chin.  His lips were cracked and dry.  He had a big nose that was bent from a fight in his past.  His smile was his best feature and relaxed her.  Maybe he is just being nice and really did want to talk to an old woman, she thought.

“Every once in awhile we get calls from this neighborhood.  A parent would complain about an old woman that threatened their child.  Or that there were weird smells coming from a house.  We also, if you can believe it, got a call once about some strange halloween rituals, with dead goats and animal bones hanging from trees.”

Mrs. Loomis’ heart skipped a beat. Images of kids running up to her door on a bet.  Voices calling her evil and a scary woman that would eat kids. A rock thrown through her window.

“We never replied to the calls of course.  Just told them that they shouldn’t worry about what is going on with their neighbor.  We said they should keep their kids away from other people’s houses, that it was trespassing.”

“That is true.  It’s not nice to bother an old woman like that.  Seems like they should mind their own business.  Maybe they should teach their kids not to tease, maybe they should teach them to respect the elderly.” Mrs. Loomis said while she fidgeted with her robe.

“Exactly.  Most small towns have a few houses that, well, are cause for rumor.  Maybe the house isn’t that well taken care of, or they are foreign and have different customs than the rest.  And, kids are kids, they are going to see something they don’t understand and start to label it as haunted.”

The echo of Jason’s footsteps and creaking doors came to them in the living room.  Mrs. Loomis was reminded of a couple of days ago when she was in the basement.  It was her first conjuring.  She had the demon in the chalk circle, when she heard the tinkling of glass being broken.  Her forehead was heavy with perspiration as she battled for control over the demon.  She summoned something much stronger than her skill could handle.  A touch at her shoulder brought her back to the present.

“Are you okay?  You sorta drifted there for a second.” Barron said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

“No worries.  I was just saying, I think that you are trying too hard.  This whole act…” he gestured around to the decorations. “What do you think you are?”

The demon had laughed at her.  It had known what she was.  A lonely woman that had read too many books and listened to too many rumors.  It barked at her, “You think you can truly be a witch?  Do you think something like me would be interested in your pitiful soul?”

But then the footsteps crept around upstairs.  There were people in her kitchen, someone had broken in.  She tried to focus on the demon, tried to bend it to her will, like the books had said. Her voice rung out in a deep guttural tone as she recited the words.  The floor shook, knocking over boxes of clothes and kitchen utensils that had been stored in the basement.  Upstairs the steps stopped.  Then Barron’s voice came back through.

“...a hobby like walking or knitting.”

“That’s a good idea.  Do you think Jason is done searching?”

“Probably.  But, it seems to me that you are faking it, maybe trying to hide from something?  I mean you aren’t really a witch or monster.  Just an old lady.”

Her concentration on the demon broke.  It reached up with smoky tendrils, pushing through the rafters to the main floor.  “You aren’t worth my time.  Just an old lady that has no friends.  I wouldn’t waste the blood in my pen for your withered old soul.”  

She crumpled under the weight of the demon’s words.  Years of laughter at her ugly features, the witch’s halloween mask come to life, had driven her to believing she could be a witch.  She felt pathetic thinking about the books she had ordered, the ones that taught you how to be a real witch.  The basement floor was cool under to the touch as she laid there, watching the demon dissolve into the tendrils floating upstairs with all of her hopes of being something more.  The people in her kitchen began to scream and convulse.  They must have been worthy of the demon, she thought.

She shuddered on the couch.  Barron’s face fell, “Listen, Mrs. Loomis, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.  My grandmother didn’t have many friends either.  But, she got out of her house and did things to make herself happy, to feel worth something.  I understand that you are sensitive to your looks, but you can’t let that stop you from living your life.”

Before the demon was completely gone and inside of the bodies, she remembered a part of a spell.  She stood up, proud that it came back to her.  “I’m not going to let you beat me, demon.  You’ll be my slave yet.”  With that she uttered the words.  A green wind shot from her stomach and infected the demon’s smoke.  Voices upstairs and downstairs hollered out in pain.  The basement lights flickered and went out for a second.  When they came back, the demon was gone.  She went to the stairs as quickly as she could.  Three bodies were passed out on her kitchen floor.

