The Mummy's Revenge

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Remember you have sealed your doom!

The words spun round and round inside Douglas McCrimmon’s head. Just thinking about the mummy’s curse made the young lad shiver beneath his uniform, as if a clammy hand was tracing a finger slowly down his spine.

Douglas, “Doogie” to his friends, knew that it wasn’t his place to speak out. He was a servant, and the first rule of being a servant was Hold your tongue. Well, that and Do as you’re told. So Doogie said nothing and kept pouring the drinks. All around him people were eating sandwiches from silver trays and drinking champagne, laughing and joking without a care in the world. But with every glass that Doogie filled, he stole another glance at the looming shape of the sarcophagus at the far end of the great hall.

An upright box. An ancient coffin. With a monster inside.

Doogie rummaged in his waistcoat pocket for a crumpled square of card. He’d sneaked one of the invitations and although he had read it a hundred times he still couldn’t believe it.

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