Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb

By Flatfish

 Dr. Sarah Cross knelt in the cool sandy passageway, painstakingly brushing centuries of dust from the ancient stone wall. Slowly the colourful hieroglyphics were coming to life and the story they told was becoming more and more confusing. 

“How’s it looking Sarah?” Professor Henry James’s voice echoed suddenly in the narrow space, startling the young archaeologist. 

“Oh, hi professor. It’s really strange. I’ve never seen symbols like this. They’re almost… well… almost erotic. 

“Ah, good, good. That’s just what I was hoping for,” chirped the professor excitedly. He peered over Sarah’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, very good. As I suspected, this is the long sought after tomb of Ahmose II. The clue is in these none standard symbols.” He pointed at some of the more puzzling images. “You may recall, if you read my paper on this period in the New Kingdom, that Ahmose was particularly keen on the pleasures of the flesh and was quite adventurous in that respect. Let me see now, perhaps we can make sense of this.” 

The professor leaned closer and traced his finger along the wall, quietly mumbling to himself. He stopped and paused, “Oh Dear.”  He moved back to the beginning as if checking his interpretation. “Dear, dear, dear.” When he finished, he turned and looked thoughtfully into Sarah’s eye’s, as if weighing up whether to tell her his findings.” 

“What is it?” said Sarah, feeling a little uncomfortable under the professor’s stare. “What does it mean?” 

“I’m afraid it appears to be some sort of warning,” said Professor James. “Actually it’s more of a curse. A vengeance on those who have defiled the tomb.” 

Sarah gave a sharp intake of breath and felt the hairs on the back of her head prickling. “And what… what does this symbol mean?” she asked, pointing at an image that appeared to be the body of a man with the head of dog, seated with a cat like female draped over its knee. I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s almost like he’s…” 

“Spanking her?” said the professor. 

Sarah nodded and looked back at the symbols. 

“Well,” said the professor, “and I think we had better keep this to ourselves, especially since you are the only woman in the camp, my initial interpretation is that it is definitely a curse on all those who disturb the tomb. But it offers a thread of hope, typical of this pharaoh. It says,” the professor pointed as he spoke, “the curse shall be lifted by the sorrowful song of a spanked woman.” 

“Now just a minute professor!” snapped Sarah, scrambling to her feet. “You… you are joking, aren’t you?” 

“I’m afraid not,” said the professor earnestly. “The pharaoh probably saw this as a chance to continue indulging his pleasures in the afterlife.” 

“But its just superstitious nonsense.” 

“Of course, of course,” said the Professor, reassuringly. “However, we must be cautious. Superstitions are rife even in this day and age and it would take no more than a rumour to spark panic amongst the workers. And if there was a hint that the curse could be lifted by ceremonially spanking an attractive young woman… well, I… I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out my dear.” 

“Sarah blushed, nodding her head, and involuntarily ran her hands over the tight jeans covering her very attractive bottom.” 

The first signs of trouble came that same afternoon. The supervisor of the dig’s workforce, Harry Thompson, professor James’s right hand man, needed to drive to the local town. The Land Rover wouldn’t start. It should have been a trivial incident but it quickly became apparent that somehow, the secret was out and the more superstitious workers were already jumping on any misfortune as the work of the evil curse. Thompson made a disastrous attempt to calm things down. Calling everyone around the entrance to the tomb he set about showing there was nothing to fear. He ridiculed the curse and called for the Pharaoh to do his worst. Seconds later his head spun, his legs buckled and he collapsed with heat stroke. The effect on the camp was like a spark in a case of dynamite. Panic ran wild. 

By the next morning two terrified workers had fled back to the town but rumours abounded that the desert had swallowed them up. The infirmary tent was rapidly filling as mass hysteria convinced everyone that any little aches and pains marked the onset of a horrible death. Mob rule had taken over and the professor’s tent was ransacked. His notes were scattered but not before the secret of Ahmose’s “get out clause” became common knowledge and the mob became convinced that Sarah was their only hope of salvation. 

As the mob started to turn ugly, Professor James, stood guard outside Sarah’s tent, armed with only a wooden walking stick. Hs jaw was set hard and his white unkempt hair and beard hid a grimace of brave determination. Inside Sarah sweated and trembled, expecting that at any moment she would be dragged out to face a fate worse than death. She tried her phone but as usual here at the dig there was no signal. She could hear the mob getting closer with angry frightened voices crying out to “bring out the woman.” Suddenly the mob was upon them and Sarah could see shadows on the tent walls and hear the angry exchange outside. 

“Get out of our way Professor. You know what has to be done.” 

Sarah recognised the voice as that of Ox, a huge bulk of a man; an alpha male whose size and personality had made him the unchallenged spokesman of the Professor’s hired workforce. 

“Stand back!” the Professor answered, waving his cane, “Doctor Cross is under my protection.” 

The shadows merged together as a scuffle broke out and Sarah listened in horror as a blow was struck and Professor James dropped unconscious to the floor. Large hands grasped the tent flaps and they were ripped apart as Ox pushed his head and shoulders into the tent. Sarah turned and tried to scurry away but strong hands gripped her ankles and hauled her back. In a moment she was dragged out and hoisted into the air. 

Night was rapidly closing in and floodlights were erected in the middle of the camp. A wooden A-framed trestle had been dragged into the centre and leather straps had been attached. Sarah was carried struggling and protesting through the mob. When they reached the trestle she was dropped roughly to the ground and anxious hands hauled her over the wooden frame. Despite her frantic writhing, Sarah was no match for her frenzied captors and her wrists were quickly secured. A second later, hands scrabbled at the waistband of her jeans. She twisted and kicked but it was no use. With a mighty tug the button flew off and the zip was ripped apart. 

