Young Writers Society

      The wait for the night of the Dance Macabre finally ended. The town square was nothing special, just a wide clearing surrounded by small shops in half an arch with the other half shared by the graveyard’s entrance. In the far distance, making the horizontal of this semi circle, was the sea and the dock.

Outside the graveyard, the living were walking around town square to admire the winter atmosphere. The cold air was mixed with a faint melody, gradually getting louder as the night grew darker. The gentle wind carried out the sweet smell of the winter blossoms, and with the music, all this seemed to be of a dream.

Everyone wore small white flowers pinned to their chests, all but Luke who absentmindedly still searched the crowd for Henry as she played with the little flower in her hands. Was it the floral fragrance of the night or the mesmerizing music (whose source Luke couldn’t find) that got her feeling more lighthearted than before?

Her sweet reverie of the night before made her giggle and her heart fluttered with the visions of seeing him out of the graveyard and dancing with her that night. She smiled to herself and pinned the flower to her sweater. She straightened out the skirts of her lavender dress and fixed her black Russian bonnet. Looking around, she noticed the other people swaying to the soft music with a different happiness in their eyes.

Suddenly, the music’s playing came to a halt as the old clock tower struck midnight. Silence was heavy from then on and Luke could feel the coldness of the air again. She looked around as she hugged herself from the chill. She noticed the others glance towards the direction of the graveyard. She couldn’t believe her eyes at what she saw.

It was a small parade of the dead. In the lines were men and women, children and the elders, all seemingly alive for one night. They calmly walked from the graveyard and to the square. The living all had mixed reactions upon seeing them; others stared silently, others were scared but none ran away.

When the living took the hand of the dead, the joyful music started erupting out of nowhere and the Dance Macabre began. The dead danced with the living, carefree and merry that winter night.

It was only Luke Erstill who found herself in tears when the dead young man approached her as the festivity went on around them.

***

This one night, the dead are given breath to dance with the living…and I see her like this: heartbroken. She had her head down as I came closer. I did not know what to say. I stopped when we were two feet apart. She wiped her tears away then looked up at me. She breathed deeply.

“By any chance did you die just last night?” She asked, her voice stuttering.

“I died long ago,” I answered sadly. She looked up and shook her head in disbelief.

“How long ago?” she said in growing fury. “What? A week? A month?! Tell me!”

“I died two hundred years ago,” I muttered.

She fell silent as she looked at me for the first time, as my true self.

“So you did lie to me.” Her voice shook and her eyes started watering again. “A-all this time…” She started to walk behind an alley, far from the sound of the dance with me at her heels.

“Luke, please forgive me—“

“I don’t even know you!” she snapped, hot and angry tears streamed down her face.

“My real name’s Malcolm Churchill,” I replied, sadly. “25th of July, 1795 to 16th of November, 1814. Died at age 19. Cause of death: Pneumonia. My family did hate me because I was inconsistent and rude. I was a Law Student against my will. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

I was uninterrupted then, because she was crying. Now, I feel myself cry too. “I... had a lot of relationships—vices. But I was changed by the woman I loved. After I died, she hated me—condemned me.”

She looked more hurt as she drew a big breath and finally looked at me after hearing my tale. I have never seen such sorrow in her sky blue eyes. “Why are you telling me this, Hen—Malcolm?”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t know I mattered to you, that I could hurt you like this.”

She gave a small cruel chuckle and a sigh. She blinked, more tears streaming her pretty face. “Well, you clearly haven’t learned after 200 years. And yes, of course I would be hurt. You made me fall for Henry Allen—an illusion! Are you just doing this to get the thrill of the flirting game again, is that it?! Have you been fooling me this whole time?!” When she calmed a little, she continued softly, “Did you love me at all?”

“I do love you,” I said. “That is the only truth you need to know. It's the only thing I am sure about” I took a deep breath and took a step closer. I made her look at me. “I lied because I did not want to lose your friendship and later, your love. I lied because I wanted a new life.”

She leaned in and accepted my hug. “Then why shatter my illusion now?”

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore,” I sighed. “No. Not on this last night we have together…”

She pulled away from the hug and looked at me with her brow furrowed. “Why does this sound like a good bye?”

“Luke—“

“If all you said was true and promise to never lie to me again, I will forgive you!” She had the angry flare in her eyes again. “Say it!”

“All I said was true but, never lying to you? I can’t.”

“What?!”

“I will never get another chance to lie to you again!” I said. “I’ll never get a chance to… be with you again.”

She stared at me; each tear rolling down from her face rips my soul deeper. “You’re leaving me, Malcolm?”

“No, Luke.” I shook my head, weeping as well. “You are leaving me.”

