Open

The first rule of magical archaeology is never to touch the found object, let alone open any boxes, lids, or secret compartments — you name it. Approach the object and put on the Urim and Thummim goggles to scan the ether for traps. Next, surround the location with a projection of a five-dimensional tesseract to prevent outside interference or harm from the object. Then, follow the ten-step probing protocol to assess the object’s magical reactivity on the Astral Negativity Scale. If it’s below the third Fibonacci number, it’s safe to remove the object and transport it to the lab for further examination.

“First, you learn to follow the rules,” thought Sindbad as he stared at the golden oil lamp shimmering faintly in the dim torchlight. “And then you figure out which rules to bend.”

The lamp looked like a chunky teapot with a graceful handle and a slender, elongated spout. It was clearly well-crafted and surprisingly well-preserved. However, this couldn’t explain the strange pull Sindbad felt when he looked at it from about 10 feet away, just outside the boundary of the five-dimensional tesseract’s projection. He checked his netherprobe, which still showed the seventeenth Fibonacci number for magical reactivity on the Astral Negativity Scale.

Sindbad stepped inside the magical barrier. This lamp might be the turning point between the endless lie of a single magical archaeologist, who keeps writing to his parents that he’ll make it this year, and actually showing up at their house in a gilded chariot with the finest belly dancers of Krojistan by his side, smiling confidently.

The gleam on the golden side grew brighter and brighter. Sindbad felt pulled toward the lamp, as if the soft hands of the vizier’s harem girls were guiding him nearer and nearer.

“Open, open, open, open,” he heard a chant echo in his mind.

“Open, open, open, open,” he kept hearing himself say.

He brought his trembling hands to the lamp and stared at the lid. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. With a quick movement, he grabbed the lid and lifted it. Smoke began pouring out of the lamp, and a low voice boomed in the cave, saying, “Gotcha, bitch!”