“No!” she screamed, barely able to believe what was happening as the tight denims were dragged over her bottom. As her thin cotton panties came into view, rapidly followed by her bronzed thighs, she wept and pleaded but to no avail, seconds later the jeans were ripped away and her ankles were strapped to the trestle. 

 With her bottom raised high she knew her fate was sealed, she was in for the spanking of her life; a spanking harsh enough to appease a terrified mob and an angry, long dead, pharaoh. 

In the glare of the floodlights a huge shadow fell across the helpless girl and she turned her head to see the silhouetted bulk of her punisher. She couldn’t see his face but she knew the massive form could only be that of Ox. He carried a wooden paddle that had been especially carved for the occasion and was decorated with ancient hieroglyphics. Sarah’s eyes opened wide and she struggled manically against the leather straps but there was nothing she could do. She was completely defenceless. 

Ox took up his position and measured the paddle against the proffered target. Sarah flinched at the touch and wailed as she felt Ox draw back the cruel implement. She tearfully pleaded to be released and pulled against her bonds but she knew there was no possibility of mercy or rescue. A second later the paddle whistled through the air and cracked resoundingly against her bottom, exploding fire across both cheeks and sending a howl into the night air. Before Sarah could recover her breath a second whack scalded her bottom amplifying the raging fire. The spanking continued, smack after smack and she bawled until she was hoarse but her tormentor saw no reason to stop. He needed a sign that Ahmose had heard and accepted their sacrifice. Ox raised the paddle again and was about to swing with all his strength but he stopped in terror. Trembling, he dropped the paddled and fell to his knees in the sand as an eerie moan echoed across the site. The watching mob murmured and stared about. In the silence that followed they started to wonder if they had really heard it and nervous laughter bubbled through the crowd; surely it was just the wind, wailing through the sand dunes. Ox cautiously raised his head and picked up the paddle again. With an embarrassed grin, he stated to climb to his feet but the colour drained from his face as a second wail, louder than the first, rolled over the dunes. This time there was no mistake. The unearthly howl had come from the tomb. 

Slowly, Sarah became aware that the spanking had stopped although the ferocious sting in her bottom continued its flaming torment. She struggled in her bonds in a futile attempt to know what was happening. She couldn’t see Ox quivering on his knees but another haunting wail drew her eyes to the tomb entrance where an eerie mist now tumbled over the sand. From out of the mist a lone figure was emerging, staggering towards her, its body thin and emaciated and its head unusually large. 

As the figure approached Sarah realised that what she had taken to be a large head was in fact a full mask. Sarah recognised it as the Jackal head of the ancient Egyptian god Anubis. She was grateful for the end to the spanking. She didn’t share Ox’s terror of the phantom from the tomb. Cold scientific logic told her it must be Professor James or maybe Harry Thompson, cleverly disguised to bring an end to this cruel superstitious nonsense. But as the figure drew closer her confidence faltered and as it groaned and reached out for the paddle lying in the sand, she saw her hopes of a reprieve collapse. 

Ox, hardly daring to look into the face of the spectre grabbed the paddle and offered it up to the figure. As it took hold, the creature gave a deep and cruel laugh. Ox, eager to please, scrambled to his feet and rushed over to Sarah. Then grasping the waistband of her panties, he dragged them down, offering her bare bottom for the pleasure of the ancient pharaoh.

 As Ahmose came closer, Sarah struggled against her bonds in a wild panic but it was no use. Seconds later the desert night air was filled with the whack of wood on flesh and the howls and tear filled apologies of Dr. Sarah Cross as she swore never to desecrate another tomb. 

It was well into the night before the ancient pharaoh tired of roasting Sarah’s bottom. At last with a final wail he threw down the paddle and wandered back across the sand to his tomb. The unearthly mist rolled after him. 

The watching crowd sat motionless in the still night where only Sarah’s crying punctuated the silence. Slowly, individuals came to their senses and started to move. Sarah was unfastened and soothing oil was poured over her stinging bottom. She made no attempt to pull up her panties as she made her way back to her tent; it was far too sore. Professor James was still there, he had been held under guard, nursing his head. Sniffling and contrite, Sarah threw herself face down on her bed and allowed the cool night air to whisper across her blazing cheeks. She reached back with trembling fingers and stroked the punished flesh. Professor James stared with helpless sympathy at her glowing scarlet bottom, unable to offer any comfort. Everyone was stunned by the impossible appearance of the long dead king of the Nile. 

The next morning, Professor James plumped up a pillow and placed it on the passenger seat of the Land Rover. Sarah gently lowered herself onto it. She dreaded the prospect of bouncing over the rough desert road back to the city and reawakening last nights spanking, but staying at the dig was unthinkable. She wanted to be back in London where a mummy at the British Museum could be relied upon to stay in its sarcophagus and not go around spanking innocent young archaeologists. 

“Are you sure you have to go?” asked the professor. “I think we have seen the last of the Pharaoh and his curse.” 

“I’m not convinced,” said Sarah. “I’m sure I saw the joiner building another trestle this morning.” 

“Oh dear,” said the professor, “Another trestle? I do hope not. I have two new student assistants, Sky and Pippa, flying in from Australia next week. I hope we’re not about to see a double spanking ceremony!”