#105 Pharaoh’s Abomination

March 17, 1926

It is with great reluctance that I set pen to paper and record the harrowing discoveries made by our expedition within the accursed ruins of the Sahara’s uncharted interior. Though we embarked with the highest of hopes—our minds filled with the prospect of unearthing a forgotten dynasty—we have instead stumbled upon something that defies logic, faith, and even sanity itself. The chamber we have found, buried beneath the drifting sands, does not speak of an ancient civilization but of something outside time itself, something that should not exist.

The first sign of strangeness was the figure of the Pharaoh, carved not from stone but from a substance neither myself nor our most learned scholars can identify. His face, eerily lifelike, seems to follow us no matter where we stand, his hollow gaze full of judgment—or perhaps warning. Stranger still, embedded in his chest is an object wholly anachronistic: a circular target, marked with black and white rings, reminiscent of the dartboards found in the drinking halls of London. What madness could have inspired the ancients to incorporate such a thing into their funerary rites? Or—dare I suggest it—was this feature added by something else, something that came long after the Pharaoh’s time?

Our perplexity deepened upon examining the artifacts scattered across the chamber floor. A book, of recent make, lay open in the dust—its pages displaying not hieroglyphs but modern type, its subjects entirely out of place amidst the tomb’s surroundings. One page bore the image of a bespectacled man, stern in countenance, with words in a language none among us could place. But it was the other item that filled us with unease: a disturbingly realistic depiction of a woman’s form, though her face was unsettlingly absent. What ghastly rites were conducted in this place? Were these offerings, or something more sinister—tools of a ritual that our minds cannot yet comprehend?

Upon the far wall, we found an inscription, hastily scrawled in symbols that are neither ancient nor wholly recognizable. One of our guides, a man well-versed in the dialects of the East, turned pale upon seeing it, muttering that the words warned of something “unfinished” and “waiting.” His refusal to translate further has only heightened