One village was high up within the plains, sloping, rocky terrain and olive groves surrounded it. The place was minuscule, a few streets of dusty 18th century white-washed houses and roads that had been flattened by the generations of villagers and their stubborn donkeys. This particular village was one of the more eccentric, aside from the loud olive farmers and their expansive families and away from the toothless old men who sat in rocking chairs plagued by woodworm, while their equally toothless wives shouted at them for being lazy. There was a superstitious and surprising secret hidden beneath the large church that clearly the pride of the village. On first glance, there was nothing unusual about the church, though the lack of a graveyard might strike one as odd. Inside the building, past the old pews and the faded murals painted on to the pale stone there was a large library where people came to read. Most of the books were old and spotted with age, though the arid atmosphere has preserved them well. Equally, if you headed down the large circular hole in the floor and down the rickety ladder you would come across something else that the arid atmosphere has preserved.
Mummies. For the past five hundred years the dead had been preserved in such a way. Beneath the church, there was a cool, drafty and exceptionally dry set of catacombs that seem to stretch on forever. The ceilings were high, and the blank-faced mummies were placed in every possible corner. Those that couldn't afford a proper space were hung from the walls. The people of the village are still preserved today, though the way in which the mummies are created has changed much since they first started preserving people. It's become custom on special days (birthdays, anniversaries) for the villagers to visit their relatives within the catacombs. It was up to the caretakers to get the dead looking their best.
Carmen Donalds relished the morning sun as she walked, the air was cool today and a slight wind blew against her bare arms. Sometimes it all seemed to surreal, she'd have never of dreamt that such a place even existed a couple of years ago, and yet here she was! Freckled by the sun, with her boyish frame and short curly hair it was obvious she was not a woman who'd originated in the village. In fact, Carmen was a student of archeology who'd learnt about the village's mummies from a fellow classmate. She'd taken it upon herself to help preserve these amazing pieces of history. As she walked, people from the village would wave to her. She was an honorary local now- they trusted her. 
Making her way up the sloping dust road, she could just see a familiar face waving at her from the church steps. Well, a familiar bandanna and set of think wire glasses. Bernardo Muzzi, fellow history enthusiast, local, and good friend. Whatever he was trying to tell her seemed urgent. Picking her pace up to a run, she quickly reached the top of the slope, ever so slightly breathless. "What's wrong?" In reply, she only got a garbled mix of the village's own tongue and English. It sounded as though a human was having a raucous argument with a particularly vicious crow. Bernardo was about a head shorter than her, and always reminded her of some sort of scurrying underground beetle. It was probably his glasses, he was terribly short sighted and from beneath his glasses his eyes always looked comically large. She shook him by the shoulder roughly. "Berny! Berny, snap out of it! Just tell me what happened!"
"It's the Raspanti's! They're the ones with the motorcycle, the rich ones!" The piece of scrap metal from the 70's was famous amongst the villagers, painted bright yellow and blue it would splutter it's way through town with one of Mr. Raspanti's two sons astride it. "They're here to see the Sergeant!" He wailed pitifully, waving his hands in despair. "Mrs. Raspanti insisted upon taking him out of the catacombs and it was a bit humid that day! I told her it was a bad idea! Afterwards, his head fell off! The sergeant! I don't know what to tell them! What am I going to do?! Carmen, I'm finished! I failed! I-" The poor man's ramblings were cut short as Carmen quickly slapped him on the back of the head.
"Get yourself together, for goodness sake! We'll have to take him to Toni later today. Can't you put them off? Tell them you want to get a tear in his suit repaired or something. Next time, for the love of Yelpha, just tell her she'll damage the mummy if she takes it out after it's been raining! Or at all! What does any one want with a mummy anyway?" Somehow, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Bernardo smiled slightly. "Good idea. It's just that y'know how much fuss they'd make if they found out that his head had fallen off. Well... When I was little we always used to take my Grandmother home for her birthday. It sounds a little weird, but-"
Carmen raised her eyebrows. "A little?"
"Okay, a lot." He admitted. "She was still my favorite member of the family. Never lost a game of cards, she'd always get the aces..." Berny trailed off, looking a little nostalgic. "Ah, anyway, stuff to do... Cataloging, right? Are you going to stay out here all day or?"
"I'll send one of the village boys with a message to Toni. You go ahead." Sitting down on the front steps of the church, she watched Bernardo pull the faded red bandanna over his nose and mouth before heading into the church, and no doubt back into the catacombs. As strange as this place was, Carmen couldn't help but love it. The village had a quiet magic to it, a rhythm of soft humming cicadas, brightly coloured beetles, and the melancholy sound of an off-key accordion. She felt as though it was the closest she'd ever get to actually stepping back through time.
(( Jeez, sorry for the long post. I just needed to set the scene, seriously, all my replies will be way shorter than. X3 ))
