The Dance of Death

‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ she said lying still.

‘Perhaps ghosts believe in you. It takes two to tango,’ his voice replied.

‘I’m not in the mood for dancing tango.’

‘If you’re discussing the tango with me, you’re a step away from dancing.’

She still didn’t move.

‘Shall we dance again tonight?’ He stretched out his hand, palms up, his lifeline deep and unexpected, like a river sliding along the desert.

‘I don’t remember you.’

‘I'll never forget you.’

‘I can’t hear the music.’

‘I’ll hum in your ear.’

‘It’s too dark.’

‘Trust me. Move towards my voice. That’s right.’

‘I can’t feel your hand.’

‘But I can feel yours. You’re a fabulous dancer.’

‘Only in my dreams.’ She followed his movements, forwards and backwards. ‘How did you find me?’

‘I'll always find you.’

‘I still don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘But I believe in you.’

She followed his lead, swivelling and turning left and right.

‘That’s why I came back to you, across the sky, through the earth and into your dreams. Let me dance you out of this darkness tonight.’

‘I can’t go. I’m locked in my dream.’

‘This is our dream, not yours, and I have the key.’

‘Do I have to believe in ghosts to leave?’

‘Believe in me. I chose you for this dance. Now you have to choose me.’

‘Will I be a ghost?’

‘You’ll be mine once more.’

She placed her palms over his, nodded, and then Death and his beloved corpse danced until the sun rose on 1st of November, when the spell was broken and their silhouettes dissolved into the merciless dawn.