The Revenge of the Mummy
by John Pirillo
The Mulamont Theater was in the posh Regent Street district, an area that abutted the nearby Royal Opera House and the Royal Academy of the Arts, where Alex, chauffeur and late, but now dead actor of aspiring fame, gained his education in the arts. Cold and barren was the area now. Few visitors of curiosity or work neared the area after the prior night. Word of the bizarre terror and murder had struck a chord in the fearful hearts of Londoners.
Many thought, wasn't it enough that we had to put up with Jack White, the Ripper, and the terrible Hyde, who could suck the life force out of one's limbs and heart. Vampires they could deal with, but these alien forces, and sometimes demonic men and women, were too much for their average minds to accept. So on this early morning, nearing dawn, few were at the scene of the crime, except for freezing Constables, and city crews trying to clean up the mess made by the panicking crowd.
Sherlock and Watson stood at the entrance, looking out towards the place where the bodies had lain. From there the burn marks were just as sharp as they had been when they stood over them. The Inspector stood just to their right, slapping hands against himself to keep warm.
Sherlock and Watson breathed curls of white smoke from their nostrils and mouths, as they breathed, but hardly noticed the cold. This two were used to much more extreme weather, it would seem to the bedraggled Inspector, who yawned so deeply that moment, he felt as if his very tonsils would explode from his mouth.
He caught a hand over his mouth and stepped closer to the team. "Anything?"
Sherlock looked at him, then motioned for Watson to go to the burned area. Watson did so and opened his bag, then got to his knees and began collecting some of the ash into a vial, then some fiber, and then some of the very pavement itself.
The Inspector watched so intently, that he didn't notice when Sherlock slipped away into the alley, unholstering his weapon as he did so. Why he should have done that would have been the Inspector's immediate question, but he would have received no answer. For the moment that Sherlock entered the alley, his attention went not from where the initial attack had begun, but insted to the side of the building. He holstered his weapon, and withdrew a tiny vial and swab, then dabbed it into something slimy on the side of the building that was frozen there, but still sticky enough to come off on the swab.
"Watson, come here, I need you!" Sherlock hollered.
The Inspector and Watson both ran into the alley, weapons out and ready to fire, but when they saw Sherlock taking a second swab from the building on the other side of the alley, they immediately relaxed, though the Inspector's eyes darted hither and thither, not content to take anything for granted, after what had happened and so horribly as well. Not that death isn't always horrible, he thought to himself, but this...the thoughts wavered in his consciousness and then drowned in a pool of darkness of incomprehension.
"It seems that whoever, or whatever..." Sherlock began, motioning to Watson to take the vials he had just placed the entire swabs into. "It would seem that it or they have a means of ingress and digress that don't obey the normal laws of human capabilities."
"How so?" Watson asked.
"Yes, Sherlock. How?" The Inspector inquired, his eyes searching the rooftops for any sign of the villain.
"First, man does not stick to walls. Second, man does not exude slime like a snail. Third, a man can not defy the laws of gravity when doing so."
"Get to the point, man!" The Inspector blurted out, his temper shortened by loss of sleep and frustration.
"The point is." Sherlock said after a long pause. "The point is we are not searching for a man"
With that he took himself from the alley, with Watson following in his footsteps.
The Inspector suddenly realized he was standing alone in the dark alley. He heard something make a noise above him and swiveled about to aim his weapon at the rooftop. A street urchin, who swept chimneys for a living waved down at him, then made a rude sound and scampered off.
"Nasty little bugger, aren't you?" He aimed at the rooftop, then shouted. "You better hide. I find you and..."
"Inspector!" Sherlock called to him, cutting him short.
The Inspector turned to find Sherlock behind him. He almost jumped. "I thought you were through."
"My intentions were to send Watson off to diagose the samples immediately, while you and I do a little climbing."
"Climbing as in mounting a hill?"
"No." Sherlock answered. He pointed upwards.
Sherlock led a quick pace to the end of the alley where a fire escape, old, but serviceable, rose from the base of the alley to the top of the nearest building. He began scrambling up it like a mad man with the Inspector panting hard behind him. "Drat it all, Holmes, slow down, you're killing me!"
Sherlock paused to look back. "It might already be too late. We must hurry!"
"Hurry to what?"
"Find the criminal!"
Sherlock ascended even faster, ignoring the trembling of the old fire escape and once sending some broken piece of it tumbling towards the Inspector, who barely avoided it.
"Bloody hell!" The Inspector swore as he muscled the piece from striking his face with the back of his right arm.
The piece clanged to the alley below, making horrific sounds as it crashed there.
"Coming or not, Inspector!" Sherlock cried from above.
The Inspector looked up just as Sherlock vanished from view.
"Hate this pishy job! Hate it!"
The Inspector cursed silently next as he was short of breath still and he had to urge his sore and aching muscles to take him the rest of the way up. As he mounted the top of the fire escape he saw Sherlock take a running leap to the next building.
"Oh bollocks!" The Inspector cried out, then he ran as fast as his burning muscles would allow and in a grand effort of will and effort, he launched himself for the opposite side. He didn't make it. He began to tumble backwards as his foothold slipped from him, when a strong hand caught his arm and pulled him the rest of the way to safety.
Sherlock immediately let go and continued running.
The Inspector watched as Sherlock made an even longer leap.
"This is killing me." He bitched. "Maybe even literally." He cursed as he took another run, this time the fear of death and failure in Sherlock's eyes fueling his leap. He leaped into the air towards the next building, prayers forming in his mind as he flew the distance.
John Pirillo"Writing fuels the heart and soul!" Science Fiction, Fantasy and Adventure Tales to Take Your Breath Away!