The Dancing Bones

May 8, 2009
By Anonymous

Every Halloween night, when darkness falls, old things come alive. Old magics and old spirits awaken and step out upon the world they have not seen for a year. Cemeteries tremble and shake as the long dead residents rise from their graves. With a clatter of bones and a swishing of disintegrating clothes, the bodies rise and move to the center. And in a clearing that wasn’t there before, they gather in a circle. Out of the darkness comes a demonling, baring a torch of ghostly white fire, a soul, damned to burn for eternity. As the fire settles in the center, the festivities begin. Masks appear in the hands of all, a wailing music rises from the depths of Hell, and they begin to dance. They partner up and start with the waltz. A sight not meant for mortal eyes, those dancing bones that pulled on their old, transparent skins, with their bones showing through.
The dark mistress of this ghoulish court floats smoothly across the dance floor. Clothed in a dress of black lace as fine and clinging as a spiders web, she is beautiful and terrible all at once. In her voice are the Hounds of Hell, their baying could drive one mad. In her hair are bleached white sculls, which she wears like ribbons or beads. Blood sucking bats flutter around her, her faithful little pets. And at her side, her chaperon, is a being you can’t look at straight.
From the corner of your eye he has two heads, maybe more, and fangs a gleaming white. His eyes hold a fiery death to any who dare look upon him. He is the guardian of Hell’s gates, the three headed dog, Cerberus, and she is his mistress, Lady Death.
In their motley court are Famine, Murder, Plague, and Time, Rage, Vengeance, War, and Hate.
One young mortal child, a foolish little boy, steps forward, his eyes wide. He lets out a shriek, a pitiful little sound and covers his suddenly burning eyes. Blindly he stumbles, trying to run, but he runs in the wrong direction. Lady Death smiles and kneels in the dirt, throwing her arms open wide and just as he comes close enough to touch…the music stops.
The witching hour has come to an end, the beings return to their graves. The fire is gone, the moon bright and full, and the court of Ghouls have returned to their domain. They found him there, in the very center of the cemetery.
He was rocking and rocking and rocking.
And the mad, mad boy became a mad, mad man. In a white, white room. And he talks, talks, talks, about the full, full moon and the sad, sad song, and the dancing, dancing, bones…

The author's comments:
I wrote this for Halloween, obviously, for my ASL class.

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