Danse Macabre
When construction of the initial phase of the gated community of Kirkridge Estates was completed, the Fanes and Windermeres were two of the first families to move in. Not only did they live on the same road, but their homes were directly across the street from each other. The two couples had many things in common. Both were approximately the same age and both had two small children. The wives were stay-at-home moms and the husbands had good jobs with salaries in the same income bracket. Additionally, both Calista Fane and Denise Windermere liked to entertain and took an active interest in their small community.
You would naturally assume the members of these families would form close bonds of friendship, and you would not be wrong. The four children frequently played together, the husbands carpooled to the city and the wives babysat for each other's children and took turns driving them to school every day. The two women especially grew close. Theirs was a friendship that might have lasted well into their golden years, long after their children grew up and had children of their own. Unfortunately, what began as a friendly rivalry between neighbors worsened over time.
What was to become a chronic attempt to "keep up with the Joneses"—in their case, they wanted to surpass the Joneses—began the week the families moved to Kirkridge. Calista Fane planted flowers along the walkway that led from her front steps to her driveway. When Denise Windermere saw them, she had to "one up" her neighbor by planting rose bushes. Calista then planted ornamental shrubs. Denise put in a flower garden with a birdbath in the center. Calista topped that by having a fountain installed. Once both front lawns looked like they belonged on the pages of House & Garden magazine, the two women turned their attention to their back yards. When one woman added a concrete patio, the other had a wooden deck built. An above ground pool on one side of the street led to a built-in one on the other.
This desire to compete with one's neighbors is common in suburbia. After all, we are a society that thrives on competition. It's not enough that we are good at something; we want to be better than others. We want to be the best. However, this particular rivalry ceased to be friendly come September when Calista and Denise both ran for the position of president of the local parent-teachers organization. Although Denise outwardly displayed no bitterness when her neighbor beat her by just one vote, she secretly seethed with envy. Her resentment was somewhat mollified when she squeaked past Calista in the election for president of the Kirkridge Estates Homeowners' Association.
Not long after the September elections, Calista announced she was having a Halloween party for friends and neighbors, Denise immediately began preparations for a Christmas party at her house. Thus, the two women seemed to be competing on a level playing field. Neither one consistently outshone the other; they both took turns in the glow of their tiny victories.
For the next eight or nine months, there was peaceful coexistence. During the winter season, the families frequently socialized with each other. There were game nights, pizza parties and movie nights, alternating between the houses on the two sides of the street. The picnics in the spring led to backyard barbecues in the summer. When autumn rolled around again, Denise announced she would be hosting the Halloween party.
"But Halloween is my holiday," Calista insisted. "You do Christmas."
"You did Halloween last year. It's my turn."
"But I have so many great ideas."
"Well, save them for next year."
Calista was not to be deterred. Although she did not refer to her gathering as a Halloween party, she went all out on having a homeowners' association event the last Saturday in October, one week after Denise's celebration.
"It's not a party," she explained when her neighbor objected to the timing. "It's a fundraiser. We're charging twenty-five dollars a couple. The money is to be spent on afterschool programs for the children."
Believing a fundraiser would be no match for her old-fashioned, fun-filled Halloween party, Denise agreed to attend.
"Will it be a buffet dinner?" she asked.
"No. I was thinking of having a dance competition," Calista replied.
"In your living room?"
"You know I can't fit that many people in my house. I've reserved the clubhouse."
"That makes sense. What kind of a dance competition will it be? A Kirkridge version of Dancing with the Stars?" Denise joked.
"No. I was reading in one of my history magazines about dance marathons during the Twenties and Thirties. We're all young, healthy people. It ought to be fun to put our stamina to the test and see how long we can last."
"I suppose so," her neighbor said, her voice indicating her skepticism.
"I thought I'd call the event the Danse Macabre, in keeping with the season."
Denise's skepticism turned to suspicion.
"The season? You mean Halloween, don't you? So, this is a Halloween party."
"No. It's a dance competition."
