The Dance

The Dance

The sky blazed orange as the sun set on another inconsequential day. The night, however, was anything but trivial. Tonight was ‘The Dance’, a gathering of the art world and others in the city, spending the night in dance and gossip. It was the social occasion of the year and strictly - invite only.

Nobody understood how the attendees were picked. Each year, exactly a week before the promised night, the invites would appear - plain black cards with gold writing in a beautiful flowing script. Many kept the cards themselves as works of art or as status symbols, the most likely being the latter.

The event took place in an old manor in the wealthiest part of town. It was not a particularly grand estate but it had an ancient credibility to it. No one could remember a time when the house and its grounds had not stood there. Some joked that perhaps it had always been there; others worried that it might actually be true.

There were no signs of neglect or decay on the ancient house despite its apparent age. No gardeners were ever seen pottering around the grounds or any decorators seem maintaining the building itself, but it was always immaculate, though perhaps a bit gloomy and austere looking.

The orange sky and rapidly approaching twilight reduced all colours to shades of grey and black against the sky. The house stood almost like a black, shaped hole in the world with its gently sloping roof and imposing pillared front standing terrible and ancient.

Black wrought-iron fencing divided the streets from the house’s grounds. The bars rose from a low wall, terminating in a sharp point wicked enough to skewer any foolish would-be trespasser. A large ornate gate, also made of wrought iron, stood firmly closed between two large pillars topped with squareish lights that seemed to always burn without luminescence.

Crows lamented quietly as they perched on the branches of leafless trees either side of the gravel pathway leading to the house. There must have been dozens of them, yet the noise they made was so subdued as to be almost unnoticeable - only the occasional call and flapping of wings breaking the heavy silence that always surrounded this place. It was almost as if they feared to make too much noise but for some reason they seemed unable to leave their vigil on the trees leading to the ancient manor.

A tall skinny man in a dark suit and tie with a white shirt stood across the street looking into the grounds of the old house. Long dark hair framed an average face with deep thoughtful blue eyes. He appeared to be lost in thought.

The young man would always come to this place on the same day every year. He did not know why he went to ‘The Dance’. It did not really interest him. He despised dancing - his common reaction to being asked to dance was to ignore the request or, preferably, run away – subtly, of course. There was one good thing about ‘The Dance’, however. It was the only time he could get free access to the private gallery of the host. At any other time it was off limits, but every year, on the day of ‘The Dance’, she would open her gallery to her guests. For some reason she always invited him. He had no idea why. In fact, he had never met the woman until his first attendance at one of her dances.

The man suppressed a shudder when he thought of that woman. She was always so unsettling to be around yet also entrancing. He felt himself drawn to her and that scared him more than anything else in the world. It did not feel natural to him that someone so disturbing could be appealing to him in any way.

So when he was at the woman’s house he just avoided her and the other guests. Instead he walked through her gallery admiring the beauty of the art on display. Some of it was macabre and grotesque but, surprisingly, still moving. Others were of such exquisite beauty that he felt himself moved almost to tears at times. For all the uneasiness the woman who owned the pieces provoked in him, she did have good taste. He could never remember her name… but perhaps that was a blessing.

The man, himself, was not an artist or even art critic - no one of any real significance. His life was not exciting but he did not think it dull. It was just life as he chose to live it. He liked to think he had a good appreciation for art but did not go too far into it. There appeared to be no reason for his inclusion in such a prestigious group of people, but included he was, and despite his dislike of everyone else, he still went every year. At times he thought he only did it because he was a glutton for punishment. Hell was an addictive thing.

The minutes ticked by and still the man did not move. ‘The Dance’, he knew, would have already begun, the festivities beginning as the sun set but he was reluctant to enter. There was a strange feeling in his gut. Something was different this year but he could not quite place it. This time it seemed more ‘serious’ for the want of a better word. He could not shake the idea that tonight something important was going to happen and it scared him. Important things tended to end up harming him in some way and deep down he was a coward. He did not like to get hurt, even if he would benefit by the pain.

The man sighed and looked at his watch. It was nearing ten o’clock. He was already late and it would probably be a good idea not to be any later.

The old gates swung open of their own accord as the young man walked towards them. The first time it had happened to him, he had almost jumped out of his skin but afterwards it had become an old trick that meant little to him. A part of him did still wonder how it was done.

Crackling gravel broke the relative silence of the grounds as the man walked up to the main door. This too opened as he approached, allowing entry to the young man who walked on through without checking his stride. Perhaps all his visits had made him too jaded. It seemed a shame to no longer find such silly displays impressive. Sometimes it was nice to be amazed. Then again, art still impressed him, so he could not be that bad.

