Lagniappe: Valley of the Kings

The Valley of the Kings, where huge stone gods loomed above. Dust shifted in a strange downpour of tears from their eyes, tears made of sand and powdered rock.

The boys leaned into the shadows. Like a dry river bottom, the corridors led down to deep vaults where lay the linen-wrapped dead. Dust fountains echoed and played in strange courtyards a mile below. The boys ached, listening. The tombs breathed out a sick exhalation of paprika, cinnamon, and powdered camel dung. Somewhere, a mummy dreamed, coughed in its sleep, unraveled a bandage, twitched its dusty tongue and turned over for another thousand-year snooze ...

Ray Bradbury, The Halloween Tree