"I also know a thing or two about history. Danse Macabre refers to medieval paintings that show the personification of death summoning people of all stages of life—rich and poor, young and old, man and woman—to their fate. The artists frequently painted a skeleton doing the dance of death with its victims."
"That's why it's a perfect theme for a dance competition held on the weekend before Halloween. But there won't be any decorations, and no one will be asked to wear a costume. I don't plan on renting a fog machine or playing eerie music. Other than its name, there will be nothing spooky about the event."
Denise, who planned on going all out with her party, seemed satisfied that Calista's silly dance marathon would not compete with her own Halloween bash.
* * *
As expected, Denise's All Hallow's Eve party was a huge success. Hoping to outshine Calista's event, which was to be held the following week, she outdid herself with decorating. There was plenty of food, and a paid bartender oversaw the open bar. In addition to the traditional bobbing for apples and costume contest, there were Halloween-themed trivia games, charades and an outdoor scavenger hunt.
"Great party, sweetheart!" Trey Windermere announced once the last of their guests left shortly after midnight. "Congratulations on a job well done."
"Let's see Calista top that with her ridiculous dance marathon," Denise replied.
"I'd just as soon not go. I'm not one for dancing."
"We have to go. We don't have a choice."
"Yes, we do. Why don't you tell her we have a prior commitment?"
"I already told her we were coming. Besides, I fully expect this Danse Macabre to be a flop, and I want to be there to witness it."
"And if it isn't a flop? What if people actually show up and enjoy themselves?"
"Then I want to win."
"That would mean you and I have to be the last couple standing on the dance floor after everyone else stops."
"Yes, so you better take it easy this week. You'll want to save your strength for Saturday night."
For the next seven days, Calista worried that her party—despite her denials to Denise, she admitted to herself that it was a Halloween party—would be a failure.
What if no one shows up? Or, worse yet, what if they do and they have a terrible time? Maybe I should have just let Denise do Halloween and settle for hosting the Christmas party.
But it was too late to change her mind now. The invitations had been sent out. People had already RSVPed their attendance. The food was ordered, and the deejay was hired.
I'll just have to wait and see how everything turns out.
* * *
"Do I really have to wear this ridiculous getup?" Trey whined as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror on the door of the couple's walk-in closet. "The invitation said costumes were optional."
"I know," Denise answered, annoyed that Calista initially told her there would be no costumes at the dance. "But I'm sure most people will wear one."
"Can't I wear something else then? Why do I have to go as a friar? This wool robe itches."
"Because we're supposed to represent different walks of life in medieval society. It's the whole point behind Danse Macabre paintings: that Death dances with everyone. Besides, we had these costumes in the attic from when we went to the Renaissance Faire. We might as well wear them."
Once Denise, dressed as a serving wench, finished applying her makeup, the Windermeres were ready to leave. She had already driven her children to her parents' house for the weekend in anticipation of having a late night out.
"I can't wait for this damned party to be over," Trey grumbled as he backed his Lexus out of the garage.
Although the clubhouse was less than half a mile away, Denise insisted they take the car. She did not want to tire herself out by walking there; she wanted to conserve her strength for dancing.
When they crossed the threshold of the main entrance, it was like stepping back in time. Sheets of corrugated cardboard made to look like stone, covered the wood-paneled walls. Lighted sconces hung at intervals for ambiance. There were even two huge chandeliers, resembling large wooden wagon wheels, suspended from the ceiling, their flickering candles creating an eerie, strobe-like effect on the dance floor. Even the imitation pewter plates and tankards on the tables were representative of the Middle Ages.
No decorations, huh? Denise thought angrily. I should have known this was to be no simple fundraiser.
As she had suspected, every contestant came in costume. Sixty-eight couples had been invited, and all of them attended, meaning (when you included the host and hostess) one hundred and thirty-eight people were decked out in medieval attire. The room looked as though a dress rehearsal for a stage production of The Canterbury Tales was about to be held. There was an early physician, a cook, a squire, a nun, an executioner, a lawyer, a jester and even a knight in a light-weight suit of armor. Naturally, Calista had to have the most elaborate costume. She and Leonard were dressed as a queen and king duo.