She spent the next couple of hours dragging the woman and two men down the basement steps.  In her books, she found directions on building a stockade, as well as incantations to bind the possessed to their shackles.  They eventually woke up and began to thrash against their chains.  

They spoke as one, “You can’t keep us locked up.  Someone will hear us and come looking around your house.”

Mrs. Loomis was sitting with Barron, yet she felt like she was in the moment with the possessed humans, “You are going to give me what I want.  Those chains have spells on them.  You’ll never break out of them.  I’ll let you free when you give me the power of a witch.”

Barron cocked his eyebrow.  Mrs. Loomis was staring straight ahead, her eyes focused on the past.  “Uh… Mrs. Loomis?”

The three voices laughed.  “You think that’ll work?  You are pathetic.  It won’t take us long to break this spell, it feels as weak as you look.  And you look weak.  You think you can handle the strength within us?  You’ll tire soon and try to sleep; good luck with that.  It won’t take us long to drive you insane.”

The words came to her in the present, Barron’s mouth opening and closing, the demon speaking through him.  Is this your trick?  I am iron, my mind is strong, I won’t believe you sent them here.

They banged the chains, howled until their vocal cords bled.  Mrs. Loomis paced back and forth across her kitchen.  She stuck bits of cotton into her ears, but knew it wouldn’t be long before the neighbors noticed the noise.  Digging through her cabinets she found her sleeping pills, hoping that it would be enough to help her sleep.  With the orange plastic tube in her hand, a plan formed.  She crushed up the pills into bowls of oatmeal and brought them down to the basement, force feeding her prisoners.  Soon the drugs took ahold of them and they passed out, drool hanging from their lips.

“Uh, Mrs. Loomis, what’s behind this door?” Jason asked.

Barron and Mrs. Loomis both jumped, startled.  Barron’s face was no longer as friendly as it was when they first sat down. He knows something's up, she thought.  She tried her best to mask it, “Oh nothing. It’s just the basement.”

“Why is there a padlock on it?”

“The cellar door to the outside doesn’t stay closed, so I thought it would be easier to just lock this door.”  She stood up and went into the kitchen.  Barron followed.

“It looks pretty new, did you just put it on?” Barron asked.

Before Mrs. Loomis could respond, a woman cried out from the basement.  “Help! She’s locked us up!”  The voice was small and weak.

Mrs. Loomis stared blankly at the officers.  Jason was reaching for his pistol, while Barron faced her.  He seemed to grow, towering over her small frame.  Something flashed across his eyes, a hint of fire and brimstone. “Where is the key, Mrs. Loomis?”

She fumbled for the right words, but nothing came out.  Her mind raced for a spell or an idea of what to do.  She decided to run.  

The giant hands of Barron wrapped around her arms stopping her in her tracks.  He turned her around.  “I told you I’d get out.” He whispered and winked.  Then loud enough for Jason to hear, “Mrs. Loomis, where is the key to the basement?”

The key was found and the door opened.  Barron handcuffed the old woman, bruising her frail wrists.  They lead her down the creaky steps into the basement.  At the bottom of the stairs they found the hostages bounded with chains and ropes.  Weak, bruised and bloody, the woman sobbed at the sight of the cops.  “Oh thank god! She kidnapped me and my brothers.  I don’t know if Josh is even alive.”

A spectacle descended on the street after the discovery.  Ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers filled the street.  Neighbors stood on their lawns and watched as Mrs. Loomis was walked to the back of a cop car.  A few fire fighters flinched at the sight of her gruesome face.  Then all silently watched the three young prisoners as they were brought out on stretchers.  Someone cried, others gasped at their ragged appearance, a mother covered her child’s eyes.

Barron and Jason stopped Mrs. Loomis as the stretchers passed.  Barron gripped her arm tight, bursting blood vessels. “They are free. You ugly worthless hag won’t have any toys to torture any more.”

Mrs. Loomis laughed as the possessed woman sat up in her stretcher and waved.  She knew that she now was truly a witch and had released a terrible evil into the world as her final revenge.  
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Witches Tales 4

“It’s simple, really.  All you have to do is get us what we want.  Anything else you find or do is up to you, but we need the product in this building in a week.” The voice over the phone hissed.  

