A Case of Mistaken Identity

A Mummy fanfic by Katie Sullivan
Rating: PG for mild cussing and rotting corpses ;-)
You know the drill:  I owneth not any of these characters.  Sueth me not.
Set shortly before The Mummy Returns

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Meela knelt within a ruined chamber deep in Hamunaptra.  It had recently been excavated by her workers.  The cool sand cradled her thighs through her khakis and the stale air added to the giddiness she felt.  He was near.   She could sense it.  The heavy, unnaturally cool Book of the Dead was open across her knees as she prepared to read.  The intricate hieroglyphics were easy for her to decipher, although she had never had a single lesson.

Behind her towered Lock-nah, grim-faced as always but with a glint of excitement in his dark eyes.  The curator of the British Museum fidgeted and uselessly checked his watch.  Time was meaningless here.

Meela took a deep breath of the dusty air and began the incantation.  She trembled, hardly able to believe the time was finally here.  She would be whole again!  They would be together!  And together they would rule the world!

A thin smile formed on her lips as the body sprawled in front of her--little more than a skeleton--began to move.  Slowly at first, then with greater strength.  He stood, staring around with understandable disorientation.

She sprang to her feet, grinning widely.  At last!  "My beloved prince," she said in the Old Tongue.

The skeletal figure turned to face her--although he had no face--and spoke.   "Who th' hell are you?  Vhere am I?  Vhat the--  Vhat's going on?"

Meela blinked in confusion.  Instead of the silky ancient Egyptian voice she had been expecting, this was a whiny voice speaking in English with a Yiddish/Hungarian accent.

She cursed in both Egyptian, Arabic and English before whirling to glare at the curator.  "I told you this was the wrong corpse!"

"Who are you people?" squealed the until-recently-dead man.   "Vhere's my skin?  I'm dead, aren't I?  Ooh, but all my gold!   I had so much gold!"  He picked up a dirty old fez and attempted to wear it, but it kept falling off his skull.  "Dammit!"

The curator shrugged helplessly.

Meela snorted in disgust and handed the Book of the Dead to Lock-nah, who gave her the golden Book of Amun-Ra instead.  She hastily flipped to the right page and rattled off the incantation to send the unwanted dead back to the underworld.

The hapless corpse was too busy muttering complaints about scarab beetles, Americans and lost gold to notice what she was doing.  With a whoosh of light, he was gone, dead again.

Meela slammed the book shut and stomped off in disappointed fury.


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