Danse Macabre

Sometimes things aren't as they seem.
Sometimes things are better left alone.
And sometimes... shit happens.

An old shop hidden in the noise and the mess of the big city, windows being wiped clean by the owner. Down the street a woman walks mumbling to herself about her day. Suddenly she stops at this store, in the window an old wedding dress, elegantly put, shoulders removed but sleeves intact. Long and flowing, pearl white and almost glowing in the window. "My, oh my." She stood mesmerized by the dress. "If only..." She said placing her hand on her chin thinking.

"Pardon me." A squirrelly, big-nosed man says tugging against the coat of the woman window shopping. She turns around, looks down, beams a smile and says "Yes? What is it kind, sir?"
"I don't mean to be a bother, but I'm wondering, If you would be so kind could you please move out of the way. You're blocking my view."
"Umm... Sure I don't see why not."
"Thank you." He said with a smile, missing a few teeth, turning around to sit down on a bench. He opens a steel black box and slowly with his shaking hand takes out a napkin.

She steps aside and examines his procedure. Napkin on lap, pulling out a sandwich cut diagonally in half and a thermos. He sits there, staring at the dress she was staring at with a smile slapped on his face, almost glued on him like a mask. She stands there, confused, in her long black slacks and fur coat wrapped around her like a blanket. She walks up to him, flicking her blonde hair out of her face, approaching the old man. "Pardon me." she squeaks out. He's entranced with the dress, smiling, off in his own little world.

"Pardon me." she says again. She turns her head to the dress wondering what could possibly be so bewitching. "What are you looking at?" asking, still confused by his surprisingly happy expression. In the corner of her eye she notices a strange flash of an image. A reflection, or possibly her mind playing tricks, she could've sworn she saw a woman dancing in the dress.
"Can you see her?" he says staring at her, eyes meet, a shiver down her spine. "Who was that?" "I don't know, she's beautiful. Everyday I'm here and she's there dancing for me." She stares at the dress to try to catch another glimpse. "I wonder who she is." the man says taking a bite of his sandwich.

Soon sound went away, all that was left was her and the dress. The window disappeared, the trees and the sun were pulled away from the world as time slowed to a halt. Her heart beat slower and her breathe became visible, the world turned darker but the dress radiated a light that the darkness couldn't swallow. Hypnotized she walked into the store, the man continued to stare and eat the sandwich.

Suddenly the owner pulled the dress out of the window. The man stopped eating, freezing his throat, food refusing to be swallowed as if stunned by what had just been happened. He spit out his food and began his way to the door. His hand reached out for the handle as the girl neared the door with a big brown bag on her right arm. The door didn't serve as much of a barrier, they stood, dead-locked and waiting for the other to make a move.

"How could you?" He said. His lips were moving but sound had still not returned. "Didn't you hear her scream? Begging you not to..." She opened the door and walked down the sidewalk, blond hair blowing in the breeze, not a care in the world. Or not a world to be cared for...

"Ow..." she said, shaking her head, feeling half dead. She got up from her bed slowly, her legs aching from an unknown pain and her back just strong enough to hold her up. Wobbling to the mirror to see what had happened. "Wha-What?" she said as she stared in the mirror expecting to see herself but instead she wasn't who she remembered she was. In the mirror stood a black haired woman in her mid 20's naked as the day she was born. Her arms clenched in fists on her side and eyes stern filled with a malice that would make a man stop in his tracks. She put her hand on the mirror and a hand on her face, wiping it down to see if it was her. Her mirror reflected her movements, she grabbed her hair to see if it was still blonde. "What's going on?" She wondered letting her hair fall back into place. She stepped away from the mirror and frantically tore the dress off. Shreds of ripped dress floated to the floor like snowflakes. The phantasma angrily pounded the mirror, imprisoned and demanding freedom. Wanting to scream but only managed out a shudder she stepped back slowly.

The phantasma screamed into the mirror forming ripples that distorted the reflection. She turned around and covered her ears and screamed so hard the mirror formed a crack. Tears flowed out of her like bullets. She paused for a second to catch her breathe. *creak* Footsteps slowly hitting the floor like war drums in her ears. She opened her eyes to see a small figure coming from the window approaching her slowly. The old man she had met in front of the store, fists shaking and knife in hand, now standing in front of her just waiting. The world slowly began to fade away, sweet ballroom music flowing through her ears and hair as if she were in a stream, water gently caressing as it passes by her skin.

She was gone from the pain she had felt, almost as if it was just a bad dream. Drip. The sensation of ripples tugging at her like a child pulling on the mother's dress. Drip. She opens her eyes and sees the woman in the mirror, wearing the dress she had just tore off. She was hovering and dancing, sobbing but with no sound. When she spun her tears would fly off her cheeks and hit the ground. In the ripples she could see faint images of her room. She attempted to get up but fell on her knees.

The phantasma approached her and softly put her hand on her cheek. She raised her eyes to see how beautiful she was but was surprised to see her wearing a mask. No mouth and crescent eye slits like the night before a new moon. Tears poured out from the slits and dripped down her chin. In the sweetest voice, with a faint aroma of a rose, she said "Now you're mine." The phantasma took off her mask and kissed her on her forehead. Her kiss was like ice making her gasp, eyes opened to the world for one last second as the old man plunged the knife in between her eyes. She fell to the floor like a doll tossed aside.

Weeks had passed since then. The old man sat on a bench in the park eating his sandwich, cut in half, napkin tucked in his shirt and a Nestea next to his leg. He had "The Daily Sentinel" in his hands. Turned the page and saw a picture. "Hmm..." he said with a mouthful of sandwich. In small bold letters it said "Woman Killed In Apt. Death Unsolved." The police had left a statement, "Becky Whitman was killed by an unknown assailant. Investigation still underway. Killer will be found. Material evidence missing." He paused for a second and began to swallow his food. Two joggers passed by, women in their late 20's or early 30's. "I found the cutest dress for my wedding at this old antique shop." One of them said. He raised his eyebrow at these words. "It was just on display and called out to me. I just had to get it." "Really? You have to show me!"
They disappeared over the corner. He put his meal away in his little black steel box, paper under his arm, and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He took a step toward their direction, but then just turned his head and saw a little girl in a white dress with blonde hair, dancing. With a heavy sigh he turned away and walked in the other direction.