Taking the same route as every year, the man found himself in the main ballroom. Men and women in dark clothing danced in the centre of the room to the tune of an orchestra that no one ever saw. The walls were draped in cloth of black and other funeral colours. The lighting was subdued, as it always was, making everything appear monochrome from a short distance. Food and chairs were placed around the side of the room. There were never any waiters at ‘The Dance’. Everyone was expected to be able to look after themselves. Personally, he thought that the host was just being cheap but considering the food that was on offer… maybe not.

He sighed and took a chair near the exit. The gallery would not be opened until about eleven so he was stuck here until that time. He prayed that no one would pay him any attention. Despite this being a social occasion, he was not in the mood to socialise - admittedly he was never in the mood but that was another problem entirely.

His eyes began to wander as boredom set in with the slow passing of minutes.

A man and woman across the hall appeared to be arguing heatedly. The man was making wild gestures with his arm while the woman pointed at him and somewhere into the crowd of dancers in the centre of the hall.

The young man shook his head. Two people arguing in public was embarrassing to watch, you almost felt sorry for them and guilty at the same time. It seemed like you were intruding on something private – even though they were fighting in public.

Someone sat down next to the young man shaking him out of his thoughts. He glanced to the side at the newcomer.

A young woman sat next to him in a modest white dress. She was an almost blinding contrast to the darkness of everything else in the hall. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes full of kindness. Her pretty face looked happily into the crowded floor. A strange warmth emanated from her. It comforted the young man, soothing the apprehension he normally felt when someone got close to him.

She seemed to notice his attention. A sweet smile appeared on her face like sunshine. The man could not help but smile back.

“Hi,” she said.

He mumbled a greeting in response.

“Is this your first time?”

“First time for what?” he asked in confusion.

“First time at ‘The Dance’, of course,” she said while gesturing at everything around her, forcing the man to duck her outstretched arm.

“No,” he replied simply.

She smiled at him, “This isn’t my first time, either. So… why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” he said with complete sincerity.

“Oh come on,” she nudged him with a bony elbow. “You’ve got to have some reason.”

He sighed. Clearly this girl was not going let him away with a simple non-answer. He never understood people who could just sit next to complete strangers and talk to them. They could be so annoying and so damn unnatural.

“I like the gallery here,” he finally replied after a long pause.

“Oh, so you’re into art?”

He nodded.

The girl grinned, “Me too, although I always find I’m too busy here to really get time to look at the gallery.”

“What do you do here?” he asked despite his earlier determination not to speak to anyone tonight.

“I help people.”

“Help people?”

She looked up at the ceiling, “Yeah, I try to help good people that come here. I like to think I make a difference,” she looked back at him and smiled. “Well I hope so anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” said the young man in total bewilderment. The young woman just seemed to be talking in riddles and half-answers. It was beginning to annoy him.

“Have you ever thought about not coming here?” she asked seemingly not hearing his question.

“Yes.”

“So why do you always decide to come?” she asked, her face suddenly taking on a serious expression. There was still kindness in her eyes.

He thought for a moment. It was a hard question. ‘The art’ was the first answer that came to him but it seemed the wrong answer. Did he really come here for the art or was there something else?

“I guess I feel drawn to this place,” he finally said.

The girl sighed, “Have you ever thought that perhaps that isn’t right?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

A smile appeared on her face again. “I think you should listen to that part of your mind more often. Sometimes we have to realise that there are some places we just shouldn’t go to and sights we shouldn’t see and things we shouldn’t do even if it seems okay or if it seems beneficial. Not all missed experiences are losses.”

He shook his head, “I don’t follow.”

The young woman stood up while looking into the hall, “You will in time. I just hope you’ll get it before soon.” She looked at him and smiled, “I will pray for you. You seem troubled and I always try my best to help.”

He made to respond but she was already walking away. A few moments later and he lost her in the crowds of the other people in the ballroom. There were just too many people here. It was beginning to weigh down on him.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was eleven o’clock. He smiled. Finally the gallery would be open. At least that bizarre conversation had helped pass the time.

Grabbing a sandwich or two, the young man left the ballroom and the oppressive crowds behind. He walked through the old house and into the rooms that comprised the owner’s gallery.

His feet echoed on the dark tiled floor as he walked through the various corridors and room. It was deathly quiet here, much to the man’s approval. The ballroom was always far too noisy and crowded. In this place he felt freer, less confined. It was an addictive feeling.

Various paintings and other works of art drifted past him as he journeyed through the gallery lost in the spectacle of it all. The man paused when he came to the first of what he thought of as the owner’s ‘grotesque section’.

