EXTRACT FOR
Tales Told at Midnight
(Author Unknown)

  

Lord of the Dance

  

  I Danced In The Morning

  They gather in their masses as he looks on from a nearby rooftop, restringing his violin and letting his bare feet dangle precariously over the edge to the packed streets below. Soon he will take his place at the head of the crowd and strike a tune, leading them on a merry procession through the city streets. For now, he appears content to watch the throng assemble in the main square, a panoply of masked and costumed partygoers, ready for a day of fun.

  As he stares down at them, one of them looks back and points up excitedly, nudging two of her friends and waving up at him from far below. He allows himself a polite wave and a bow, his fiddle flashing in the bright light of the morning sun. Then he withdraws from the edge to a small sack which contains his patchwork partywear and begins to climb into the voluminous robe.

  On with the motley.

***

  "I swear to you, that's him, look!" Sandra shielded her eyes against the sun and squinted back up at the figure on the rooftop. Removing his mask, a serious young man next to her tried to match her line of sight.

  "I can't see anything. Are you sure?"

  "He's gone now, but he was there, I swear! That must be a good omen, to see him early! He even bowed at me!" Her companion side-eyed her skeptically then nudged the third of their group. 

  "Looks like the heat's got to Sandra already! Seeing things in the heat haze." He wiped matted black hair from his brow. "I'm going to keep my mask off until we start. It's way too hot to be wearing it already."

  "That's bad luck." Sandra frowned, then looked dejectedly back at the roof.

  "Y'know, I did see something. Maybe it was him. I've only seen a picture of him in the brochure though and whoever that was up there was wearing something quite different. But still?" Toby, the third of their party, craned his head again. Sandra smiled at him, glad to have a co-conspirator, even a half-hearted one. He snapped his neck back. "Anyone fancy a beer? There's a little bar on the plaza a couple of roads over, we could chill there in the shade rather than sweat ourselves to death here." 

  "I told Libby we'd meet her here." Marcus looked around and shrugged. "Not that she'd be able to spot us in this madness at any rate."

  Sandra didn't dwell on why Libby and Marcus hadn't arrived together but did exchange a meaningful glance with Toby. I hope everything's OK between them. Toby shrugged in response. I just wish he'd lighten up; it's supposed to be a party for goodness' sake. "I'll text her. Come on. Let's see if there are still places to sit down, there'll be plenty of time to stand up later."

***

  Dance, then, wherever you may be

  His fingers were ever straying and impatient to be playing.

  What lives have these people led? How empty must those lives be that they flock to this one particular place on this one particular day just to 'have fun'? Can merriment not be sought in other places, at other times? If people felt it necessary to have a season to be jolly, what did that say about their temperaments the rest of the time?

  He knew this to be the case even as he rosined up his bow. He knew the indignities mankind inflicted on one another, hour after hour, day after day. It wasn't a surprise when you had been watching them, in one guise or another, for millennia.

  Today he would lead them all away from this. Let them lose themselves in little moments of joy and ecstasy. Take them back to those rare and precious times, often in their childhood, when ignorance was bliss. 

  It wasn't that they deserved it, far from it. It was just what he did.

  He opened up his case and said, "I'll start this show."

***

  Sandra took one look at Libby as she approached and sighed audibly. Libby wound her way across the crowded plaza where the others sat at one of the trestle tables set up earlier that morning, under the shade of a giant yellow umbrella proudly emblazoned with the name of a beer none of them had ever heard of and were unlikely to drink if there weren't free samples given out to all the festival goers. 

  Libby tripped over four or five times on her way to them, each time cursing the ground she walked on, her shoes, nearby patrons, whatever seemed appropriate. Sandra wondered whether she was incredibly hung over or still drunk and guessed this had been the source of the sourness she had detected with Marcus earlier. Whichever it was, it was going to cast a shadow over their whole day.

  Libby waved hello as she spotted them and drew nearer. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and the rest of her face was hidden in the shade of a wide brimmed bright yellow sun hat from the rear of which protruded a few stray blonde strands. She blew a kiss at a nearby waiter as she grabbed one of the promotional beers from the tray and sat down next to Marcus. As Libby lit a cigarette and began to speak, Sandra could smell the tequila lingering on her breath from the night before.

  "You left us early last night, Marcus! You missed the best bit of the party!"

  Marcus squirmed his hand away as Libby attempted to grab it. Having failed, her limp wrist was left dangling over the side of the table, a golden bracelet flashing in the midday sun.

  "Ooh, what happened?" Sandra was in no mood for this bullshit. Calling Libby out now was the best way to shut her up and a sullen, pouty Libby would be a better companion than the full-tilt party girl persona Libby liked to put on for an audience.

  "Well, er, lots of stuff." Sandra smiled inside; as she thought, Libby had been too out of it to know. Probably still was. "Some of the musicians from the carnival joined us late, must have been about three in the morning. They played all night. All night, Marcus!" One last attempt at attention. It failed. Marcus had already withdrawn into the text of the festival brochure. 

  Libby downed her beer in one and then signaled for another. Sandra, after a moment's thought, did the same. If you can't beat them, join them.

***

  I'll lead you all in the Dance 

  The procession snaked endlessly down Main Street, ebbing and flowing with the mass of sweaty flesh. He crooked his neck, just once, to check they were following him and flash them a knowing smile from beneath his quartered red and yellow mask. He pulled the strings across the bow and it gave an evil hiss. As it did, barely discernible wisps of yellow smoke began to issue from it and waft their way behind him into the madding crowd.

  It hadn't always been the violin he'd used as an instrument of temptation, far from it. Hundreds of years ago, the flute was the instrument of jollity he'd used to draw a crowd. He still carried that at his side; not in case the fiddle failed to enthrall - it never had - but as a reminder of the power he had once wielded, and the lessons humanity had yet to learn: 

  Always pay the piper.

  Always give the devil his due.

  Otherwise, all hell will break loose.