The Curse Beneath the Sand by Olivia Salter | Short Fiction

 

The Curse Beneath the Sand

By Olivia Salter

Word Count:  1,141

The desert night was silent, the only sound the faint hiss of sand slipping against the stone. By the glow of his lantern, Howard Carter knelt before the massive stone slab, barely breathing. Beneath his fingers, the cold sandstone felt alive, pulsing with secrets older than civilization. Weeks of fevered digging had led him here, to this shadowed chamber sealed for millennia. And now, beneath the Valley of the Kings, he was on the verge of his greatest discovery—one that had eluded him, teased him, through rumor and half-formed tales.

As his crew lifted the stone lid, an ancient, sickly odor seeped into the air, harsh and stale. Carter’s stomach turned, but he forced himself to look. Towering before him were sarcophagus, larger than any he had ever encountered, crafted with precision so fine that even the dim lantern light seemed to make the carved faces breathe.

“Sir…” whispered Winters, his young assistant, pale and shivering despite the desert heat. “Have you…have you seen anything like this?”

Carter shook his head, his gaze locked on the giant stone forms. These weren’t just any pharaohs—they were colossal, their limbs elongated in strange, unnatural proportions, the lids etched with snarling jackals and serpents twisted around arms as thick as pillars. Hieroglyphs glistened under the flickering light, symbols of rage and sorrow intertwined: Guardians of the Sun’s Path. Blood of Ra.

A chill ran through him, but he brushed it off. This was his life’s work—his ambition, his purpose. But even as he marveled, a sliver of doubt wormed into his mind. Perhaps there was a reason this chamber had remained sealed. The hieroglyphs around him spoke of curses, but one line repeated again and again, as though to drive the warning home: Leave the blood of Ra to rest.

And then, in the silence, he heard it—a low, rhythmic sound, like a heartbeat pulsing through the stone. It was faint but unmistakable, as though something slumbered, half-awake and listening.

Winters staggered back, clutching a small protective charm to his chest. “Sir…maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Stay calm, Winters,” Carter snapped, more out of fear than impatience. He couldn’t turn back now, not with everything at stake. And yet, as he stared into the painted stone eyes of the colossal figures, a strange thought crossed his mind: perhaps they were staring back. The shadows seemed to deepen, the air thickening with a presence as ancient as the desert itself.

Just then, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that sent dust cascading from the ceiling. And then he saw it—the massive stone lid of the largest sarcophagus shifting, as though something inside was pressing against it, testing its seal.

“Sir…” Winters stammered, frozen with terror.

Before Carter could respond, the lid groaned open, revealing an arm reaching from within—a limb dark and sinewed, cracked like ancient bark, each finger long and clawed, longer than any human’s. Carter’s heart pounded as his mind scrambled for explanations, but there were none. This was no artifact, no mere stone carving. It was alive.

The figure rose, a towering mass draped in remnants of gold and royal linen, its face framed in a ceremonial headdress. But its eyes—those blackened, pitiless eyes—glowed with a faint red, burning through the gloom. The giant form looked at Carter, its gaze filled with something beyond hatred, something deeper, as if it recognized him.

Carter stumbled back, his throat dry. What have I done? Every curse he had ever laughed off, every warning he had ignored, seemed to press down on him now. He thought of the tombs he’d disturbed, the treasures he’d claimed. And in the pharaoh’s gaze, he felt the weight of his choices.

The figure raised its hand and pointed to the wall, where images began to shift, hieroglyphs flickering to life under the faint red glow. Carter stared, mesmerized, as the story of this pharaoh came to life. He wasn’t buried with treasures or servants, nor was he honored. This giant had been sealed away as a guardian, a creature half-myth, cursed to remain here to protect Egypt from something darker than death.

“Sir…please…let’s go,” Winters whispered, edging toward the exit, clutching the charm in his hand.

But Carter couldn’t move. He was bound, his legs frozen, his mind ensnared by the revelation, the terrible beauty of it all. He was looking at something that no human was meant to see, something that defied time itself. And then, as though reading his every thought, the figure spoke, its voice a low, guttural rumble that filled the chamber with the weight of centuries.

“Thou who hast trespassed,” it intoned, the words seeping into Carter’s mind, bypassing language, “thou who would steal from the dead—know that my wrath shall be eternal.”

The chamber began to quake, stone cracking, dust billowing around them. Winters screamed, backing away as the ceiling began to crumble, chunks of stone crashing to the ground. But Carter, even now, could only watch, mesmerized, as the colossus stepped forward, one titanic foot shaking the ground with every movement.

Reality broke through, and Carter finally turned, pulling Winters toward the entrance. They fled, the walls collapsing behind them, the roar of falling stone and the thunderous footsteps of the guardian filling their ears. But even as they scrambled through the narrow passageways, Carter knew there was no escaping the pharaoh’s judgment.

They burst into the open desert, gasping, gulping down the cold night air, but a shadow still loomed over them. Carter glanced back, and there, framed in the moonlight, the giant stood at the entrance of the tomb, its eyes like twin fires against the stars.

“Run,” Carter said, shoving Winters toward the tents. “Take the charm. Go, and don’t look back.”

Winters looked at him, eyes wide with terror, clutching the charm as though it might save him. “What about you?”

Carter managed a weak smile. “I’ll stay. This… this was my mistake.”

For a moment, Winters hesitated, but then he turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness. Carter faced the towering figure alone, feeling the sand shift beneath him, as if the desert itself sought to reclaim him.

He dropped to his knees, hands trembling, bowing his head in resignation. He’d spent his life tearing into the earth for secrets, defying every warning, chasing glory without regard for those who had come before. Now, he understood the cost.

The pharaoh’s eyes blazed brighter as it raised one colossal arm, and in the final instant, as the winds swept around him and the sands began to swallow him whole, Carter let out a breath, almost grateful to be undone by the very forces he’d ignored.

The sands settled, erasing every trace of the dig, leaving only a hollow, haunted silence where the curse had at last found its justice.