Holding the lightstick like a torch, she stared around the disorderly chamber. Again, a hundred eyes watched her.

And then, suddenly, something changed. She didn’t know what, but they weren’t looking at her any longer. Suddenly, all the eyes were looking past her. Looking over her shoulder. Looking at something that stood behind her.

In vain did she tell herself all this was impossible. They were inanimate objects. Their eyes could not follow her around the room. They were not all looking over her shoulder. Because there was nothing behind her. Nothing at all. She’d proved it to herself once and all she had to do to prove it again was turn around. Just turn around and see for herself that nothing stood behind her. There was nothing there.

The air moved again. Another soft sigh. Her teeth began to chatter. She was cold. In fact, she was freezing. The air down here was icy. Her breath puffed a small cloud in front of her face.

Something stood behind her. She could feel it. In the same way that some people always know when they are being observed, she knew, with a certainty as cold as the air around her, that something stood behind her.

The smell of burning was stronger, overcoming the faint aroma of incense and flowers. She dragged her eyes down to the floor. A long black shadow enveloped her own. Because something stood behind her.

The logical part of her brain told her to turn around. To face whatever it was. She’d done it before. She’d be quite safe, because there was nothing there. There hadn’t been then and there couldn’t be now. The famous curse was simply a fanciful tale that had grown down the centuries. Something over which to shiver deliciously in the warmth and safety of home. The dead do not walk.

‘Tell that to whatever stands behind you at this moment,’ said Wimpy Jane. ‘See if they believe it.’

A warm tear trickled down her cold cheek. ‘Oh great, Jane,’ said her other voice. ‘Crying again. That’s always helpful.’

The air moved once more.

Her nerve snapped. ‘Stop it. Please. Just stop it. We’re trying to help you.’

Silence and stillness were the only response. And then . . .

She never knew where the idea came from, but what was the one thing these mighty pharaohs had wanted? What was the whole point of the tombs and the pyramids and the elaborate grave goods? That they would never be forgotten. That their names would be remembered and honoured for all time. She acted without thought.