The World of Myth - Samuel Hayne - Faro’s Ring Part Three

Nick spun around to face the open coffin. A charred and shriveled thing was slowly rising out of it.

“You have awakened me from a long night of sleep,” the creature said, then opened one of the sarcophagus walls like a gate and stepped down to the floor. “And for that I thank you.”

Nick was horrified. The sound of its brittle feet crackled on the concrete floor as it walked from the sepulcher to the bags beside the Corvette. The monster’s face was pointed in Nick’s direction, its twig-like arms, stretched wide as if it wanted a hug.

“I know I must seem frightening, but this is what happens after decades of decomposition.” The monster motioned to its brownish skin drawn tightly over the partially exposed ribcage. The creature’s body was draped in blackened strips of linen that barely covered its dried flesh.

Nick turned his head away from the walking corpse. Seeing Nick’s disgust, the monster dropped its arms to its sides.

“Nick, there is something you must do, as it is difficult for me to get around. I promise this will make it easier for you to look upon me.”

“What the fuck are you?” Nick choked out. He couldn’t very well pretend it was not real--this monster was attempting to hold a conversation with him for God’s sake!

“All your questions will be answered, my friend,” it said. “I ask you only to be patient with me a little longer.” It pointed at him with claw-like fingers and waved him toward another mahogany wood table on the far end of the room. There appeared to be a marble chest situated on it. “Go there.” Something on its hand reflected the firelight into Nick’s eyes.

“You want me to bring that to you?” Nick’s voice cracked. He breathed fast and took short breaths.

“Of course not, you fool. I do not expect you to be able to lift that. Just open it and bring the canopic jars inside to me,” the monster instructed.

Canopic jars? Nick didn’t know what that meant, but he feared the black, shriveled creature in front of him and did as he was told. The chest was the same black and red veined marble as the sepulcher and displayed the same eldritch engravings, only these were inlaid with, Nick assumed, pure gold. The lid opened, by some unseen hand, as he approached it. Nick closed his eyes and drew in a breath, holding it. With as much courage as he could dredge up from his tired spirit, he reached into the blackness of the chest and, with both hands, removed the first thing he touched. Sure enough, it was a smooth white jar with an intricate Egyptian motif carved into the lid.

“Which jar do you have there?” the grating voice called from behind.

Nick squinted in the dim light. “It’s got the face of a dog carved into a gold lid,” he answered back. The lid turned easily and the jar opened. A stench of rot assaulted Nick’s senses. His eyes burned with tears and his nose stung from the sharp aroma. He fought the impulse to vomit.

“That is not the right one.” The monster’s voice was horrifying, and Nick could hear impatience in the tone. “Try again.”

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