Jenks hung up the phone, gave it back to the bartender, and asked for another shot.  He took his glass over to a table on the sidewalk and watched the city dwellers mill about the street.  He pulled out a small box, opened it up, and pulled out the last pinch of dirty brown powder.  The powder went up his nose, followed by the shot.  He was going to steal a mummy.  

A couple of hours later and he had a crew.  Shifty men with no names that didn’t care about curses.  Most were addicted to the drug found in the caskets.  The powder was mostly mummified bodies ground up with the different chemicals the ancient Egyptians used to honor their kings.  A professor in Jenks past had discovered it on an expedition, claimed that the drug was why people thought the pyramids were haunted. He refined it and started testing it. Word got around, it was tested, addicts were grown.  The professor had kept the exact mixture a secret to control the flow.   They called it “casket dust”.

Jenks had the men meet him in a back room of the bar.  A creaky old ceiling fan pushed heat around in the barren room.  The men sat around wooden tables drinking beer and tea.  Jenks walked around and greeted them.  He recognized some from other jobs he had done, others filled in for the ones that didn’t make it back.  A few of them had the tell-tale signs of being casket addicts: sunken in eyes, lips pulled back, rotten finger nails. The newer ones were looking for a chance to strike it rich and sell it for themselves.  Good luck, he thought.  Most end up testing it out and getting strung out on the dust.

“We are going out to the lonely pyramid tomorrow morning.  I need to bring a mummy back, intact.” Jenks said.

“The lonely pyramid?  The last group that went out there never came back.  It is is said that the wicked king kept them as his slaves.” One said.

“Really?  They probably just took too much dust and forgot how to get back.  Besides, are you going to tell me you still believe in curses?”

“If you don’t believe it, why do you have so many of us?” The voice said.

“Well, because it is a long journey for one man to go.  And you know how heavy a casket is?  No way for me to do that by myself.”  Jenks said.

“What do we get out of it?  Sparing our lives like this, it’s a tall order.” Another said.

“Dammit guys, why’d you come if you didn’t want to do it?”

“When the great Jenks puts out a call for a crew, you come.” A man standing in the back said.

Jenks recognized the voice.  It was Wayne.  

“Well, thanks Wayne.  You guys can take all the casket dust you want.  Hell, you can even take any of the gold.”

Wayne eyed him.

“So, someone put in an order?”

“I guess they got a hold of me first.  I’m glad to see you here Wayne.” Jenks said.

“Just wanted to see what was on the table.”  

He directed the crew on what to bring and where to meet.  After they dispersed he wandered the town looking for a place to sleep.  The sky was as dark as an empty crypt.  The light brown stone buildings crowded the streets, funneling people around the city.  Jenks shuffled along the street, itching at his fingers.  There was only one place he knew that would be open this late and let the likes of him in, the night bazaar.

The night bazaar was in a wide alley in the stranger part of town.  Canvas was strung up between the buildings, blocking out the elements.  Lights hung below the canvas festively filling the alleyway.  Jenks strolled through the bazaar looking at the wares merchants had on their tables.  He found a stall that sold strange machines, engine parts, and weapons.  Another had bones, bottles full of vile looking liquids, and little idols.  Giant centipedes, snakes, and spiders hung from one vendor’s stall; men stood by the stall eating the creatures out of cups.  In a dark corner of the stall, men ground up the giant centipedes into a yellow powder.  Jenks signaled one of the men and walked away with a jar of the powder.  He found an ancient tea shop and took a table near the front.

Jenks sat down with a glass of absinthe and watched the patrons of the bazaar.  He was hoping this would be the job to get him back into the states.  As much as he liked the freedom of the outlaw town, he knew he was killing himself and it was time to go home.  Years of being a crypt thief had finally caught up to him, it was no longer fun. At first, the thrill of escaping the jaws of horror had been exhilarating, like exploring the end of the world.  But now, it was just a job.  A thing he had to do to feed his addictions.  Addictions that he developed to deal with the nightmares.  

