Rumbled

By Pete Sutton

I’m careful. I’m hanging off the idol’s head. Elbow deep in one eye socket, prying the stone from the other. The second perfectly polished, stunningly expensive, massive precious stone. Fortune! There is a creak, a stone against stone noise and then a pop. It’s in the bag faster than you can say “ancient curse”. That’s when the earthquake strikes. Curses! The floor underneath the idol bucks like someone flapping a carpet. I jump clear of the toppling megalithic man just in time. Safe! There is a deep, throaty, grinding noise and shouting. Cultists! Rumbled and caught. It’s the pot for me.