How we got Karloff’s Mummy in the first place is pretty fascinating. Europe and America were gripped in an Egyptological mania. Then, Howard Carter discovered King Tut in 1922 and all hell broke loose. A warning, carved inside the tomb that read ‘Death shall come on swift wings to him who disturbs the peace of the King’, was supposedly responsible for the deaths of multiple people involved with the dig. Lord Carnavon, the man who bankrolled the expedition, died of an insect bite shortly following the opening of the tomb. It was said that his dog, all the way back at home in England, died the very same day. Also, Carter’s personal assistant, Richard Bethell, jumped to his death from an upper story window. As many as 11 people connected with the discovery died within a matter of a few years. Within fifteen years 21 people had perished from what can only be described as ‘unnatural causes’ (well, at least they could be labeled premature, maybe even odd, deaths).

 

Take the idea of the panicked archaeological camp, add a shambling, curse-slinging Mummy and think of the potential situation. Not bad, eh? Well short of being the pitchman for Charmin, the Mummy is an ass-kicking master of the black arts. Let’s capitalize that. Black Arts. First, he’s undead! There’s enough fiendish magicks evident in just his walking around to show that he’s going to be pretty tough to defeat.  I mean, Death hasn’t bested him. Second, he can curse. Some people get an insect bite, others get a push out a window. He shows a versatility (a certain ‘cursatility’) not always found in museum pieces.

 

Sure, he’s slowish but he’s persistent (and still undead so probably not one to get tired). And, yes, he may appear a little brittle. But I’m sure if you can magick yourself awake from 4,000 years of sleep you can keep the bandages together as you exact your revenge.

 

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Complete and total sidebar: What do you think 4,000 year old toe nails look like? How much crud is under there?