A man walking down the street paused in front of the tea shop and started to vomit.  No one stopped at first, but the vomit kept coming.  It splashed on the street while the man groaned.  Jenks stood up from his table to get a better view.  The vomit was black and full of squirming shapes.  Onlookers backed away.  Some made the sign to ward off evil spirits.  The man fell to his knees, arching his back to expel more.  The vomit began to thin, like someone slowly turning off a faucet.  He swayed and fell face first into the puddle.  A hissing sound came and the man gurgled and screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the bazaar.  The show finished. Jenks sat down and finished off his absinthe.

Time passed slowly under in the bazaar.  Jenks thought about the job he had the next day.  He wondered how many of the crew would survive.  The numbers seemed slim, which made him pop open the top of the jar with the centipede powder.  After sampling some of it he thought about Wayne.

Wayne always seemed to be around when it came to exploring the pyramids.  No one knew much about him.  But, he had been there before Jenks, and always took jobs that placed him in a pyramid.   It wasn’t surprising that Wayne came to the bar, though how he knew about it and what Jenks was after was a bit of a mystery.  Jenks put some more of the yellow powder up his nose and decided he didn’t care.

Dead men in rotten bandages tore at Jenk’s clothes.  He sank into a pit of corpses.  Everytime he clawed out of the pile, more bodies fell onto him.  A greyish black face appeared in front of his.  It coughed out dust and death. The breathe entered into Jenks’ lungs choking him.  Bugs crawled out of ears, nose, eye sockets, and mouth of the mummy and leapt onto Jenks.  They burrowed into his skin and laid eggs.  A black veil covered his eyes while strips of fabric wrapped around him.

An old man shook Jenks awake.   The old man smiled a toothless grin and spoke gibberish.  Jenks squinted at the man’s round face as he tried to decipher the man’s words.  The man pouted thick lips then rubbed his nose and laughed.  Jenks touched his nose to find it crusted over.  On the table was a puddle of yellow powder mixed with blood.  He checked his watch to discover that he was late.  

The men were at the outskirts of town.  Sand-blasted square huts marked the meeting of civilization and desert.  Jenks spied on the men from the shadows of a building.  Three quarter of the men from last night milled about.  One man wrapped head-to-toe in brown fabric sharpened curved swords while others played with their rifles. Wayne was not among the group.  Jenks emerged from his hiding place and joined his crew.

“This it then?” Jenks asked no one in particular.

“It is.  They fear the lonely pyramid.  Not even all of the mummy dust in the pyramid would convince them to cross the desert.” A bare-chested man with a mustache said.

“And you?  Are you scared of a curse?”

The man pulled back his thin lips in a smile revealing rotten teeth. “No sir.  I’ve faced much worse than the desert or a curse.” He pounded his rock hard chest with a brown fist.

Jenks nodded and then hollered at the men to mount up.  He whistled and a brown and white spotted horse trotted up to him.  Before jumping on to his horse, Jenks pulled out his bottle of centipede powder and snorted a pinch full.  Then he was on the horse and leading the men into the desert.

The morning was bright with an unblemished blue sky to greet them as they entered the desert.  There was nothing between the riders and the horizon except sand. The curtain of sky melted into the horizon, dancing and shimmering with the heat.  If someone didn’t know the desert, the blank canvas in front of them would swallow them.  There were no landmarks once they got out of sight of the town. The wind erased their tracks, leaving no trace of where they had come from, as if the men were placed there by a cruel god.  Someone traveling the desert looking for the pyramids had to have enough nerve or be crazy enough to believe they would eventually find their goal.  

They pushed hard through the waste.  Clouds of sand followed them.  Jenks’ mental compass pointed him to where the lonely pyramid was located in the desert.  Clusters of pyramids dotted the never-ending desert like stars in a constellation. In the center of the constellation presided the lonely pyramid.   The space between the pyramids were where death laid.  Jenks heard stories of riders that steered their horse toward the empty space in the desert.  The stories always ended with the rider never being seen again.  

