The Dance By Iris Rosewater

The Dance
10/31/08
College life had been harder than Michelle expected it to be. She had moved into the dorms full of hope and excitement. But, change was too new to her. All her life had been spent in the same house with her parents in a small town, sheltered and easy. Everything had been utterly predictable until now. The university was unforgiving. Classes were difficult. People were strange. After one full year, she had yet to make a real friend. When her aunt and uncle asked her to house-sit for them over summer break, it seemed to Michelle the perfect vacation.

Doris and Gavin were the eccentrics in the family, loaded with money and plenty of time to spare for odd hobbies and travels. Just after they bought a two-centuries-old estate in the country for the sole purpose of spending the summer, they were invited on a cruise. The house was livable – renovations had just been completed – but, Doris was concerned about leaving it untended for a whole two months. That was where Michelle came into the picture. How perfect: a mousey college student to house-sit. Michelle welcomed the chance to get away from campus and relax without anyone to bother her – especially her parents, who always drilled her with questions she could only answer with disappointment.

The house was grand, who knew how many thousands of square feet… according to Gavin, it had been “a steal”. The first couple of days were relaxing. She made herself comfortable in the master’s suite, complete with a balcony overlooking the garden where she liked to eat her breakfast. They had a nice library and a satellite dish, so she had plenty of diversions.

On the third night of her stay, she was lounging on a sofa in front of a little fire, reading, when she thought she heard a voice. She sat up and looked around, seeing nothing. A few moments later, a man’s voice whispered something unintelligible, and she jumped. Another voice, pitched slightly higher, seemed to answer. Without bothering to look this time, Michelle stole out of the room and turned on the TV, wrapping herself in the throw blanket. She tried to tell herself she was just hearing things.

In her sleep that night, she was dressed strangely… hundreds of years out of date, and she was dancing with a man dressed as a soldier, who smiled pleasantly, but who’s face suddenly went blank and white, and then began to degrade before her. He held her in the lock of his arms while she watched his skin turn gray and decompose, until he was a skeleton, still wheeling her around in dizzying circles. She woke tangled in her sheets and sweating.

During the day, it wasn’t too bad, as long as she kept on a radio or a television in each room to block anything out. The daytime was filled with movements and creaks not made by Michelle. Footsteps up the stairs, doors opening and closing. At night, however, it was hard to tune them out, no matter what she did. Their conversations had begun quiet, but their volume seemed to increase each day. And there were lots of them – whoever they were - discussing something which she could never quite make out, despite catching the odd word here and there.

One night, as she passed the library (where they seemed to convene the most) she heard her name. Frozen by the door, she listened. The smell of cigars wafted out of the empty room, and the grumble of men’s voices suddenly became clear to her. They were planning something. It seemed to entertain them. Instinct told her to run. She did. She ran down the hallway to the front door, not bothering to step into her shoes, only wishing to be in the open air, free from the feeling that she was not safe. When she turned the knob, it stuck fast. Not as if it were locked, but as if it were held firmly, so that it didn’t jar from side to side at all. She spun around, heading for the back door, through the kitchen. It did not yield. She tried the side door – an old servant’s entrance – and heard them… boots. Footsteps, heading toward her. Panicked, she jerked the windows, preparing to tear through the screens, but they would not budge. The men were close now. She tore upstairs to the last door she could think of… in the master bedroom. The men were laughing now, still invisible, clopping up the spiral staircase behind her. Her legs felt like lead beneath her, too slow, too slow, too slow… she heard feminine squeals and cries, not realizing they were her own… And when she reached that door and it opened to her, she felt deliriously happy. She got out of that house, and turned to her unseen adversaries, still running backwards. As her legs swept out from under her, and she toppled over the balcony’s edge, time slowed… A dozen or so men leaned over the rail to watch her descent – and right in the center stood her dancing partner, who smiled crookedly down at her cursed body, and blew her a kiss.