It was a quiet evening, the kind that makes you want to sit under a tree and do nothing at all. Soft sunlight came in through the windows, casting long shadows across the classroom. The desks and chairs looked warmer in the light, like the whole room had relaxed.
The bell rang for the last time that day. I felt a small wave of relief. School was over.
I looked out the window, already thinking about dinner—maybe rice and soup, maybe something fried. The teacher gave one final glance around the room, then walked out slowly, quietly.
I stayed in my seat for a few seconds, just enjoying the stillness. Then I got up, grabbed my bag, and joined the flow of students spilling out of classrooms, footsteps echoing, voices blending into a steady hum.
"Ethan."
My name cut through the buzz. I turned to see Mark jogging toward me, his backpack bouncing with each step. Just behind him was Sarah, walking at her usual calm pace, eyes half-lost in thought.
"Did you forget about us when you changed class?" Mark teased, his grin wide.
I smirked, adjusting my straps. "Me? Forget you? That would take actual effort."
He bumped my shoulder playfully. "Yeah right. We were worried you'd leave us behind."
Sarah's voice slipped in softly. "For a second, it kind of felt like it."
I smiled, shaking my head. "Nah—new class, same crew."
Mark puffed his chest. "I know you can't survive without my jokes."
"More like bad jokes," Sarah murmured, lips curling faintly. I chuckled.
A low rumble rolled in from the school's entrance. A small crowd had gathered, blocking the view. Curious, we edged closer.
As the gap opened, the source came into sight—a large museum truck with The Metropolitan Museum of Antiquities printed boldly on the side.
A chill crawled up my spine. Something felt… wrong.
Isn't that where my da—
"Ethan!"
I froze.
Jonathan—my dad—was leaning out of the driver's seat, waving like we were at a carnival. His grin gleamed as bright as the truck's polished mirrors.
"Hey, Ethan! Hop in, we've got a schedule to keep!" His voice boomed across the courtyard, oblivious to the horror blooming on my face.
Oh no. My stomach dropped. I didn't need to turn around to know people were staring.
Mark whistled low. "That's your ride?"
Sarah covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "It's… very official."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. A museum truck. At school pickup. Could this get any worse?
"Dad, can you not yell like that?" I muttered, trudging toward him, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
He just beamed, eyes crinkling. "Why? I wanted to make sure you didn't miss me!"
Mark called after me, grinning. "Save us some dinosaur bones!"
I slammed the door shut and sank into the seat. The truck lurched forward, laughter trailing behind like smoke.
I clenched my fists, irritation prickling—but curiosity soon pushed through.
"How are you even able to bring a museum truck to school? Wouldn't that cause trouble?"
Dad shrugged, one hand loose on the wheel. "All the security guys are my buddies. Told them, 'Quick pit stop to pick up my son,' and they waved me through. No big deal. Besides, how many kids get to ride home in a truck carrying a mummy? Once-in-a-lifetime experience."
My breath hitched. "Wait… mummy?" The word scraped out of my throat. My pulse thudded in my ears. Did he just say mummy?
Dad chuckled at my stiff posture, amused. Then his expression shifted—eyes narrowing, jaw firming. The air in the cab thickened.
"Yes," he said, voice low. "And not just any mummy. This coffin from ancient Egypt carries a mystery."
My grip tightened on the seatbelt. If Dad—always the laid-back joker—was serious, then this was serious.
"Whoever touches the coffin lid dies," he continued, tone deliberate. "And people have died upon touching it."
My throat went dry. A bead of sweat slid down my temple. People have died… and we're casually hauling it around? AND WHY AM I HERE?!
Before panic could swallow me—
"BOOM!" Dad shouted.
I jerked so hard my shoulder slammed into the door. My heart hammered like a drum.
"Haha!" He roared with laughter, slapping the steering wheel. "I told you it has a mystery. The mystery is that everyone says touching it kills you—but guess what? Plenty of people have tried, and none died."
Relief seeped in, tangled with irritation. "That's not a mystery," I snapped, voice sharp. "That's just a nasty rumor!"
"No, that's where the mystery comes in." His eyes flicked to the road, then back to me. "Back in the 1970s, when this coffin was discovered in Egypt, our researchers found it. They transported the mummy here. The strange part? The one who discovered it and the ones who transported it—basically, those who touched it—died the very next day. That's where the curse began."
My stomach knotted. Then he added, almost casually, "But after it came to the museum, plenty of visitors touched it. No one died. At least, no record of it."
I swallowed hard. "People touched it even after knowing there was a curse?"
"Yep. Many didn't believe in superstition. They proved the curse wasn't real. Even I touched it while transporting it—nothing happened." He shrugged, eyes calm.
I've seen in movies that a touch can bring curses… But people didn't die when they touched it… Wait—some people DID die, right?!
"What was the cause of death for those who touched the mummy?" I asked, my voice betraying my tension.
"As far as I know, all of them died while sleeping—when they went to bed at night," he replied. Then, noticing my anxiety, he added, "There's nothing to worry about. I told you—I've touched it many times myself as part of museum work. Nothing happened."
My pulse slowed, but unease clung like a shadow. Maybe it's just the horror movies I've watched… maybe.
We drove on, city lights flickering to life. Cars slid past like schools of fish, chasing their own destinations. People hurried along sidewalks, faces set with purpose. Streetlights cast long yellow pools across the asphalt.
And here I was—riding home in a truck with a mummy in the back.