Night came upon the riders without notice.  Each were lost in their own thoughts, letting their horses lead them through the sandy expanse.  Jenks was nodding off in his saddle when the sun was out, when he awoke, he was face up in the sand staring at the ceiling of night.  There were no stars and he couldn’t find the moon, yet there was a glow emanating from the sand.  He rolled to his side and saw that the men had built a fire and were cooking dinner.  He asked the man with the mustache how long he had been out, the man couldn’t say.  

“We all woke up like you.  I ordered the men to set a campfire and there are a few out standing guard.”

“We all were asleep?”

“I guess so.”

They must have passed out in the sun and heat of the desert. Jenks stood up and scanned the desert.  He could see for miles.  There was no sign of the town, so he knew they traveled far enough away from it, however there was nothing else for him to see except more sand, which was covered in the eerie glow.  

The men were huddled around the fire.  Their faces awash in the red and yellow light.  Each one was quiet, staring into the fire.  The light danced on their faces, highlighting the signs of their mummy dust addiction.  Some were further along in their addictions, the fire caught in their sunken eyes and sallow cheeks.  It would have been frightening to see, if Jenks wasn’t in his own grip of addiction.  He assumed that the men didn’t see the fear either, that their only thoughts were with the amount of potential powder they would find at their destination.

His thoughts were scattered. He imagined flushing out the drugs and going back to the states.  He thought about Wayne.  He thought about what he was searching for in the desert.  Jenks stared at the fire and tried to focus his mind on the next couple of days.  

They must be on the right path.  He had never been to the lonely pyramid, but had heard the tales of those that were seeking it.  They would find themselves facing their worst fears.  Passing out in the desert and losing your way is one of the biggest fears someone out here faces.  

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the strange moaning traveling on the wind.  A few of the others did, they sat up and peered into the dark.  The sound broke Jenks focus, burrowing its way into his mind.  He stood up with the others.  It was clear on everyone’s face that the sound wasn’t imaginary.  The moaning sounded human.  No one could pinpoint the source of the sound, it came from all corners of the desert.  The mustached man whistled for the sentries to return.  One came back.  

“Is that all you sent out?” Jenks asked.

“No sir, there should be two others out there.”  Mustache said.

Jenks stared into the goggles of the man that came back.  It was the man wrapped in cloth.  A turban sat on top of his head and cloth covered his face and rail thin body.  Swords popped out of the red sash around his waist.

“Did you see anything out there?” Jenks asked.

“Nothing.  It is absolutely dead out there.” The man mumbled through the face wrap.

Jenks stared into the goggles that replaced the man’s eyes. Flames reflected off of the hard plastic. He’s a mummy, a voice popped into Jenks’ mind.  And for a split second the cloth around the man rotted away revealing grey dead flesh.  Centipedes and cockroaches poked through the paper thin skin. Dead hands reached for Jenks.  He could smell the dry flesh that so many coveted.  Its fingers were so close to his face he could count the cracks in the black fingernails.  Jenks reeled back and screamed.

The mustached man put an arm around Jenks’ shoulder and walked him away from the turbaned man.  Jenks peeked over his shoulder and saw that the sentry was back to normal.  They sat down by the fire.  His second in command looked at the others and slowly shook his head.  Then he put a horse blanket on Jenks.

“That centipede powder is bad stuff.  It makes people go crazy.  You should lay off of it, it’s still a long ride to the lonely pyramid.”

Jenks nodded and pulled a blanket tight around his body. One of the men produced a small tin box filled with mummy dust.  He sprinkled it into a cigarette, rolled it tight and put it to his lips.  The man’s eyes glowed as he lit it and took a drag. There all addicts, who are they to judge?  Jenks was transfixed on the man.  He watched him, then studied the rest.  He wondered how much their lives were worth and if it would be enough for the next couple of days.

A boot nudged him in the ribs.  A grey face filled his view.  

“Boss, you awake?”

“My eyes are open.”

“We lost another one last night.”

Jenks sat up. The sky was purple.  The moaning had morphed into a monkey’s chatter.

“What do you mean we lost another one?”

“There was eight of us, we’re six now.”

“No one noticed?  Did he not scream?  Call in the sentries!”

