On Santorini
At first the burial vault sounded hollow.
“Mr. Sindbad!” Somebody hollered into it again.
In a little while a creaking was heard and then, from under of one of the dim vaults, some clattering. The man standing at the entrance of the crypt aimed his flashlight into the chamber. Something was trying to force open the lid of a coffin – from the inside. In no time a dressed mummy, or rather a skeleton reminiscent of a scarecrow emerged, large as life, and climbed down out of the ancient wooden casket riddled by woodborers.
“Are you Mr. Sindbad, the sailor?” the man asked.
“In person,” the skeleton crackled, and before long a kind of visible change came suddenly into action due to which it assumed a more human shape in no time at all. As if his parched skin were filled with s