She looked horrified at the thought. “What? No, no I’m not! No, I won’t. I will stay. I—“

“You can’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The dead and the living,” I began, unable to meet her eyes. “cannot interfere with one another, but for this night, the night of The Dance Macabre. The consequences are great: being with the one, sacrifices the other.

“If you stay with me, your entire life will fade from your memory. I cannot steal you from the living; I cannot steal you from your future.”

After a few moments of silence and we both had finished crying, she gently said, “Is there no other way?”

“I afraid not,” I said. “At dawn, the living will forget about everything that has happened this night. I-including all encounters with the dead.” She remained silent for longer that I thought. “Luke—?”

“Shush,” she said, putting a finger to my lips. “Every sentence that comes out of your mouth tends to get worse by the second.” She gives me a melancholy smile. “Let us enjoy our last night together then.”

Without another word, she genuinely smiles at me as if nothing happened and takes my hand, leading me to the square to dance. This time, I had to grin too, the winter breeze caressing our face as we turned, stepped and danced to the happy beat. Maybe it was the intoxicating happiness of everyone around us, the sweet smell of the cold air or the mystical music that cheered the both of us for a while.

“One to leave and one to stay,

And all to dance the Macabray!

Step and turn and walk and stay

Now we dance the Macabray!”

She and I danced that night. We danced with others and we danced with each other, we danced with the young and the old, the living and the dead. I saw Luke dancing with Elliot once and I could almost see his friendly charm again. The music and the snow coated the town in such an amazing whirlwind of bliss, you would never wish this night through. We changed partners and I was paired with Luke. Our eyes met.

For a moment, time did stop for us. The merriment around us did not matter anymore, we did not hear it. We heard a different sound. It was softer and slower.

She took my left hand and I wrapped the other around her waist. We waltzed.

Through the snow and the moonlight, we stepped lightly and she turned; our eyes never parting. The music felt so serene, beautiful and forlorn. We felt like floating. Heaven is for real.

At the last turn, we stopped. I bowed and she curtsied. We locked eyes. Our waltz music began to fade. She took a step forward and peered even deeper. There was pain in her eyes.

“Malcolm,” she said. “Can’t we at least…try?” I felt the pull of heartbreak again.

With a heavy heart I replied, “Tempus edax rerum. If only time was in our hands, Luke.” [Time is the devourer of all things.]

“Since it’s not,” she began to get something from her dress pocket. She took my hands and placed her father’s music box in them. “Maybe you should keep this.”

“Oh, Luke, I can’t—“ I tried to give it back to her but she pushed my hands away, her eyes pleading for another way to stay together.

“Malcolm, take it.” She sniffed, tears reappearing in her eyes. “If I see it in the graveyard, I might remember.”

I merely nodded and placed the small music box in my pocket. I looked at her again. “Thank you. I guess... I am not the rose you think I am.”

She shook her head. "No. You are a rose." She held my face as if she could save me with her voice. "Just a wilting one; past your bloom but the fragrance of life is still there.”

I gave a sad chuckle, letting her wipe the tear away. "Like potpourri?" 

She nodded too. "L-like potpourri."

In the distance, the clock tower started to toll, ending the night and the Dance Macabre.

“Cursum Perficio,” I said. [My journey is over.]

“Hinc illae lacrima—,” she replied. [Hence these tears.]

She would have finished speaking if only I let her. If only I wasn’t kissing her then. She shivered a bit, feeling my ice cold lips on hers but soon, she was kissing back with the same passion. Soon, it was fire on ice let loose.

“I don’t want to forget,” she whispered when we pulled away. I held her cheek and whispered back, “I know.”

I gently kissed her forehead. I flinched. Time was running out.

She looked at me worried. She must’ve noticed my solidity fading. I pursed my lips and took a step back, still holding her hands. She held on tighter.

“Malcolm—“

“Farewell Luke,” I said.

“No.” She squeezed my hands, her voice squeaking from her tears. “It’s supposed to be ‘farewell for now’, Malcolm.”

I breathed deeply for the last time that night. “I will miss you greatly.”

She sniffled and wept there. I felt her release her grip on my left hand. I half way turned, thinking she let go of both my hands. She still clutched my right hand.

Her eyes glistened with melancholy as she chucked bitterly, “At least now, you bade someone farewell before leaving. It is true then.....Sic transit gloria mundi...”

I gave her one last smile. “Farewell.”

She wept harder still as she muttered my name. I stared at her as I felt myself shimmer and fade slowly away. The translucent black turned gray then the flesh turned to air.

Soon, Luke Erstill clutched nothing but the winter wind.

Potpourri...