The minor spectacle, initially greeted with nods of scholarly approval, soon evolved into a ghastly fiesta of frightened pharaohs and desolate deities, marking the beginning of what has now been officially termed the 'Curse of the Whale Mummy.'
Naji Abushadi, a seasoned Egyptologist, described the experience as, "Unholy. One second, we were peering into the abyss of prehistoric marine life, then - BOOM - Indiana Jones soundtrack blaring on repeat, seemingly out of nowhere."
Abushadi also noted that alongside the spooky tunes, the tiny Tutcetus began making odd noises, likened by many locals to 'the desperate bellows of a camel with an annoying case of bronchitis.' Such a display of auditory terror left audiences scrambling for both a paleontological explication and a set of earplugs.
The Minister of Antiquities, Zahira Kemetic, while trying to keep her ornate headdress from levitating yet again, told us, "This is an anomaly which, comically enough, is neither covered in our protocol manual nor any mummy-adjacent horror movie."
Further, in response to whether it's safe for individuals to visit the site, the minister assured, "We guarantee safety, as long as visitors are immune to mildly haunted whale sounds and abrupt bouts of disco music. We believe the whales in those days were quite a bunch of party animals, and Tutcetus seems to be leading the pack, even after 41 million years."
As officials scrambled to make sense of and put a lid on the chaos, the diminutive Tutcetus rayanensis continued to serenade the land once known for its pyramids and Pharaohs, now infamous for its haunted whale mummy belting out eerie hits from era's gone by.