Two emaciated dead looking figures clutched at each other while standing in a pool of blood. They appeared to be dancing on closer inspection. There was blood trickling down black tiled walls that surrounding the figures on all sides. The figures were both naked except for blood stained bandages covering anything that could be classed as indecent - somewhat double standards considering the rest of the piece. The man could not help but find it beautiful if not disturbing. The actual work was brilliantly painted - the artist was very talented.

“You have good taste.”

The man visibly jumped at the sound of the voice. He had not heard any approaching footsteps. Maybe he had been too engrossed in the piece. His heart leapt as he turned to the newcomer. It was the owner of this enthralling gallery, the host of the mind numbing dance.

The dark haired woman moved to stand beside him. Her dark eyes gazed intently at the painting.

“I like this one a lot,” she said smiling.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman turned to look at him. Her dark gaze made him feel uncomfortable as she smiled - her brilliant white teeth were a startling contrast to her dusky skin.

“I don’t think we have ever properly spoken,” said the woman, gazing intently at him.

The young man looked away. Her eyes were disturbingly hypnotic. It had felt like he was beginning to get swallowed by them.

“No.”

“How long have you been coming to my home?” asked the woman.

“Six years now,” said the young man as he began to walk further up the corridor. Disappointingly, the woman followed. So much for an easy escape. Her shoes made light tapping sounds on the floor as she easily kept pace with the rapidly retreating man.

“Oh, I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to speak to you properly,” she apologised while still smiling, “So many people are demanding my time or attention, that I find that I’m far too busy to get a chance to talk the quieter guests.”

“I see,” he replied, coming to a halt in front of another painting.

A naked girl was curled in to a ball in the middle of a dark wood tormented by disturbing things of various shapes and sized, natural and unnatural. Many were covered in glistening slime and tentacles tipped with razor sharp claws. Others resembled large hairy apes while a small minority appeared to be nothing but formless slime. Some of the creatures were digging their claws into the girl staining her pale skin red with blood. The dark trees loomed over the scene encircling the vile tortures going on before them. They goaded the creatures into crueller acts and creaked mockingly in appreciation. The man could swear the picture was moving.

“It’s funny how men are always drawn to art that has a little bit of flesh on show even if they’re not really into art themselves.”

“I’m not like that,” replied the man defiantly.

The woman just laughed, “If you say so.”

He glanced at the woman who was beginning to irritate him. Their eyes met and he once again found himself getting lost in them.

“So, do you like my gallery?” she asked her face suddenly growing serious.

“It’s beautiful,” he said beginning to feel uncomfortable under the woman’s gaze.

She smiled again, and the man felt his chest grow tight. “I’m glad. You’re the only one who takes the time to come here. Everyone else is too busy building up their self-importance in front of everyone else in the ballroom.”

“Oh.”

“I see you’re a man of many words,” teased the host. “Don’t worry I like to talk so I’ll make up for both of us,” she winked.

The man could not help but smile even though the owner would not leave him alone like he wanted. Her company was not so bad when he thought about it. Intelligent conversation was hard enough to find when he could actually be bothered to talk.

“I just got a new piece in last night but I’ve not had the time to find it a place in the gallery. Would you like to see it?” she asked, breaking the silence as they both looked at a picture of a giant skeleton standing amidst a sea of blood holding up a castle made of human flesh. The details in the castle itself were disturbing - he could see every individual face and body other parts used to make up the walls.

“Ok,” he replied with carefully restrained enthusiasm. He did not like to show when he was excited even if it was obvious to those who knew him well.

“Come with me then,” she said before walking away.

The young man held back for a few moments. For some reason he could not shake the feeling that it was a mistake to follow this woman to wherever she was taking him. His gaze lingered on the rapidly moving woman. Her long limbed body swayed hypnotically as she walked. He shook his head to dispel the thoughts crossing his mind and began to follow the owner.

They left the gallery and walked through various corridors until they entered a dark room. There was a click and lights came on revealing a studio. Dried paint covered a desk with bits of discarded packaging gathered underneath it. Several broken frames lay against a wall covered in different shades of paint. A massive picture, almost the same height as the man, stood against the wall opposite the door covered by a black sheet.

The woman took hold of the sheet with one hand and beckoned to the man with the other. He dutifully moved closer. With a flourish, she pulled the cloth off revealing the mystery picture she had wanted to show him. He gasped in wonder.

Lightning arced across the roiling grey clouds that looked down upon the fiery landscape. The cracked land split open, lava gushing forth in some places, in others erupting violently upward casting a red glow on the land around about. Most of his attention, however, was caught by the centre of the painting. Atop a mound of dismembered and bloody corpses stood one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his entire life.

