The Hell Rides of Sindbad, the Beatified by Gábor Szappanos A Travelling Novel Translated from the Hungarian by Peter Ortutay

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 some vitalizing wetness.
"Let me introduce myself. With your permission, I am John Prosy, the head of the department of the Hungarian Writers' Union. I am glad to have found you at last. It was not easy I say. Gyula Kandúr, who dreamt you into life some hundred years ago, did not give us too many points of reference in his short-stories. I wish you a happy resurrection! In joyance of this have a little poison with me," the man in the suit said and pulled out a metallic flask from his inner pocket, wound off its head and offered Sindbad a drink. "Help yourself."
"No, thanks," Sindbad said. "I'd wait with that for a little while."

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