He was excited. He’d dressed carefully, skinny jeans, cool shirt and best aftershave. The thumping bass of the music reverberated in his chest from two streets away and he was drawn in by the primal beat that made the blood leap in his veins.

He had intended to go somewhere completely different, but there had been whispers all around the Student Union about this event. Never fixed to one location, it was rumoured to have the best music, the best D.J.’s, the cheapest drink.

So, when he heard the music, he knew – he just knew – that it was this mythical party to end all parties and he had to go.

Plans to meet a friend abandoned, he turned away from the bright warmth of his usual haunts and followed the music down a dark side street. Shadows prowled and darkness lingered; but he was young and strong and the night held no fear for him.

He traced the music, the intoxicating beat to its source, a battered old door. Paint peeling and scraped, a little ajar with grubby tendrils of ivy surrounding it and seeming to beckon him closer, its grandiose dimensions seemed oddly out of place in the sooty little side street.

He reached out to push it further but before he could touch its surface it was snatched open –

You came! Oh I’m so pleased!”

A blonde girl, whose curly hair bounced carelessly across her flushed face, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Somewhat bemused, he allowed himself to be hustled along – he knew the girl, he was sure, she seemed familiar, but had no chance to wonder further as a drink was thrust into his hand.

The lights flickered and gleamed, strangely reddish, striking glints off teeth and eyes from other people who swayed in time to the beat, laughing. He sipped cautiously at his drink. Foul. So much for the rumours about the best beer, and the floor was oddly sticky underfoot…

Just as he was about to look down, his new friend seized his arm and tugged him eagerly onto the dance floor.

I love this song!”

A particularly jarring pop song from the eighties started after the drum and bass faded out and he found himself whirled into the heaving mass of sweaty bodies. Minutes passed – how many? He didn’t know and the music changed again to something he dimly remembered from the seventies, and still the people spun and swayed around him.

But now there was something different, darker, decaying. The girl gasped and giggled and clutched at him with bony strength. He tried to pull away, to be released and go away, sit down, get out; but she pulled him closer.

Again the music changed, and again, till finally they were circling the floor to an old, old waltz. With every turn, rot shimmered in the folds of the dresses, maggots fell in showers from hair, flesh melted and teeth gleamed through sunken lips.

He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t, locked forever in the arms of his grinning partner and his own dark dance of despair.

31 thoughts on “Dance

  1. Ooh, you are truly turning to the dark side of writing; although for a moment it was reminding me of a Goth club in Leeds! No maggots and decay, but plenty of macabre melancholy. I had an idea for some spooky short story this morning oddly enough too.

    Great writing Samantha and just what you need for #NaNoWriMo lol

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Have to say NaNo is a huge self commitment. Not achieving can have deleterious impact unless you start with a personal target rather than MUST do 50,000 words. I set 20,000 as more realistic. Sometimes writing drops off if the story starts failing. I’d rather know that at 10K than force 50K and find it not popping. Of course if that does happen then there’s no way back in NaNo. They also run cabins throughout the year which are short versions of the same thing. Still run for a month, but you can enter your own target word-count. Currently I am debating whether to do the full one in November too. Its worrying as two weeks ago it was “No, I’m not.” Now its….tempting !!!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Enter my ISWG post on cognitive dissonance lol. First drafts are all about bones….nothing uber awesome, just the words. Editing is the flesh building. Mind you as you get better bones and flesh start forming together 😊

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I know…I have actually read it, but couldn’t think of anything suitably intelligent to say…so I felt sad and went away again…

        I have it…in my head…but here’s the thing…will capturing it spoil it..😢😢😢😢

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Eek, did it warrant intellectual discourse then?

        Hmm, sounds like you’ve got a touch of that writers mind and, dare I say, some cognitive dissonance going on… I rather think you need to get it down and as a first rough draft then tease it into the shape it lives in your head 😊

        Liked by 1 person

  2. OH.MY.DOG!!! This is the stuff nightmares are made from!

    Your mind … I can’t decide if you love the swamps or the sunshine. 😉
    But I do know that you have a powerful way of writing and it’s so eloquent and so fluent.
    I love it.
    GREAT piece, Samantha. ~ Cobs. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

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