William Doonan

I write books and stories.

The Mummies of Blogspace9: Chapter Fourteen

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June 18, 2011
Magdalena de Paz, Peru
Sanderson            http://www.CyrusSanderson.blogspace9.ex

Bruce, I want you to go to the Consulate.  Don’t talk to anyone, don’t meet with anyone. I’m on my way.  There’s more to this than meets the eye, so please be careful. I will explain when I see you.


June 18, 2011
Magdalena de Paz, Peru
Cavalcante           http://www.diggirl.blogspace9.ex

Bruce, what the hell?  How did this all spin out of control so fast?  Please call me, please contact me any way you can.  I’m terrified for you.  Who are these people who kidnapped you?  I can only hope you made it to safety, but I need to hear your voice.

I don’t know if that was the police or not in your last post, but they were right about one thing – you are a wanted man.  Cyrus checked with the State Department and with the consulate in Seville, and guess what?  The police are looking for you in connection with the murder of an Archive guard. 

We know you didn’t do it, Bruce.  God, of course you didn’t do it, but you need to go to the consulate as soon as possible.  They’ll turn you over to the Spanish police.  There’s nothing we can do about that, but at least you’ll be safe.  Cyrus left for Lima about an hour ago.  He’s going to fly to Seville.  Leon wants to go too, but we need him here for now.

And things aren’t going so well here either.  The police came this morning - that guy from Chocope who sits outside the bank.  Remember, with the mirrored sunglasses and the Game Boy?  He came speeding up the driveway on his moped to investigate.  He wanted to see the body, but guess what?  Yup, you guessed it, the body is gone. 

Erdulfo claims he left the body behind the shed, but it’s not there anymore.  And the policeman didn’t even want to talk to Segovia, isn’t that strange?  Segovia fires a weapon, kills a man, and doesn’t even get interviewed as part of the investigation.

And Bruce, what the hell is Mallus Momias?  Is that what we’re dealing with here - a book about how to respond to mummy uprisings?  Hammer of the Mummies?  Is that what this is all about?  Father Sebastiano’s diary is the definitive primer on how to protect yourself from the undead?  Are you laughing, Bruce?  Because I am.  I’m weeping with hysteria. 

Mummies.  Maybe that’s what last night’s visitor was, a walking mummy, a dead Indian who crawled out of his grave for vengeance.  You know something, I’m not ready to accept that.  I’m a scientist.  I believe the science is our most reliable source of information about the world we live in.  And science has no room for walking mummies.

We die one day, each one of us, and what transpires after that is not  something that can be investigated via the scientific method.  But it surely doesn’t involve yet more movement, yet more cognition, yet more conscious thought.

Erdulfo has us on lockdown here.  We’re not even going out to the site today unless we can make some sense of our senseless world.  And we’re not getting too far along on that front either.  I’m sitting here sick with worry.  Segovia is down with some kind of fever; that scratch on his face doesn’t look good.  Kim is tending to him.  And Leon has his face in that jug of mescaline, so he’s not much use either. 

I thought about leaving today.  I thought about running for the nearest plane, going to Spain to find you.  But Cyrus went instead, and he left me in charge.  And like I said, baby, I’m a scientist.  I’ve got to see this through.  Call me, text me, something me.


June 18, 2011
Magdalena de Paz, Peru
Castillo                http://www.bellisima.blogspace9.ex

Greetings!  Kim here - I’m a scientist too, boys and girls, or at least a scientist in training.  But my mother died when I was four years old, and for the next ten years, she sat by my bedside every night until I fell asleep.  And yes, I know what you’re going to say.  Well guess what, I don’t believe in ghosts either.  So how do I explain it?  I don’t bother trying to.

I was going to make this brief, but Segovia is asleep finally.  He’s not doing so well but at least the fever broke.  I’ll check on him in a bit, but we have work to do.  And until we decide to bug out, we might as well make some progress on that work in the hopes that it will illuminate our present condition.

Malleus Momias – let’s talk about that.  Lane, you’re not willing to believe in the existence of walking mummies because you’re a scientist?  Get over yourself.  Science is a comprehensive yet limited system for investigating natural phenomena.  If there are mummies walking around our world, and apparently there are, then let’s understand that they are a natural phenomenon.  They just haven’t been studied.  They’re like some species of butterfly that flits at the edge of the village at dusk, but is never seen in broad daylight.

There is more here than meets the eye, Cyrus wrote in his last entry.  You know what, Boss?  It would have been nice if you had clued us in before you left.  Because now we have to figure everything out on our own.  So let’s get started. 

One of the many elephants currently squeezed into our already crowded room is this gigantic Ultraviolet scanner that came a couple of days ago.  I Googled the model.  It’s not even commercially available.  It’s military hardware still under development, and it’s worth about two hundred thousand dollars.  Who sent it to us?  We don’t know.  But that’s OK, because it works like a son of a bitch.

So here it is, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in four hundred and thirty-one years, I give you Father Sebastiano Gota’s diary, translated into English by yours truly:

Malleus Momias” - Hammer of the Mummies
“Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi 1580” - year of our lord 1580

“Padre, padre, me perseguian.” 
Father, father, they are following me.  This is the message I sent to my superior, Father Vasco de Cuellar, whose own church in Chocope (a ride of one hour perhaps) is considerably grander than my own.  It is Father Vasco who delivered me here to Magdalena some months ago.  And it is he who I have come to consider my closest confidant during these harrowing times. 

I write this journal in secret because it is an unholy document, written in an unholy place.  But write it I must.  I daresay that if I do not, the time of human men will soon come to an end.  May we be called to the side of Jesus when the time comes, but this, this is something altogether different.  I speak of nothing other than the gates of hell opening onto our world.

My name is Sebastiano Alfonso Gota.  My father, may the Lord in his heavenly wisdom bless his eternal soul, was Don Efrain Gota of Caceres, Extremadura.  I am a priest in the service of Our Lord, and in the service of Our King Phillip III.  I am twenty-five years old, and I am damned.

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Written by williamdoonan

February 5, 2012 at 1:17 am

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