Curse of the mummy: part one

Jacob truly believed his next-door neighbor had the power to bring back the dead.

 

Just last week he had spied her through her picture window wrapping one of her cats, Angel, in fine linen and dousing it with a type of kitchen spice and a fluff of perfume. Angel didn’t move or even twitch during the process, so Jacob could easily infer the poor feline had previously died, or it actually preferred being mummified!





Next to Angel, its tiny brain sat inside a canopic jar.


Once the mummification had been complete, the woman had taken her embalmed pet out into her front yard (her front yard for Christ’s sakes!) and buried it under her hedge of giant sunflowers.


 


Jacob, horrified, had remained near the picture window like a stick figure while his neighbor plotted her cat’s final resting place. He couldn’t believe what he had seen—what he was still seeing! Was the old lady off her rocker?!


Afterwards, Jacob had scurried headlong to his house. There he had plunged into a tub of ice-cold water and allowed his numb brain to sluice out the thoughts of death and revival and desiccation.  

 

Why had the woman mummified the cat? Why had she buried it under the sunflowers? Did the flowers and the mulch hold a power over the dead animal common grass and dirt did not? Jacob could only guess.

 

But later, he found out the truth…the horrible truth.

 

The woman’s name was Michele. She had become a widow at the spruce age of forty when her husband had succumbed to a brain aneurism while removing a loose nail from a dysfunctional birdhouse. Since then, she had lived aloof and by her lonesome. Only she and her few remaining cats inhabited the small clapboard dwelling Michele’s father had built bare-handedly so long ago.

 

Two months prior to witnessing the mummification, Jacob had moved next to Michele with his father and stepmother. And right away he had been told, warned about Michele and her “off-kilter” behavior. The warnings had come as letters and notes—most of which hadn’t exactly beaten around the bush:

 

SHE’S A CRAZY OLD BITCH!!!!!!

 

WATCH OUT—SHE CAN CURSE LIKE A MUMMY!!!!!!

 

And:

 

HER BREATH CAN KNOCK YOU FLAT!!!!!!!!

 

The last warning Jacob had received mentioned a coat hanger:

 

DON’T EVER TURN YOUR BACK ON HER—OR YOU’LL BE CLOSELINED—LITERALLY!!!!!!  

 

At first, she had seemed like a dear old woman, another suffering from loneliness and osteoporosis. And naturally, Jacob hadn’t taken the warnings seriously…that is until he had seen first-hand the power the woman had over the dead.

 

Unbelievably, the cat had returned from the grave—and had settled back inside Michele’s house. The animal still wore the bandages, the proof of its mummification, but without a brain it could do little but lie on a windowsill and stare milky-eyed out at a world it should have left behind forever, but had rejoined once again.

 

Had Michele had revived the cat? She must have—how else he could explain the revival?

 

And if she could revive cats, what else was she capable of?


It hadn’t taken Jacob but two days to decide what he should do about his next-door neighbor. Perhaps he could’ve called the police—informed them of his suspicions. He could’ve even done a little more investigating.

 

But doing these things would’ve likely had him crouching blindfold in the white glare of insanity.

 

Bedsides, who would ever  believe a sixteen-year-old boy spouting off about undead cats, anyhow?

 

So, after a few days of deliberation, he made his decision. It was rash, but he had no other choice. He would arm himself with his father’s old M1 Carbine...





...and he would visit Michele in the dead of the night, and under the full moon. Then he would send Michele to the grave…where she belonged.

 

   


Comments:
 
jackbauer76   jackbauer76 wrote
on 7/10/2009 4:25:51 PM
Awesome fucking story. Can I have your baby?

VRGunslinger
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