The grey faced man said something to the man with the mustache, who whistled to the others.  Once they came in, Jenks ordered them all to mount their horses, they were heading out.  Two packs were left next to the remains of the fire.  Jenks poked around in the bags, ignoring the men on the horses.  He found lost men’s stashes of mummy dust.  Sticking them in his pocket he got on his horse and lead the men back out into the desert.

Watercolor brown and blue painted the view ahead of the men.  If the count of men or the amount of drugs he had wasn’t different than yesterday, Jenks would have sworn they were repeating the same day.  With nothing marring the landscape, it was hard for him to determine if they were actually moving or just staying in the same place.  No one talked about the missing men.  Jenks didn’t know their names.  And he couldn’t really remember what they looked like either.  He spurred his horse to speed up.  The rest of the group kicked up sand and they pushed further into the waste.

A dust cloud in the distance woke Jenks up from his trance.  It was to the right of their path.  The cloud was headed to cross their path.  Jenks looked up into the sky to determine how long he had been out, but couldn’t find the sun in the cloudless sky.  He looked back to the other riders and pointed toward the cloud.  One of them shrugged, “I just noticed it.”

They marked their time to the distance the dust cloud traveled.  Weapons were drawn as they got closer to the disturbance.  The size of the dust cloud shrank the closer they got unit it appeared to be just one rider.  Who’d be out here riding by themselves?  

Jenks slowed them down to a trot.  He couldn’t see what was creating the cloud, though he was sure they were close enough to see a human on a horse.  The dust cloud was almost in front of them when the cloud dissipated, leaving a clear blue sky in its place.

The riders stop.  Where the dust cloud had been moments before was back to being an undisturbed patch of sand.  Jenks ordered one of his men to dismount and search the area.  

The man stared at Jenks without moving a muscle.  He shook his head in insubordination.  Jenks pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the man.  The man crossed his arms across his chest.  A thunderclap broke the silence, the man slumped in his saddle, then slide to the desert floor.  Before Jenks could order another man to search the area, the ground rumbled kicking up sand.

All of the horses started to scream and jump.  A whirlpool formed in the sand underneath the dead man. Cries and snarls mixed with the rumbling. Jenks couldn’t comprehend what he saw, dark shapes reaching out from the whirlpool to pull the body under the sand. The dead man’s horse tried to escape the sinking sand, but its back legs were caught and the horse slowly sunk in.  The horse’s eyes rolled around in its skull, human-like screams poured out its mouth.  A few of the men covered their ears.  One of the men began to claw at his ears, cutting his flesh with his ragged nails.  Jenks remembered the gun in his hand and put the horse out of its misery.

The whirlpool slurped up the horse.  The symphony of sounds and movement slowly faded.  A concave area was the only reminder of what had happened moments before.  Shaky hands reached into Jenks’ jacket pocket and pulled out the vial of yellow powder.  The hands acted of their own accord, detached from Jenks thoughts.  A flash of centipede legs danced on the outside edge of his vision.  Without looking at the rest of his men, he pulled the reigns on his horse and continued his mission.

They stopped when the sky turned black and the sand began to glow.  No one mentioned that the moon hadn’t risen, nor do they mention the events of the day.  The mustache man and the one wrapped in cloth talk and the wrapped man walked out into the night.  The man with the torn ears muttered to himself.  The muttering had frayed the last nerves of everyone sitting around the fire.  

Childlike crying replaced the moaning of the previous night.  The crying and muttering mixed to tear at their sanity.  Jenks shook one of the tins he had taken and heard the whisper of powder against metal.  He had wanted to make the drugs last.  His body had been urging him to dig in, his skin itched and his mind clouded.  A constant insect clicking was in his ears, whispering to him unearthly secrets. It took all the strength he had to not snort it all.  He itched at his arms when one of the men jumped on to the muttering man.

The fight was brutal.  It was a fight between two feral dogs.  The sense of dread and death was all over the battle.  Two men who knew that one was going to die at the end of it.  Desperation oozed out of the cuts and scars, mixing with the blood and sand underneath them.  Grunting and flesh being pounded filled the air; the crying on the wind had stopped, almost as if the world waited for the outcome.  No one got up to stop the fight, each secretly happy for the muttering to stop.  A horrible popping sound punctuated the end of the fight, as the muttering man’s eyes were pushed into his skull.

