Page 37 of Barbi and the Villain

“Ahhhh,” I whimper as my foot catches onto something solid and I fall.

Against all odds, though, I don’t hit the pavement.

I hit the mummy.

“Uhm, I’m sorry?” I whisper as I realize my fingers are pulling on the already tattered material of his clothes.

He grunts but makes no effort to help me up.

I hold on to him to raise myself up, only to fall once more, this time flat on top of the mummy.

“You can have your finger back,” I say as I search in the darkness to give it to him. Up close, there’s an inviting scent coming off him—not at all what I would have imagined death and gloom to smell like. It’s a mix of tobacco, musk, and ash with the lightest hint of coffee.

I find his hand and I put the finger where it belongs. That’s also when I realize why he could not move. He’s chained to the wall. There’s a heavy metal chain around his wrist, holding him in place.

“Do you need any glue? Or clay?” I ask innocently. “I can try to put it back together for you, but?—”

“It will mend itself just fine,” he strains a reply.

“Oh. Okay,” I murmur.

It hasn’t escaped me that I should have moved ten seconds ago. But he’s comfortable. And warm. Surprisingly warm. And I’m so damn cold and shivery.

“I’m really sorry about your finger. I promise I’m not a thief, especially not a body part thief,” I add nervously, just so I can buy myself a few more moments with his body heat.

“It is fine,” he replies.

His warm breath brushes against my skin. Goose bumps erupt all over my body, accompanied by a light ticklish sensation.

“You’re surprisingly big,” I murmur appreciatively as I shamelessly feel up his shoulders. Hmm, they are quite broad. “I thought mummies were shriveled up, but you don’t seem to be all that dry…”

A blush stains my cheeks as my thoughts go in a different direction.

God, Barbi! You’re having dirty thoughts about a mummy of all things. You should be ashamed of yourself!

“Do you always talk this much?” he suddenly asks.

I blink.

“Only when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” he counters.

“Uhm.” I swallow. Why does it have to be so dark? Why can’t I see him? And why does he have to smell nice and feel nice. This is too deceiving for my poor, already messed up mind. “Because you might hurt me?”

“Strange creature.” He tsks at me, and if it weren’t so dark, I would imagine him shaking his head at me. “I have already given you my word that you are safe with me.”

“Hey, I am not a creature, nor am I strange.” I push against his chest, belatedly stopping when I realize I might cause more damage.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I am hopeless. I’ll destroy this poor mummy in no time if I keep this up. But as I continue to feel my way around his body, I encounter more chains. One is around his neck, the other at his waist. A pang of sadness pierces my heart at his situation. He’s chained to this wall like an animal, barely allowed any movement.

“You are strange. But I welcome it,” he adds in a wistful tone. “It has been a long time since I have talked to someone.”

“H-how long?” I ask on a whisper.

“Years? Maybe more? I no longer know at this point.”

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