She stood in triumph upon the mound of bloody corpses as the wind caught hold of her long dark hair. Her dusky skinned naked body was covered in blood. Her arms were held outstretched over her head with one hand holding a human heart. Dark bat like wings stretched out either side of her almost as long as she was tall. Her eyes seemed to draw him further into the painting. He found it difficult to look away.

“What do you think?” asked the woman standing next to him.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with breathless awe.

The woman laughed, “I meant the whole picture but I’m sure you think about the rest of it the same.” She stepped a little closer to the man, “So you really think she is beautiful?”

“Yes,” he replied without taking his eyes off the picture. Something inside him told him that he should look away, that he should turn around and walk out before he did something he would later regret. He ignored his worries and continued to stare at the woman at the picture. Guilt gnawed at him as it always did when he looked at pictures like this. Part of him knew that as someone who thought himself as an art appreciator that he should be able to divorce himself from any suggestiveness and just admire the artistic beauty but he could not. As much as he tried he could not let go of the guilt that always tormented him.

The host smiled, “I’m glad you think so. The model is someone I know.”

“Really?” said the man, finally looking away from the picture to look momentarily at the woman standing next to him before returning his gaze to the picture.

She nodded, “Yes. A very beautiful person. It makes her glad that someone admires her painting,” she paused, “Would you like to meet her?”

The man jumped. It was a frightening question. He did not like meeting people. There was always an excruciating awkwardness at such things.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“Why do you come here?” asked the woman suddenly.

The man sighed and shook his head. This question again?

“I just feel drawn to this place.”

The woman smiled malevolently, “That’s good. You need to learn to trust desires like that. It can get you far in this world.”

“Not all desires are good.”

“All desires are good. The only bad thing you can do is not give into them. If you don’t then all you do is hold yourself back. That truly is a crime.”

He shrugged, “I don’t agree. I think humans become weaker and more depraved if they give into their desires like that”

The owner shook her head, “You say that but here you are now – staring at the picture of that woman. The desire in you is plainly written in your face even though you try to hide it. If you had the opportunity you would not take it?”

The man nodded, “Yes.”

“Then let us put that to the test, shall we?”

The woman suddenly grabbed his head and forced him to look at her. She leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth. At first he did nothing, so powerful was his surprise but then he resisted, trying to desperately break free of her grasp but he could not. Waves of desire assaulted his mind and heart trying to break down his resistance but he stubbornly clung on against the rising tide. Finally he escaped. Guilt began to hurt him once more even though he had no reason for it.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked incensed despite the part of him that had enjoyed the contact.

The dark haired woman stepped closer to him. Only a couple of inches separated them now.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you want me and I want you too.”

“But it’s not right,” replied the young man desperately.

The woman laughed, “Why is it ‘not right’? We’re both adults aren’t we?”

He shook his head, “Still doesn’t make it right.”

This time the woman shook her head, “There is no such thing as right or wrong. Only will.”

“That’s not true.”

The young man began to stagger back as she stepped closer to him. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. Broken frames clattered to the floor almost tripping him as he backed towards the wall, his legs bashing into the frames. His breath came in ragged gasps. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The woman stood between him and the door. He knew if he ran that he would get away but he could not. Something was keeping him here. She was right - he did want her. It was wrong but he was drawn to her. Yet there was still fear in his heart.

She placed a hand over his heart, “You can feel it inside you, can’t you? You like to think that you’re not like other people. That the guilt that takes you, when your desires come to mind, somehow means that you don’t truly desire.” Her hand took hold of his shirt, bunching the fabric in her clenched fist. She leaned her head towards his, her voice lowering to a seductive whisper that made his heart flutter, “You’re wrong. You’re just like any other person and you know that’s true. You look at pictures like this and feel guilty and think it’s wrong but still you continue to look. Don’t you understand? The desire never goes away no matter how deep you bury it. All people are drawn to the darkness. It’s why they’re called your deepest darkest desires. Not many people, however, have the courage to act on them. No matter what you may think, you are no coward.”

The host pulled the young man into another embrace, her mouth locking on his once more. He resisted again but with less fervour. She was right. She was so right. His resolve was crumbling under the combined assault of his own heart and the woman’s words.

In one last act of defiance he pushed the woman away, much to her displeasure. She released her hold on his clothing and took a step back. Her dark eyes smouldered with angry desire.

“I can’t,” he said feebly.

She smiled, “Yes, you can. Didn’t you say the woman in the painting was beautiful?”

“I don’t…”

“Do you want her?”

“No… it would be wrong. That woman is evil,” he said weakly.

