SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
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