Great White Hunter Crock Chaos

The Great White Hunter Meets The Dark Lord Carnarvon

June 18, 1979 I had been summoned to Egypt to help deal with a crocodile infestation on the lower Nile.  I thought this would be an easy mission and put some quick cash in my account.  I was wrong.  I had herd that the crocks I was being sent to hunt were unusually aggressive towards humans.  Nearly one hundred attacks had been reported this season thirty of which resulted in the deaths of humans.  It sounded peculiar, so I decided to investigate as I hunted the crocks.

My plane landed at the Cairo international airport, where I was greeted by an Egyptian translator and local guide.  To my surprise it was not a dirty old man with a long beard, but a young woman.  Her name was Asenath, she had dark hair and deep brown eyes.  I imagine she looked something like Cleopatra, and I can see why both Creaser and Mark Anthony fell for her.  (I'll spare you the romance, after all you want to know how I meet the Dark Lord Carnarvon).  She spoke perfect English, she explained that her father was killed by a rampaging crock while searching a series of semi submerged tombs along the banks of the Nile.  I asked her to take me to that region, thus far it was my only lead and these tombs sounded like the perfect hiding place for a crock.  We packed food, water, ammo, and every other item we could need on our journey, and took a jeep to Al Minya. 

There we met up with several local "specialists," who clamed to be professional  crocodile hunters.  They had no luck quelling the crock problem having caught only two in the last three weeks, both of which were too small to kill humans.  I examined the river banks where I found very few nests or tracks.  The crock population was not exploding as the government had clamed, so why would these crocks attack people.  Clearly I needed to investigate further.  The following morning Asenath took me to the tomb where her father's remains had been found.  It looked like an average tomb from the outside, but it's what's on the inside that's important.  I garbed my pistol (a nice new desert eagle I had picked up on my trip over, it was .50 enough to kill any crock). As well as a knife and a light and jumped into the entrance of this ancient tomb.  The water was only a little more than a foot deep, but that was still enough for a crock to hide in.  Asenath begged me to be careful, I turned to her and ensured her that, the crock was the one she should save her concern for.  At that moment I was grabbed by a massive crock and pulled under the water, I reached for my knife, which was strapped to my ankle.  I found only the crocks head, I jabbed my fingers into its eye, it let go and made a hasty retreat.  I had been saved from serious injury by the sheath of my knife.  Good thing because I know found myself lost deep in the maze like depths of the tomb. 

The only light I had was from my small flashlight, which I had somehow managed to cling to.  That crock must have been strong to drag me this deep in to the tomb, so fast.  I looked around to see if I could see any trace of the crock or better yet a way out.  As I searched and began to press on I could hear something faint in the distance.  What was it, could it be music?  No, surely I was just imagining it.  I casually, quietly slid down the corridor.  As I progressed deeper in to the tomb, I could see a faint light and I could most definitely hear some kind of music. 

I rounded a corner to see find a great chamber.  A chandelier hung from  the ceiling, there were shelves a table and a couch even fine rugs on the stone floor.  I quietly moved up a stair case on to the dry floor of the room.  When I herd the stern voice of a man shout, "wipe your feet."  I turned to find an old man wearing a gaudy old amulet.  He slowly waked toward me with each step he clicked his crocodile head cane on the stone floor.  When he stood only a foot away from me he stopped and demanded I explain my self.  "Explain my self, what the hell are you doing hiding in a cave?" I enquired.  He screeched at his bushy white mustache and simply explained he was an archeologist.  "Like that explains anything."  I shouted.  "calm your self," he said.  "I live hear be cause I am on a field study and this place is convenient and suits my research."  "Do the crocks bother you in here?"  He laughed turned around, and stroked the crock head in his cane, "they don't bother if you know how to handle them." 

Something was definitely wrong with this situation, but I couldn't tell what.  I decided to stick around for as long as possible to see what this old geezer knew.  He appeared to be  a hospitable old British man, even treating me to tea.  I didn't buy it, as soon as he left to another chamber I checked out the place.  A map on the desk with sites marked, that was to be expected from an archeologist.  I saw an old tapestry in the corner, and looked behind it.  Bingo a passage, it was a bit cliché, but interesting none the less.  I shined my light in the passage to find it willed with treasure.  Interesting in deed.  I herd him returning, I quickly turned around and pulled out my gun.  As he entered the room I shouted, "hold it right there."  "Or what?" He laughed then pulled out a revolver.  I emptied three rounds in to his chest, he convulsed.  To my horror the wounds healed within seconds.  He laughed and steadied his aim.  With out hesitation I shot the gun out of his hand, then unloaded the rest of the clip into him as I fled for the door.  He quickly healed and said, "That won't work on me chap!"  I bolted down the passage was and out of the cave in no time flat. 

What had I just seen, how could some one survive so many hits?  Maybe I had just imagined it all due to lack of oxygen or some toxic gases deep in the tomb.  I drug my self ashore to find the jeep shredded, and Asenath dead, the work of a huge crock, probably the one that attacked me in the entrance to the tomb.  I dug through the remainder of the supplies to find my flask of brandy.  I found it and took a swig.  I then turned around to find the river filled with crocks, there were nearly one hundred of them and in the middle of the river was a huge one-eyed crock.  It was the one from the entrance of the tomb but on it's back stood that old man.  He shouted, "You thought you could challenge the great lord Carnarvon." 

Things were starting to make sense now.  If I remembered my history lessons Lord Carnarvon had discovered the tomb of the pharaoh Tutankhamun, some of his rivals speculated that he had stolen artifacts from the tomb.  Apparently he had stolen the cane and amulet.  The amulet granted him immortality, explaining how he survived nearly eighty years after his alleged death.  No doubt that cane allowed him to control the crocs.  While his crocks caused havoc he looted tombs, and amassed a fortune.  I didn't know exactly what his game was, and I decided not to find out.  I reloaded my gun and ran to the river bank I leaped into the air and jumped from the back of one crock to another until I came to Carnarvon. 

I leapt onto the back of crock with him.  I shot him in the foot and he fell down to his knees, I ran to him and grabbed him by the neck.  Only to find his revolver in my face.  He pulled the trigger, I felt a sharp pain in my head.  It slowly faded, I felt my head with my free hand, I was healed.  It was then I noticed I was holding in my hand the chain if the amulet.  My theory was right.  I ripped the chain from the old man and but a bullet between his eyes.  His body fell limp and slipped into the cold water.  I held up the amulet to get a good look at it when the giant crock began to lash about.  Without the old man's cane to control it, it was going mad.  I emptied my chamber into its head, it gurgle as it sank into the water. 

I now found my self in a river full of crocks.  Fortunately they were slowly dispersing, returning to their home ranges.  I swam to the shore, to find one crock in my way.  I decided to use Mexican dog hypnoses to render it harmless.  I grabbed it by the head with my left hand and garbed it's back foot with my right hand.  It started to struggle so I quickly flipped it over and rubbed its stomach and throat simultaneity.  It held still and growled, it had worked.  I gave the crock a gentle push down the river, and leapt on to shore.  Once ashore I realized I had lost the amulet of immortality, it was a saddening loss.  Ultimately I decided it was all for the best, what fun is living if there is no risk of dying.  I'd say none at all.