“So?” she asked, still smiling.

“It isn’t right.”

The woman sighed, clearly getting frustrated, “Must you insist on such platitudes? It does not become you. You have desires just like any man. There is no sin in that.”

“You’re wrong,” he whimpered

She grinned like a predator that had her prey, “No, I’m not and you know it. Everyone has the right to fulfil their desires. You have two: me and the woman in that painting. You’re so blessed this night.” She fell to one knee clearly in some pain. “You can get both,” she gasped.

The woman shuddered uncontrollably, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as whatever was happening to her violently continued. Her hands dug into the tiled floor as black talons extended from her finger tips. There was a tearing sound as the host’s back began to bulge. Some things began to tear through the material of her black dress as they grew too large for her clothing. The woman shuddered violently as a change came over her. The dark shapes began to grow around her hiding her from the view of the young man. He looked hurriedly towards the door but the changing woman still blocked his way and the shapes were too big for him to get past. He dared not touch them.

Finally the shapes coalesced into tangible form. They were wings, dark bat wings. They flexed slightly as a dark viscous fluid splashed from them with every slight movement covering the wall either side of the man before evaporating almost instantly. Black talons burst from the tips and joints of the wings, causing yet more of the dark fluid to spray across the walls before disappearing. After a few moments the wings were dry, no more liquid dripping from them. The man stood there, his jaw hanging open and his mind reeling. Blind terror began to overcome his initial shock.

The wings drew back revealing the now standing woman. She stood there with the same triumphant grin that she had in the painting. The tattered remains of her dress lay at her bare clawed feet.

She drew the young man closer to her with her wings. He struggled but her unnatural strength firmly held him in her grasp.

“I can taste the fear and desire in you,” she said quietly.

The man was on the verge of total panic. His heart hammered and his chest went tight, constricting his breathing. The desires that had been assaulting him received renewed vigour, along with the guilt that always came with it.

The host kissed him again and this time he did not resist. His resolve had failed. She was too strong. How could he hope to resist her?

He pulled away, “No.”

“No?” she asked, there was anger in her eyes.

“I do not want you,” he said more strongly. He felt his courage grow as he realised that he had finally discovered the truth.

The woman shook her head, “Yes you do.”

“No,” he shouted, “You want me. I was just too weak to realise that I did not want you.”

Fury took hold of the woman’s face making the man stagger back in fear. She snarled and stabbed her wings into the wall either side of him.

“You’re wrong. That fear and desire is still in your heart. I can feel it. You want me. You need me.”

He shook his head, “I do not desire you anymore. Thank you for inviting me to your home but I don’t think I will be returning.”

“This is my home. My party. My game. You cannot leave,” she growled.

His face was expressionless, “I’m not afraid of you.”

The woman slumped, her wings falling to fold behind her. “Then I have no power over you.”

The young man walked past the woman shutting the door behind him. He kept walking through the corridors of the house and out of the front door. The crows cawed quietly as he crunched his way down the path with his head bowed, staring at the ground before him.

A winged figure sat on the roof of the house looking down at him. She threw a stone up with her dusky skinned hand and caught it again, repeating the motions several times, over and over. Her wings flapped restlessly as she stared at the retreating figure of the young man who had denied her. She sighed with disappointment.

“It’s not like you to mope after a man,” said a young voice behind her.

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” growled the woman, turning around to look at the newcomer.

The young blonde haired woman shook her head. The street lamps made her white feathered wings and white dress appear almost orange.

“I find it off putting talking to someone who’s wearing almost nothing. Some of us actually take off our clothes before letting our wings out then put them back on. It’s called civilised behaviour. You should try it sometimes.”

The dark haired woman shrugged, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

The white clad woman smiled, “No. To answer your question, no, I had nothing do with his decision. I merely gave him the other side of the argument before you got your claws into him.”

The older woman sighed and looked back down at the young man who was now walking down the street next to the grounds.

“He made the wrong choice,” she muttered while clenching the stone in her fist. “I don’t like to lose.”

“You’re being rather childish. You are allowed to lose sometimes.”

“When I lose, everyone loses,” the woman said darkly.

She threw the stone. There was a whoosh then a sickening crunch. The crows took to the air in a rush of flapping wings and fearful cawing. The young man’s blood trickled down the street and into the drain. There was a smile on his face.

“Let it be known he died in his so-called purity,” muttered the host.

A single tear ran down the blonde haired woman’s pale cheek as she stared down at the body of the young man.

“That was unnecessary,” she said quietly.

The dark haired woman stood and pushed past her, their wings brushing against each other causing the young woman to stumble.

“I told you. I don’t like to lose.”