“Take his body out into the desert.  We don’t want coyotes or wolves sniffing around here.” Jenks said to the victor of the fight.

The man stood up.  His face was bruised, knuckles cut, and white jelly dripped from his thumbs.  He grabbed the body by the feet and dragged him into the darkness.  His breathing was shallow and labored from a broken rib.  They could hear him curse and spit.  Jenks dug into the dead man’s bag, eyeing the others.  

“You didn’t win that fight.  His gear goes to the other.” The mustached man said.

“I’m the leader, I get my share.” Jenks said as he pocketed the man’s wooden box.  

The box had beetles and centipedes carved on it. He opened up the hinged box and saw the yellow powder of ground up centipede.  He wondered if he would eventually start muttering to himself, but then carefully poured the powder into his vial.  He sat down across from the fire when the victor came back.  

Everyone felt the rumbling before they heard the horrible sounds of dry sucking in the distance.  The fire became the center of attention until the sounds ended.  Now there were four.

A green sky welcomed them to the new day.  Hyena laughter traveled across the wind on a loop.  Jenks woke up to stiff joints and a bloody nose.  The victor’s face was pale and his hands vibrated uncontrollably.  The man with the turban and bandaged face was missing, along with his horse and pack.  Three riders headed deeper into the desert with grim determination.

Lightning dotted the skyline. There were no clouds. Jenks and his two riders felt electricity in the air. The three horses rode close together, the riders didn’t complain at the proximity of the others.   A black dot on the edge of the horizon grew with every step as if it was sprouting from the earth.  The lonely pyramid.

A grin appeared on Jenks’ face.  He smiled at the others. The victor swayed in his saddle, saliva dribbled out of his cracked lips, his skin pale and pulled tight against his skull.  Mustache man smiled under his mustache and steadied the other one.  They spurred their horses and pushed forward.  Invisible insects buzzed, their intensity increased as the pyramid grew taller on the horizon.  

The pyramid was too tall to have been man-made.  It took the riders all day to hit the edge of the pyramid’s shadow.  They rode through the night, not wanting to stop.  Sweat glistened on the horses from the glowing sand. They stopped for a moment to tie the victor to his horse; he was delirious, rambling in a language Jenks didn’t understand.  The next morning the green sky in front of them was blotted out by the pyramid.

Bones of a horse poked out of the sand next to the entrance of the pyramid.  Jenks and the mustached man dismounted their horses.  They untied the victor and sat him down against the base of the pyramid.  Jenks tried to look up at the point of the pyramid, but the height of the structure was dizzying and he looked down to fight vertigo.  Inside of the black maw of the entrance, red and orange shadows danced on the walls, someone was in the pyramid.

The two men creeped into the cool tomb, leaving a man on the brink of death to watch their back.  Jenks shuddered, the drastic temperature change felt like being on another planet.  The unseen torchlight was enough light for them to see their way.  They both had their weapons drawn, whatever had the torch was not going to stop them.   Something rustled behind the stone walls, but there was no other sound ahead of them.  The path they were on turned left ahead of them. Jenks stopped at the edge and peered around; he lowered his gun and his mouth hung agape.

The mustached man poked Jenks in the ribs. “What do you see?” he whispered.

Jenks shook his head and went down the hall.  

The hall opened up into a large antechamber.  A couple of torches on poles lit some of the room, the back of the room hidden in shadow.  The two men cautiously walked in and looked at the sarcophaguses along the stone walls.  They walked past an empty casket and stopped when they found one with an intact mummy leaning against the side of its casket. An errant breeze disturbed some cobwebs hanging in front of the tombs. The scrape of stone on stone echoed from the edge of the room, where someone standing in front of a table.

A human like shape wrapped in cloth with a turban on its head had its back to Jenks and the mustached man.  The shape blocked most of Jenks view of the table, allowing him to only see a pair of boots attached to legs. The metal click of Jenk’s revolver echoed throughout the room. The shape turned toward the sound.  Light reflected from the goggles on its eyes.

