Transcript
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McLeod Andrews (0:29)
Imagine uncovering a door that hasn't been opened for 3,000 years. Beyond it lies untold treasure and perhaps the greatest discovery in archaeological history. But as the ancient seal breaks and stale air rushes forth, ask yourself what else might escape from that long forgotten tomb. Because sometimes, disturbing the past comes with.
Howard Carter (0:56)
A price one paid. Not in gold, but in blood.
McLeod Andrews (1:02)
Welcome to Sighting, the series that takes you inside the world's most mysterious supernatural events. Each week, we bring you a thrilling story that puts you at the center of the action, followed by a discussion that dives into the accounts that inspired the story and our takes on them. I'm McLeod.
Brian Sigley (1:18)
And I'm Brian. And today we're heading to the sands of Egypt in the days after King Tutankhamun's tomb was opened.
McLeod Andrews (1:25)
When members of the archaeological expedition begin dying of unusual circumstances. The survivors can't help wondering if this is a case of coincidence or a curse. Find out what fate befalls them on this episode of Sightings.
Howard Carter (2:07)
My name is Howard Carter. I bloody newfangled thing. I'm told this device is the newest technology, straight from America. Yet it seems impossible to. Oh, wait, I. I stand corrected. It is functioning. So then, my name is Howard Carter. The date is the 30th of November, 1922. And though the world already knows of my achievement, I must make a record for myself and for posterity. Because I've done it. Against all odds, I've uncovered the tomb of Tutankhamun. Context. Yes, I should provide context. Which means I must take you to the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings, the setting of this great adventure. And the very name is full of romance, isn't it? Windswept dunes stretching endlessly toward the horizon. Limestone cliffs rising like the very bones of the earth. And the sunsets. Breathtaking. As if the sky itself is trying to match the splendor of the treasures buried below. You can't help feeling like you're part of something more, something greater. Yet there's also something about the place that attunes one's mind to solitude. And yes, quite alone was how I felt. These six long seasons, six years of excavation. 200,000 tons of earth moved bucket by bucket through scorching heat. And for what? Season after season, we came up empty, finding no tombs at all. But my benefactor, the great Lord Carnarvon, was as stubborn as I, and we were convinced that so long as a single area of untouched ground remained, the risk was worth taking. So risk we did. And though Carnarvon naturally retired back to England as the season grew weary, the rest of my team remained. And four weeks ago, just as we were setting hoe to ground, in what felt like one last despairing effort, it fell. Finally happened. A discovery that far exceeded our wildest dreams. The tomb revealed itself first as a passage 10ft high by 6ft wide, descending into the earth as if leading to the underworld itself. And as we excavated further, we found a sealed door. And I required all the control I could muster not to break down that door right then and there. For Lord Carnarvon was in England, and in fairness to him, I had to delay matters until he could come. So the tomb lay in wait, reburied so as not to reveal its location until Carnarvon arrived. And one week ago, he finally did. The passage was again cleared and a breach made in the doorway so that I might peek inside. At first, I could see nothing, as the hot air escaping from the chamber caused my candle flame to flicker. But presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I saw it. Gold. I must have been silent with amazement, for Lord Caernarvon asked if I saw anything, and I could only reply, yes, wonderful things. Soon I entered the tomb. Three, maybe 4,000 years had passed since humans last trod that floor, and the air itself felt ancient, thick with dust and mystery and something else I couldn't quite place. Then my gaze fell upon the artifacts. Oh, the artifacts. Golden objects of all shapes and sizes and of quality befitting a king. There were ceremonial beds carved with divine beasts, chariots inlaid with precious stones, and vases of alabaster and gold, all gleaming as if it had been polished yesterday. But it was strange. The walls, all painted with scenes of the afterlife, also appeared, adorned with a strange pink film that shimmered in our lamplight, almost like it was responding to our presence. But that worried me not. We were on the threshold of the greatest discovery in archaeological history, and I desired to know whose tomb this was. Fortunately, the answer came quickly, as we found another sealed doorway inlaid with inscriptions and one magnificent name. Tutankhamun. The boy king