When Howard Carter peered through a small opening in the Valley of the Kings in 1922, he wasn’t just looking at gold that had been sealed away for more than 3,000 years. The discovery of King Tutankhamun’s tomb ignited a global obsession with ancient Egypt, one fueled as much by fear as fascination.
As news of the tomb’s treasures spread, so did reports of sudden illnesses and deaths tied, sometimes tenuously, to the excavation. The passing of Lord Carnarvon, the British aristocrat who financed the dig, intensified the narrative, transforming a tragic death into the foundation of what would soon be called the “Curse of the Pharaohs.”
King Tut's tomb: What's the curse of the Pharaoh?
In the months and years that followed, the curse story grew far beyond the tomb itself. Some of its alleged victims never entered Tutankhamun’s burial chamber at all. Their only connection was proximity: to the artifacts, to the mummy, or simply to those involved in the excavation. What emerged was a cultural phenomenon shaped by coincidence, loss, and relentless media attention, leaving behind a question that still lingers: were these deaths evidence of something supernatural, or the result of forces far more ordinary?
The discovery that shocked everyone
The story begins in 1922. British Archaeologist Howard Carter had spend a quarter of his life obsessively searching for the tomb of the obscure boy king Tutankhamun. Financed by the wealthy Fifth Earl of Carnarvon, George Herbert, the expedition had so far resulted in failure and people part of it were losing their patience. But luck struck(or bad luck but no one knew at that time), when Carter finally found the tomb November 1922.
There was the Royal Tomb, in all its glory, untouched by grave robbers, filled with golden treasures and artifacts that offered an unprecedented window into ancient Egyptian royal life.
Lord Carnarvon rushed from England to watch the opening of the Tomb himself. The tomb was filled with over 5,000 objects, from golden chariots to the iconic golden funerary mask that would go on to become one of the most recognizable images in archaeology.
This was historical, quite literally. And Carter got to work immediately and assembled a team of experts to carefully catalogue the objects. One of them was Arthur Mace, an experienced archaeologist from the Metropolitan Museum who helped open the sealed chambers.
It was a huge news, and media was frenzied about it. Even civilians gathered to watch the expedition. But soon the attention was for some other reason. Soon people involved with the mission began dropping dead from what came to be called as 'King Tut's curse.'
The narrative of the curse began as soon as Lord Carnarvon died suddenly on April 5, 1923, just five months after the tomb's opening. As per reports, the earl had been bitten by a mosquito, accidentally reopened the wound while shaving, and developed blood poisoning that progressed to pneumonia.
However, conspiracy theorists seized this opportunity to churn a narrative which the press was all too eager to pick. The theory was that the earl's death was a result of disturbing pharaoh's rest.
These rumors were further given fuel by Arthur Conan Doyle, the author of Sherlock Holmes. As the Glasgow Herald reported on April 6, 1923, Doyle stated, "An evil elemental may have caused Lord Carnarvon's fatal illness. One does not know what elementals existed in those days, nor what their form might be. The Egyptians knew a great deal more about those things than we do."
The revenge was not over yet. Lord Carnarvon’s half-brother, Aubrey Herbert, died just five months later, in September 1923, after developing blood poisoning following a dental procedure. That same year, American railroad magnate George Jay Gould, who had toured the tomb as Carnarvon’s guest, passed away in May from pneumonia, reportedly falling ill soon after returning from Egypt. To many observers, the sequence felt impossible to ignore: those who had entered the tomb appeared to be succumbing to unexplained and deadly illnesses.
Over the years, more people died. Arthur Mace, who worked closely with Howard Carter in clearing artifacts and handling the mummy, was forced to leave Egypt in 1924 as his health deteriorated. He died four years later, in 1928, from complications related to pleurisy and pneumonia, at the age of 53.
Most shocking was the death of archaeologist Hugh Evelyn-White, who had entered the mortuary chamber, hanged himself in 1924, allegedly leaving a suicide note stating, "I have succumbed to a curse."
Even people with far connection proved fatal. One Egyptologist Aaron Ember, who was merely friends with expedition members, reportedly, died in a 1926 house fire trying to save his manuscript titled The Egyptian Book of the Dead.
The curse began even more elaborate with each telling. Sir Bruce Ingram, a friend of Howard Carter, was reportedly given a mummified hand by the archaeologist, which he kept as a paperweight. Soon after, his house was said to have burned down and then flooded during reconstruction. Another frequently cited case involves radiologist Sir Archibald Douglas Reid, who was rumored to have died after X-raying Tutankhamun’s mummy. While that claim later proved false, Carter had invited Reid to examine the remains, but he died before he was able to do so.
The frenzy was too much for people to ignore, but at the bottom of all these stories nothing sinister brewed as people claimed.
Modern analysis has observed that the curse was largely a creation of sensational journalism meeting unfortunate coincidence. Of the 58 people said to have been present when the tomb and sarcophagus were opened, only eight died within the following 12 years, far from convincing proof of a supernatural curse. Most notably, Howard Carter himself, who spent more time inside the tomb than anyone else and handled the mummy directly, lived until 1939 and died at the age of 64 from cancer.
Further the deaths can be largely attributed to under development of medical knowledge of the 1920s. Some even say that the environmental hazards in the tombs may itself have contributed to illness. The sealed chamber contained dust, bat droppings, and potentially toxic fungal spores like Aspergillus flavus.
People working in such poor conditions became prone to diseases without them knowing. This also explains why people who spent more time inside had respiratory illness while other didn't.
Work-related risks also explain several deaths later attributed to the so-called curse. Sir Archibald Douglas Reid was likely a victim of radiation exposure, a hazard faced by many early radiologists before the dangers of X-rays were fully understood. His death stemmed from his profession, not ancient superstition.
Hugh Evelyn-White’s suicide appears tied to depression and the emotional toll of losing close friends, possibly intensified by the media frenzy around the curse, a tragic example of how belief itself may have fueled the legend.
The legend of the curse says far more about society in the 1920s than it does about any ancient Egyptian supernatural force. In the aftermath of World War I, the public craved mystery and escape. Egypt became a symbol of romance and the unknown, and the idea that ancient powers could punish modern intruders perfectly fed a widespread fascination with the occult. As Egyptomania swept the West, newspapers quickly learned that curse stories sold papers, and every death,however loosely linked to the tomb, was eagerly folded into the growing myth.