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."
I heard my name, soft but clear, carried through the buzz of students heading home. I turned around and saw 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 asked, his tone half-teasing, half-curious.
I shrugged and said, "Me? Forget you? That would take actual effort." He grinned and nudged me. "Yeah right. We were worried you'd leave us behind."
Sarah, walking beside us, piped up softly, "For a second, it kind of felt like it." I paused, tightening the straps of my backpack, and smiled.
"Nah—new class, same crew."
"I know you can't survive without my jokes, man," Mark said with a smug expression.
"More like bad jokes," Sarah added. I chuckled lightly.
The low rumble of a truck echoed from the school's entrance. A small crowd had gathered, blocking the view. Curious, we moved closer, and as we passed, the source came into sight—a large museum truck with The Metropolitan Museum of Antiquities printed clearly on the side.
A weird chill crept over me. Something felt… off.
Isn't that where my da—
"Ethan!"
I froze.
Jonathan—my dad—was waving from the driver's seat, cheerful as ever. He leaned out the window, his grin shining like the truck's polished mirrors.
"Hey, Ethan! Hop in, we've got a schedule to keep!" he shouted, completely unaware of the horror blooming on my face.
Oh no. My heart sank. I didn't even need to turn around to know people were staring.
Mark let out a low whistle. "That's your ride?" Sarah covered her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's… very official."
I looked down, already feeling my face turn red. A museum truck. At school pickup. Could it get any worse?
"Dad, can you not yell like that?" I muttered as I walked up, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. He just beamed, completely unaware. "Why? I wanted to make sure you didn't miss me!"
Mark called after me, grinning. "Save us some dinosaur bones!" I slumped into the seat and shut the door. The truck pulled away, but I could still feel the secondhand laughter trailing behind us.
I felt a flicker of annoyance, but curiosity quickly overpowered it. In a slightly irritated tone, I asked, "How are you even able to bring a museum truck to school? Wouldn't bringing such a truck cause you trouble?"
"Oh, it's nothing," Dad said with a shrug, his voice laced with casual nonchalance, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
"All the security guys are my buddies. I just told them, 'Hey, quick pit stop to pick up my son,' and they waved me through like it was no big deal. Besides, how many kids get to ride home in a truck carrying a mummy? It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience."
I let out a sigh and muttered, Yeah, lucky me, my voice dripping with sarcasm and mild annoyance.
"Wait… mummy?" The word hit me like a slap. My eyes widened as the realization sank in. Did he just say mummy? A mummified corpse… in the truck?
Dad chuckled at my delayed reaction, amused by how slowly I processed his casual bombshell. Then, with a sudden shift, he drew a deep breath, his face hardening into the kind of seriousness that made my stomach knot.
"Yes," he said gravely. "And not just any mummy. This coffin from ancient Egypt carries a mystery."
I stared at him, breathless. If my dad—always the laid-back joker—was serious, then this was serious.
"Whoever touches the coffin lid dies," he continued, his voice low and deliberate. "And people have died upon touching it."
People have died… just by touching it? And we're casually hauling it around? AND WHY DRAG ME INTO THIS?! Wait—I haven't touched it yet. So… am I safe?
My emotions teetered on the edge of panic when suddenly—
"BOOM!" Dad shouted.
I froze, heart hammering.
"Haha!" He burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the truck. "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 washed over me, tangled with irritation. "That's not a mystery," I snapped. "That's just a nasty rumor!"
"No, that's where the mystery comes in. Back in the 1970s, when this coffin was discovered in Egypt, it was our researchers who found it. They transported the mummy to our country. 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 mysteriousness of this mummy began."
My mind reeled at the reality that people had died. Then he added, "But after it came to the museum, many visitors touched it, and no one died. At least, there's no record of anyone dying."
"Oh… people touched it even after knowing there was a curse? Risking their lives?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes. Many people don't believe in superstition and rumors. They were bold enough to touch it and proved the curse wasn't real. Even I touched it while transporting it—nothing happened to me," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
People have touched it and nothing happened… Just by touching it, nothing will happen, right?
Wait—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 and died?" 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."
I felt some relief, but uneasiness lingered at the back of my mind. Maybe it's because I've watched too many horror movies… maybe.
We drove on, flowing with the city traffic. Cars glided past like schools of fish, each one chasing its own destination. People hurried along sidewalks, faces set with purpose, weaving through the evening rush. Streetlights came on, casting yellow light across the road.
And here I was—traveling in a truck with a mummy in the backseat.