Pharoah’s House

EXT. NEVADA DESERT – SUNSET

Orange light spills across the open Mojave. The sky glows like fire, fading to purple. Three men stand beneath a crooked Joshua tree.

A beat-up Cadillac idles in the background, headlights casting long shadows across the sand. Three men dig a hole.

YOUNG MOB GUY

(stops digging, looks, around)

Hey, why do we always come out here?

MOB GUY 1

(pointing above them.)

Cartel paid off the cops. They don’t come within ten miles a’ dis place’.

The young mob guy looks up —

CUT TO:

The Pharaoh’s House.

A hulking, broken silhouette against the sky.

YOUNG MOB GUY

What is the deal with that fucked-up temple lookin’ place? They got it roped off like it's Area 51.

MOB GUY 2

(gruff, annoyed)

We bring you out here to ask questions?

YOUNG MOB GUY

(raising his hands)

I’m just sayin’.

MOB GUY 1

That place? That’s the Pharaoh’s House. You don’t know about that shit?

YOUNG MOB GUY

Nah, not really. Just heard it’s cursed or somethin’.

MOB GUY 2 (lighting a cigar)

Cursed ain’t the fuckin’ word, kid. That place eats people.

MOB GUY 3

Oh, here we go.

YOUNG MOB GUY (chuckles)

What, it's haunted? like scooby doo?

MOB GUY 1

No, no, no. Not haunted. Worse. While back, some fucked up inventor guy made the place. Called himself the Pharaoh—decided he was gonna out-Vegas Vegas. Stuck that thing right over the goddamn canyon.

YOUNG MOB GUY

So what happened? He died, right?

MOB GUY 1

Ho yeah. They found him sealed and wrapped up like a fuckin’ mummy. Not a mark on him. Place never opened. End of story.

YOUNG MOB GUY

Did we do that?

MOB GUY 1

The guy was mummificated. Fuck do you think? Wheneva’ some CEO, contractor, or billionaire try to buy the place, renovate, next week, their drinkin’ bleach in a hotel bathtub. I swear to God.

YOUNG MOB GUY (looking uneasy)

C’mon, you don’t believe that shit, right?

MOB GUY 1

Damn right I do. You know that pervert, Dalstein? Billionaire freak? Private islands? He funded the place, put who knows how much money and shit inside those vaults on top of whateva’ was in there before. Tried to open it himself, Bang—he’s hanging from his own fuckin’ ceiling fan.

YOUNG MOB GUY

You mean to tell me there’s money sittin in there? Why don’t we go get it?

MOB GUY 2 (chuckles)

Yea, you first.

YOUNG MOB GUY

I’m serious. How has the government not gone in there? Why ain’t they cleaned it out?

MOB GUY 1

'Cause they tried, kid.

Brought in crews, engineers, demolition boys, even spooks.

Machines broke. Whole teams went missin’.

One guy came back, didn’t say a word—just walked straight into Lake Mead in his fuckin’ boots.

MOB GUY 2 (doubtful)

(He slams the shovel into the dirt with a dull thunk. ZOOM OUT TO REVEAL A SHALLOW GRAVE.

YOUNG MOB GUY

What the hell was this guy’s name again?