“Wayne is that you?  Why don’t you back away from that table and I won’t put a hole in you.”

The shape turned around to face them.  Its chest was covered in a black stain. A lipless mouth with wet teeth growled below the goggles. A dry shriek emerged from its mouth. The shape raised a rotten hand and shambled toward them.  Jenks fired his gun into the chest of the shape.  Dark clotted blood splurted out from the wound.  The thing continued toward them as they backed away.  

The mustached man wasn’t paying attention and backed into a hole in the ground.  He screamed before something muffled him.  Jenks looked down into the hole, something squirmed and writhed, but it was too dark to make out what was happening.  The wrapped shape was closer.

Jenks backed himself into the empty sarcophagus.  He aimed and fired at the shape’s foot, blasting it clear off.  The thing stumbled and fell to the ground.  It continued to crawl towards him.  Jenks fired again, shattering the goggles.  The thing stopped, leaking syrupy blood. Jenks slid down the back of the casket and sat on the ground in front of it, breathing heavy.  

The light from the torches danced on the walls.  The sound of the thing writhing under the floor filled the room. Jenks thought about the mustached man and wished he knew the man’s name. Did the man have a family or was he just an addict like him, going to the end of the world for a fix?  He put his hand through his hair and tried not to think about anything.  

Time passed. Jenks woke up stiff in the tomb.  The shape that was wrapped in cloth watched him with dead eyes.  He got up and went to the body.  There wasn’t much left of its head, but he had to see.  He picked at the wet cloth until he could get enough off of the face to reveal a mummified Wayne.  Was Wayne riding with him the whole time?  What made him like this?  

He decided to push the body into the hole.  It was a lot lighter than he thought it would have been.  The blood was sticky and covered his hands as the body slide into the hole.  A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped it away with his hand, leaving a sticky trail of blood.  

Jenks went to the table where Wayne had been working.  On the table was one of the men that had been with him on his journey.  His torso had been torn open and the organs removed.  A few jars were covered in blood.  Jenks turned and threw up on to the floor.  His head began to swim, but he dismissed it, blaming it on the lack of water and drugs.  

Oh God, Wayne was the professor. Jenks realized that was why Wayne always was around when a group went to the pyramid. He needed a group to take him to a pyramid and he couldn’t tell them that he was the one that had the formula, they would probably have tortured until he told them how to make it.  Jenks tried to piece it all together, but his thoughts kept slipping.

Time began to blur and skip.  Images played in his mind, but he couldn’t grasp one long enough to process it. He wanted to find Wayne’s house, discover the secrets to the mummy dust.   He remembered grabbing the mummy in the other open casket.  Then dragging it outside.  The man they left was still out there.  Jenks shot him.  He tied the mummy to the mustached man’s horse.  He took the man he had shot and tied him to the other horse.  Then he was riding with two horses behind him.  

Day became night.  

He was hungry.  He started to eat the man.  He crumbled up the mummy’s finger and snorted it.  

Night became day.  

Something reached out of the sand and took a horse.  Something that looked like a dead centipede.  He ran his horse until it passed out.  Blood leaked from Jenks’ ears.  His vision blurred and twisted.  He hitched the mummy up to his back and crawled through the sand.  Eventually the weight of the mummy was too much and he laid down.

Time escaped him.

He dreamt Wayne came to him.  Wayne told him that the powder was bad, got in his system and messed him up.  Wayne grew extra arms and legs while he talked to Jenks.  Don’t mix the powders, but Jenks knew it was too late.

He came to walking through the bazaar at night.  His body burned.  He could feel his blood thickening and sticking in his heart.  His stomach growled, but the smell of food made his stomach repulse. He couldn’t hold it down any more and began to vomit.  He couldn’t stop it, the vomit kept coming.  His body weared down and he fell to his hands and knees.  It was like a hose.  His eyes focused on what was coming out of him.  Centipedes squirmed around in the puke.  Hundreds of them.  He passed out into the puddle.  The stomach acid burned his skin.  The centipedes squirmed and crawled into his mouth and nose, into the wounds that the acid burned in his skin.