(Curse Level: postcards that watch you and pyramids with a heartbeat)
There are two things you don't expect to see when boarding a flight to Egypt:
A kid throwing data tablets down the aisle like digital shurikens.
The flight attendant call button labeled in Arabic, English, and—according to my traumatized soul—ancient Sumerian.
But let's rewind before your brain loses more neurons.
My name is Renji Kurogane.Archaeologist.Ex-cop.Investigator of the impossible.And world champion at saying "yes" to things clearly marked with invisible signs reading:"TRAP – REWARDS EARLY DEATH."
I boarded the plane with a backpack, a cursed notebook, and a growing suspicion that history was spying on me from behind the fuselage.
The flight attendant smiled.I smiled back.She offered me coffee.I offered her my soul.She didn't get it. Her loss.
CAIRO AIRPORT: Where hell is just a layover
We landed.Heat.Chaos.People looking at you like they know something you don't—and won't tell you, because it's more fun that way.
No one was waiting for me.No name sign.No cryptic butler.No monk in robes offering "answers and holy water."
Just an envelope.Lying on the floor.As if destiny had a one-star Uber rating.
HOTEL NETERU – ROOM 307.Full address.Attached to a black and white photo.
A pyramid.But not your typical "Greetings from Egypt!" with camel emojis.
No.This one looked like it was designed by a depressed architect raised on insults and cold soup.Made of black stone that didn't reflect light—it devoured it.More sunken than raised.And radiating the warmth of a knife-hugging snake.
On the back of the photo, a phrase written in what might've been ink……or the liquified soul of a regretful intern:
"She sees you. She remembers."
Perfect!Nothing screams "safe vacation" like a poetic threat in cursive.
HOTEL NETERU: Where Wi-Fi is an urban legend
I arrived.A place with fewer stars than my medical record.The receptionist tossed me the key without looking up.He had the personality of a rock and the emotional warmth of a forgotten cactus.
I went up to the third floor.Room 307.Opened the door and found what can only be described as:
"Abstract art colliding with a multiverse-written absurd comedy."
Documents scattered across the floor.And above them…A showerhead.Hanging from the ceiling. Dripping onto the papers.
As if the universe was urinating irony all over my curiosity.—"Nice one, God. You high too, or what?"
On the floor: ancient books.On the bed: impossible maps.And on the desk, the cherry on the trauma sundae:
Another notebook.Identical to the first.But with more pages.And on the first one, like a narrative punch to the gut with no context:
"DIG."
That was it.No intro.No greeting.Just a dry command.Like the author knew whoever opened this was already screwed beyond salvation.
And then... I heard it.In my head.A faint echo. A voice that wasn't mine, repeating the order like a mantra:
"Dig, Renji…"
THE EYE'S BELLY: the place history forgot to make coherent
I read everything.Scribbles I recognized.Symbols I'd seen carved into corpses back when I still had a badge.Marks found in ruins that "officially don't exist," according to archaeologists afraid of losing their pensions.
And among it all, the crown jewel:A new map.
But this one didn't point to Egypt as a country.It pointed to a hole in history.A place where there should've been nothing but sand……and yet there was something else.
They called it:"The Eye's Belly."Because of course, if you're naming a cursed location, at least make it sound like it could chew your soul.
What would a reasonable human do?Close the notebook.Call a cab.Toss everything into the bonfire of forgetfulness.
Me? Of course not.
🚙 Four hours later, driving toward the abyss
I hired a jeep.And a local guide.Skinny guy, beard of a tired prophet, voice like a badly dubbed documentary.
I showed him the map.
—"That place doesn't exist," he said, emotionless.—"Perfect. Take me anyway."—"Why?"—"Because when something doesn't exist… it's usually hiding something with VERY, VERY bad temper."
And there we were.The desert stretched like a bad dream without Instagram filters.And then… I saw it.
The pyramid.More tumor than structure.Made of obsidian.Veins glowing like they had a pulse.As if it were alive.Or worse… waiting.
—"Nice architecture. Got Wi-Fi too?"The guide didn't laugh.Didn't get out of the jeep.
—"You're not coming?"—"I've been there before. Lost something."—"What?"—"A part of myself."
He lit a cigarette as if that explained everything.Spoiler: It did.
Before he drove away, he left something in my hand:A white stone carved with a closed eye.—"If it opens… it's too late."
THE AXIS, THE DOOR, AND THE WHISPER
I approached.Each step felt like stepping on secrets that wanted to stay buried.The air smelled like rusted iron.And the shadow the structure cast… didn't match the sun.
Just before entering, I saw it:An inscription on the frame.
Not in any language I knew.And yet, I understood it perfectly:
"THE EYE SLEEPS,BUT YOU DON'T."
And the worst part…It felt like the phrase knew me.
Then I heard it:—"Renji…"
Not with my ears.From inside.Like my blood whispered it from my bones.
I stopped.Breathed.And let out a nervous laugh.—"Okay, brain. First hallucination of the day. I give it a six. Needs more hellfire."
And I went in.Because if there's one thing worse than knowing everything is wrong……it's not knowing why.