After welcoming her guests, her royal highness invited everyone to eat a hardy meal.
"Thou wilt need thy strength," she announced, attempting to speak in an Old English dialect. "But, prithee, do not partake of too many victuals and mead. Thou dost not want to become sleepy."
Calista had taken great care in planning her menu. Every item served would have been available during the Middle Ages: meats, cheeses, breads, fresh fruits, ale and mead. Even Denise was grudgingly impressed by her efforts.
"Me thinks I wilst gain two stones if I doth eat any more," Trey laughingly told his wife after emptying his second plate.
"That's enough. Don't go filling yourself up. I intend to dance all night if need be."
Once dessert—an assortment of pies, cakes, puddings and other sweets—was finished, the empty plates were cleared away and the tables pushed to the sides of the room to create a space large enough for everyone to dance. Queen Calista, as she was known for the evening, introduced the deejay. In keeping with the Danse Macabre theme, he was dressed as a skeleton, representing Death.
"He looks so real," Trey said.
"He probably had his makeup done by a professional."
Leonard, in his kingly attire, then took the microphone from his wife and explained the rules of the competition.
"All couples will take to the dance floor when the music starts. You must dance nonstop for fifty minutes. It doesn't matter what dance you do as long as you keep moving. When the music comes to an end, you will be given a ten-minute break. You can use the time to go to the bathroom, have a drink or snack—although after that meal, I don't know how many people are still hungry. If you want to just sit and rest for ten minutes, that's fine, too. But once the music resumes, you must be on the dance floor. Obviously, not everyone will be able to keep up. If anyone wants to quit, simply return to your seat, and you'll be out of the running. Got that? Well, we'll give you all an opportunity to empty your bladders now. At eight o'clock sharp, the competition will begin. Good luck."
At 7:59, Calista and Leonard strolled out onto the dance floor, as though they were Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII entering the banquet hall at Hampton Court Palace.
You'd think she was a real queen for Christ's sake! Denise thought enviously.
Precisely on the hour, the deejay put a vinyl record on his turntable and played "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston. Every person in attendance, with the exception of the silent skeleton deejay was on the dance floor. Some people danced slowly in each other's arms while others stood apart, doing more lively steps. Trey began doing disco-like moves, to which his wife objected.
"Take it easy there, Travolta. This is a marathon, not a sprint. You have to pace yourself."
Everyone easily danced through the next six songs, nearly all with the word dance or dancing in their titles and lyrics. It was Calista who selected the deejay's playlist, choosing songs from almost a century of available music. Had Mozart or Beethoven written a dance tune, she would also have included it. Midway through the first hour, the deejay went back sixty years in time and played Chubby Checker's iconic recording of 'The Twist,' the song that started the Sixties dance craze. One hundred and thirty-eight pairs of hips began to rhythmically move from side to side. Some dancers had enough energy to add movements with their arms and dip with their knees, but many were satisfied just twisting their torsos.
At 8:50, upon conclusion of the song "Dance to the Music" by Sly and the Family Stone, the turntable temporarily stopped.
"I need a glass of water," Denise announced, perspiring in her costume after having danced nonstop for close to an hour.
"I'm headed for the bathroom," Trey laughed. "It's true what they say about mead. You can't buy it; you can only rent it."
During the brief break, dozens of people congratulated Calista on the success of her party. As she stood among them in her royal attire, basking in her moment of triumph, she glanced in Denise's direction. Her neighbor deliberately turned her head away and sipped her bottle of Aquafina.
At precisely nine o'clock, the deejay played a disco song from Saturday Night Fever, "You Should be Dancing" by the Bee Gees. All sixty-nine couples were once again on the dance floor, but most were moving more slowly than they did at the start of the previous hour. With more than one turntable being used, there was no break between songs. When one ended, another immediately began. No sooner did Don Henley's "All She Wants to do is Dance" stop than Tom Petty's "Mary Jane's Last Dance" started.
