Native Soil

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

The locals said I could dig up whatever I wanted, but the door itself stays sealed. They made that promise in the long ago, and they would hew to it, and make outsiders do the same.

That was fine. I was sure I could find enough to secure tenure at the university. Maybe a bauble or two, to soothe my financial backers. A mummy would be perfect.

What did I find?

Nothing.

The sand was so clean it looked washed.

Well, no help for it. I had to hire the townsfolk to clear the passageway.

Boulders, sand, sand, sand. Gravel, that's a change. Scraps of papyrus, as common as the grains of quartz and calcium. I have to have something to take home!

Once we got to the lower level, we found many skeletons. The workers? And dark stains on the carvings that hadn't faded.

That was something I could report! I did some cursory sketches, but left them when the door cleared.

I didn't do well in hieroglyphs classes, I was in this for treasure and fame. But I read “reborn,” “golden,” and “door,” and noticed the seal was completely-

Intact.

I slid my knife out of its sheath. It wouldn't hurt to look, right?

I missed the other knives being slid out behind me.

So that's why the bloodstains were so dark.

I watched as they started filling up the tunnel again with all the rubble they'd just removed. Their leader saw I was still alive, leaned in. “It says, 'To see the golden one, you must be reborn for your ka to fly through the door.' You will be a guest of the Great King for eternity.”

They scattered the papyrus like flowers. Artistically.

The light faded.