and the very pharaoh whose tomb we'd been hoping to find. Further, this discovery meant the room in which we stood was merely an antechamber. And beyond this door were surely other rooms, possibly a succession of them. And in one, beyond any shadow of a doubt, we should find the pharaoh himself lying in wait. But excavation, if anything, is an art of patience. So we must inventory the contents of the antechamber before entering the tomb itself. And while I must exercise restraint for now, I am confident that in time the reward will be unimaginable. I've presently been called back to the valley, so this is all I have time for now. But on a final note, I must address one point. I've seen reports that there was an inscription within the antechamber, one which read, death shall come on swift wings to whoever toucheth the tomb of the Pharaoh. This, of course, is tommyrot. And that is all I shall say about that. So now to officially end this transmission or recording or whatever it is called. I don't know what to say. I found it. Until my next record. Sincerely yours, Howard Carter. This is Howard Carter. The date is February 17, 1923. And what a glorious day it is. For today I laid eyes on Tooting Common himself. I must admit it has been longer than expected since my last record, but the cataloguing of the antechamber took far longer than expected. And this morning, our weight paid off as we broke the seals of Tutankhamun's burial chamber to discover if the pharaoh remained in situ. The task of opening the door itself, of course, fell to me, and I must admit, it was nerve wracking. Lord Carnarvon was there, alongside a handful of anxious dignitaries. But as I removed stone after stone, a gap finally opened, revealing a wall of gold. And as the aperture became larger, I realized what was barring our view was an immense golden shrine that contained the actual burial chamber of the king. We'd found him Tooting Common, the boy king at last revealed. And the look of. One moment. I'll be there in a moment. And the look of awe on everyone's faces, especially that of Lord Carnarvon. It was nearly as priceless as the treasures we'd uncovered. Ah. Goodness me, what a remarkable day. And mark my words, it will echo through the ages. Until next. Sincerely yours, Howard Carter. I report, quite unexpectedly, in poor spirits and with bad news for my friend and benefactor. Lord Carnarvon has passed beyond. What a terrible loss. Before his family. For Egypt, for the whole of humanity. Because Lord Carnarvon, he was the spark, you see, whose dedication to the art of exploration has reshaped history as we know it. And, oh, Dear me. I must compose myself. Good God. The sting of this loss is great. And to think his cause of death was but a silly trifle, a mosquito bite that became infected, triggering blood poisoning. I've seen strange things happen here, as the desert can be an unforgiving place. But this, I must say, has baffled me and left me. Left me quite shaken. Even worse, I've already heard rumors blaming his death on this ridiculous notion of a curse, including several reports that the power in all of Cairo went out at the moment Lord Carnarvon passed. Being in the Valley of the Kings at the time, I cannot report on the veracity of such claims, other than to say that it sounds like, at best, a freakish coincidence. Still, many within my circle have grown frightened. My driver even approached me this morning to tell me something he witnessed on the day we first opened Tutankhamun's tomb. He said that upon arriving at my villa, he was shocked to find that a cobra had infiltrated my prize canary's cage and eaten him whole. Of course, my driver is a native Egyptian and said that such an occurrence was a terrible omen, and that the death of Lord Carnarvon cemented in his mind that the curse must be real. I do not mean to sound dismissive, yet I must reaffirm my stance that such beliefs are absolute nonsense. There is no curse on that tomb. Indeed, the sentiment of the Egyptologist is not one of fear, but of respect and awe. We are entirely opposed to foolish superstitions. And yet I cannot dismiss that my demeanor is shaken. Surely this is just the pain of loss. Nevertheless, the excavation of the tomb shall continue in Lord Caernarvon's memory. Here in the Valley of the Kings, we will finish what we. I've heard something outside my tent. It's surely nothing, but at this hour. Shoo. Shoo, I say. Gone with you. How strange. There was a jackal, dark as night, and a true copy of Anubis, the Guardian of the Dead, standing just outside my tent. In over 35 years of working this desert, I've never seen such a creature. Some may say this is another omen. I assure you, it is not. And yet, if I must be completely objective, I would be remiss to wonder if something was happening here. Something not quite explainable. Something. Ha. No. Nonsense. All of it. Good night.