Again, halfway through the hour, there was a special dance song. This time, instead of 'The Twist,' it was the Village People's perennial party favorite, "Y.M.C.A." Despite being tired of dancing at this point, everyone threw their arms in the air and spelled out the letters above their heads. Thankfully, a slower song, "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack, followed.
When the last note of the Beatles' "I'm Happy Just to Dance with You" echoed through the room, it signaled the start of the second break. Fewer people headed toward the bathrooms, and more took those precious ten minutes to sit and rest their feet.
"It's almost ten o'clock. What do you say we head home and watch a classic horror movie on Netflix?" Trey suggested.
"Are you serious?" Denise exclaimed. "And be the first couple to be out of the competition?"
"But my feet are killing me!"
"So are mine. Regardless, we're going back out on that dance floor, if I have to drag you by the hair to get you out there."
Trey knew it was an idle threat, that his wife's bark was always far worse than her bite. But he also knew how she behaved when she did not get her own way, and he did not want to get the cold shoulder for the next month or two. Thus, when the deejay put on Billy Idol's "Dancing with Myself," the Windermeres joined the other couples on the dance floor.
During the following hour, upon the conclusion of Loggins and Messina's "Your Mama Don't Dance," the first couple called it quits. After "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest, three more couples gave up; and two more hung up their dancing shoes at the end of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark."
At the halfway point of the third hour, the deejay played a polka-like instrumental, the "Chicken Dance," and the remaining couples all used their hands, arms and bottoms to mimic the movements of the chicken. It was more tiring than both the "Y.M.C.A." and "The Twist," and three more couples left the dance floor when it came to an end.
By 3:00 a.m., more than half the contestants were gone, leaving thirty-two couples to battle it out. At 3:30, when Los Del Rio's "Macarena" played, the number was down to twenty-eight. And by the time the Drifters' "Save the Last Dance for Me" ended, just before the ten-minute break, it was down to twenty-two. Both the Fanes and Windermeres were among them.
"It's going on four in the morning," Trey groaned. "Can't we please go home now? I'm beat!"
"And let Calista win? She'll be gloating about it until next Halloween! No. I came here to win, and I won't give up now. So, grab a can of Red Bull out of the car or have a cup of coffee, but you get back out on that dance floor with me when the music starts."
On the opposite side of the room, Calista had to deal with her own husband.
"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Leonard complained. "I can feel my leg starting to act up."
"Oh, please don't start with that old football injury excuse now. It's not like you ever played in the NFL; you hurt your leg in high school."
"Yeah, and it still bothers me from time to time. If I can't ...."
The argument came to a sudden end when Voggue's "Dancin' the Night Away" signaled the start of another hour. With each subsequent song that played, the number of contestants dropped. At 6:00 a.m., only the Fanes and Windermeres remained in the near-empty clubhouse. Neither woman was willing to concede, despite the objections of their husbands. Trey, barely able to remain awake, leaned on his wife as he shuffled his feet in a pitiful attempt at dancing. Leonard was not faring much better. The pain in his right leg was all that prevented him from falling asleep on his feet.
Prior to the scheduled break at 6:50, the deejay played Donna Summer's "Last Dance."
God, I wish it were! Leonard thought, feeling a leg cramp coming on.
"What time is it anyway?" Denise asked as she headed toward the seats at the side of the room. "I've lost track."
"Ten to seven," Trey replied.
He did not bother to suggest they go home; he knew his wife would not listen. She was already past the point of reason.
"Shouldn't it be getting light out by now?" Leonard wondered, as he looked out the window and saw only the darkness of night.
"You're right. It should," Trey answered.
Unlike their wives, the two men were not nearly as competitive.
"I don't know about you," Leonard said, "but I'd just as soon call this a draw and go home to bed."
"Me, too. But Calista—well, you know how it is."
"I sure do. What do you say we step outside and get some fresh air?"
