The Cursed Temple

Philip Kimborowicz's brow furrowed, his eyes stinging from the sweat that crept into them. The tall vegetation of the Brazilian jungle he was cutting a trail through towered over his 5'5" frame. Attempting to clear his stinging eyes with his fingers just made it worse. He shrugged, wiped his forehead, and continued chopping away at the thick brush. After a few more feet p, the discovery of a lifetime fell upon his sweat stung eyes, though now they filled with tears of joy as they beheld the ancient temple laid out in front of him. The walls, statues, and every decoration were covered with big, dark green tentacle-like vines. Philip felt a humid breeze roll over him with every step towards the unmistakable columns of Greek inspired architecture. This was a major discovery that could make him world famous.

His excitement grew when he saw the Greek word 'γοργός' carved into the wall next to the steps. His fingers gently traced the meticulously worked word. “Rattling”? What could it mean? Then he noticed something all but obscured by the lush vines. In larger print, above the previous, was the word, 'κίνδυνος', “danger”.

It struck him with disturbing clarity that these carvings weren’t Ancient Greek at all, deepening the already puzzling mystery.

Warily, he looked around, taking in the beautiful white marble of the structure, marble not native to this continent, before stepping through the columns that marked the entrance. Even though everything was covered in a thick layer of damp vines, the walls, floors, and ceiling were still bright white beneath the vegetation. Philip turned in a few circles, noting the pristine look of the building. A stab of disappointment pierced him. This was not an ancient site but one more recently built. But who would construct such a place in the heart of the Brazilian rainforest? And why?

The inside of the building was a labyrinth that Philip got lost in after a few turns. He tried to backtrack, but everything looked exactly the same. The vines were the same, the open spaces between them a perfect match of where he had already been, and the walkways had the same veins in the marble. He didn't panic. He had packed his backpack and duffel almost to the point of overflowing with tools, food, and other essential equipment for his adventure.

Philip then turned a corner and walked straight into a life-sized statue. He only caught a glimpse as the collision caused the statue of a heavily armored figure of a man to topple to the floor. The sound of thunder erupted under the armor as the stone-like body crumbled around and in it. Leaving a full set of English medieval armor laying in a pile of rubble. Yet another thing out of place.

The rubble bit into his knee as he knelt to examine the armor. He had seen similar styles during his time in England and guessed this was mid twelfth century. The shining metal made the plate armor look recently buffed using modern equipment, and Philip decided to start taking photographs. He cursed himself for not starting at the base of the building. He let one of the straps of his backpack fall off his shoulder and swung the pack around, retrieving his camera bag. After releasing the camera, he caught the free strap and pulled it back around.

He started fidgeting with the expensive gadget when a strange sound rolled down the hallway in front of him. Though he saw nothing he suspected someone, or something, was in here with him. Though it was probably just some of the local fauna, his heart raced as he inched cautiously down the corridor. A monkey might cause no great problem but a jaguar would be a different matter. The armor forgotten, Phillip slung his camera over his shoulder and gripped his machete tight. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes once again.

As he crept to the junction of the next turn in the hallway, he paused to listen. When there was no sound, he gathered a bit of courage and stepped into the next hallway. The sight turned his stomach for an unknown reason. There were several piles of rubble in and around pieces of clothing from different eras. There were still several intact statues, all in odd positions and different cultural clothes. There was an obvious samurai, frozen in place, a hand on the hilt of his unsheathed sword, a grim look of determination in his stony eyes. Then there was a twentieth century soldier, looking like he was plucked from a battlefield in World War II, terrified and cowering. A woman wearing an aviator jacket glanced at him over her shoulder in panic as she ran. Several people huddled together around a man clutching a Bible. Finally, there was a man wielding dual chipped xiphos, clad in ancient greek armor.

Excited again, Phillip began snapping pictures of every statue. He halted at once as the sound came again, not only louder but closer now. Instead of turning around, Philip slowly placed the camera on his right shoulder and hit the button to snap a photo of whatever was behind him. Instead of the familiar click of the digital camera there was a loud pop and smoke billowed out of it. Startled, he dropped the camera and darted down the hallway. Then the sound began again, following behind him. It was getting louder and louder. There was a certain melody to the sound Philip couldn’t place. Then it came to him, it was like something heavy, sliding, slithering, its scales clicking rhythmically upon the marble floor.

In order to try and gain some distance, Philip pulled his arms through the straps of the backpack and let it fall behind him. It crashed to the ground. The sound behind him abruptly stopped. In the ensuing silence he chanced the slightest of glances over his shoulder…

THE END