When Trey attempted to open the door at the main entrance, however, it would not budge.
"Oh, great!" he exclaimed. "One of the departing guests must have accidentally locked it."
"Let's try the back entrance," Leonard suggested.
It, too, was locked.
"Come on," Calista called to her husband. "We have to go back on the dance floor when the next song starts or we'll be disqualified."
"I don't give a damn about this silly competition! Don't you realize that we're locked in here?"
"So? The caretaker will be here soon to straighten things up. He'll let us out."
When the next break in dancing came fifty minutes later and he saw that it was still pitch black outside the window, Trey took his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Who are you calling at this hour?" Denise asked.
"No one. I want to check and see what the right time is."
The display confirmed that it was, indeed, 7:50 a.m. The sun ought to have been shining through the east-facing window.
"Something's not right."
When he tried to make a call, he discovered his phone did not work.
"That's impossible!" he cried. "It says I have no cell phone service!"
Leonard took his phone out only to learn that it, too, did not work.
"We've only got five minutes before the music starts again," Denise warned.
"The hell with this stupid dance competition!" Trey shouted angrily, regardless of how his wife might retaliate. "I'm finding a way to get out of here."
"I'm with you," Leonard added, despite the angry glare from his wife.
"We can't go now. Please! Just one more dance," Calista cried. "If Denise and Trey leave, and we return to the dance floor for one last song, we'll be declared the winners."
"Forget it! I've had enough dancing to last me a lifetime. I'm leaving."
With both doors still locked, the two men tried to open the window.
"It's stuck," Trey cried. "We'll have to break it. Find something heavy."
Leonard reached for a nearby folding chair to shatter the glass. In doing so, he bumped against the table and caused a lit candle—oddly enough, not one of them on the tables, in the wall sconces or in the chandeliers had burned down during the night—to overturn and set the tablecloth on fire. The flames spread rapidly, jumping to other tables nearby and then to the cardboard wall coverings.
"Quick. We need to find a fire extinguisher," Leonard hollered.
Meanwhile the deejay put another record on the turntable.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Trey screamed at the man in the skeleton costume. "Stop playing records and help us find a way out of here before we all burn to death."
The music temporarily stopped and the deejay began to laugh. Then he spoke for the first and only time that evening.
"Don't you get it?" he asked in a deep voice that reminded Trey of James Earl Jones's voiceover of Darth Vader. "You're already dead. Now, all four of you, get back to the dance floor."
Amidst the flames and the fear, the song resumed, and Death silently watched the Fanes' and Windermeres' final agonizing moments before vanishing into the thick, black smoke that engulfed the clubhouse.
* * *
Huck Corley was sickened when he and two of his fellow volunteer firemen, after battling the blaze for several hours, entered what was left of the Kirkridge Estates clubhouse. The sight of one hundred and thirty-eight bodies burned beyond recognition, still sitting in their chairs beside the long rows of tables, upset him.
"I never seen anything like this," he told Ellery McGiver, one of his closest friends. "It's as though no one made any attempt to escape the fire. Look. Some of the dead still have cups and forks in their hands."
"The fire must have swept through the room with such speed and intensity that they never had a chance to react," Ellery theorized.
"You think it might have been a gas explosion?" Huck asked.
"That'll be up to the fire inspector to decide. We did our job. We put the damned thing out. Let's go home and get some sleep. It's nearly two in the morning already, and I have to get up for church tomorrow."
Huck Corley was the last person to leave the scene. As he was trailing behind Ellery, he heard the faint melody of Abba's "Dancing Queen" coming from the area that had been the clubhouse's stage. He turned, and in the moonlight cast down on the charred rubble of the dance floor, he briefly glimpsed a couple—or at least he thought he had—dressed as a medieval king and queen, moving in time to the music.
Years ago, Salem was a deejay for radio station WCAT. He had to quit, however, because his claws kept scratching the vinyl records. Oddly enough, modern hip hop deejays deliberately scratch records. Obviously, Salem is a trendsetter.
