Black Adagio (13 page)

“Buried deeply within the bowels of history, there was a time when pagan mythology mixed with Christian faith. The two disparate belief systems were combined, and out of the blend, a guarded secret arose. Attempting to explain the process we call death, the ending of a life was always what frightened us the most. The ancients were no different than we are today, and so they sought an explanation for the passage of the living into the world of the dead. The need precipitated an answer, and soon a spiritual outcast called the Angel of Death was blamed. Holding this dark spectre responsible for the evil, a suitable parable accompanied the birth of this ruthless entity that had no respect for the sanctity of life. The fable detailed his victimization, but he, and it, disappeared into the shrouded mists of time.

“
Dark mysteries rarely find final resting places, and this legend was no exception to that rule. It lingered in the deepest recesses of our subconscious, haunting our imagination until it was resurrected by a plague. Called the Black Death, it was so named because it turned its victim's limbs to a gangrenous ebony. Sweeping across Europe, millions died in unimaginable agony, while others were forced to witness the harvesting. The reaping of souls cut through the fragile shielding of existence, and caused a panic to lodge in the backs of the throats of those valuing their feeble lives. It was in the midst of this turmoil, the ghost of a tale once told was revived.

“One by one, drawings of this taker of lives began appearing on the doors of a church. Occupying the hallowed Cemetery of the Innocents in Paris, Death was finally given a form—and a face. Depicted as a skeleton, he carried a sharp scythe. The forgotten tale emerged along with it. The stories told of the Grim Reaper wandering on dark, deserted roads. Waiting for a wayward traveler, when an errant journeyman crosses his path, he takes the intended victim by the hand, whispering, ‘
Momento mori
,’ in his ear. Meaning, ‘Remember, thou too shall die
,’ it is a gentle reminder of our mortality. After delivering the ominous message, he leads the straggler to a clearing where he partners them in the Dance of Death.

“This is the legend that inspired Camille Saint Saens
to write
The Danse Macabre
. It is a paean to our eventual fate. The Devil’s Key is housed in the music, and even the mention of its name can call this Dark Angel to your side. The ballet is said to be cursed, bringing death and destruction to anyone who attempts to dance it, and yet, it is this ballet that Una Velofsky has selected for us to perform.”

A masterful pause drew nervous titters and squeamish sounds to batter the forest's silence. A horrible exhaustion gaining ground, it dulled Melissa’s mind, making her more susceptible to the wicked queen’s words.

“Even now, after you’ve been made aware of the ballet’s tainted past, you may feel immune, but I can assure you that you are not. You see, there are others—made of flesh and blood—that will make sure this death sentence is carried out. What you do not know is that there is a secret society that honors this ancient tradition. Given birth under the crush of the black cloud that enveloped Europe, it’s this group that is responsible for the drawings that appeared on that church’s door. Appropriating the name of the holy place housing their drawings, they called themselves, ‘The Innocents.’

“The Innocents are true believers in the mayhem of death. Springing out of a mixture of fanaticism and sorcery, they are no more than a cult. Many branches grew out of the original lodge, but each faction was restricted to thirteen. The members are devoutly sworn to secrecy, and dedicate themselves to the retelling of the
Danse Macabre
in its entirety. To do this, each follower is given the chance to play the Angel of Death. Once cast in the role, it is they that get to decide who will live ... and who will die.

“I can see by your lack of concern that you think this is a fantasy … a bizarre story that I’m telling you on this night before Halloween, but you’re wrong. There is a method to my madness and a reason for my imparting this tale. You see, offshoots of this group are scattered worldwide. Clever and cunning, their agenda always included meting out their brand of terror on the unsuspecting public. More than successful in achieving that aim, there is even a branch of this demonic brotherhood residing in Holybrook.”

Alarmed shrieks emanated from several females. Their screams piercing the air, the hairs on the back of Missy’s neck stood on end. Her old fears crashing back, she was convinced that she was being watched. Her nervousness causing her throat to tighten, she glanced around. Most in the audience scared out of their minds, their restlessness made it impossible for the story to continue.

Swallowing several deep gulps of the carbonated drink, she wiped at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. Hearing the branches of the trees stirring, a frigid wind had kicked up. The temperature dropping, a proactive student threw another log on the dwindling fire. She was happy that at least one person had kept their wits. Nestling against Collette, her friend cradled her head in her arms.

“I see the skepticism in some of your faces, but you can see for yourselves. The evidence is all around! Just look at the carvings in the trees! The X's and number 13 are etched into the trunks with cutlery so sharp as to peel the skin from a baby lamb, and for very good reason. It is here that the unholy thirteen met. Their blasphemous ceremonies shielded from prying eyes, the forest was an accomplice in their crimes.

“You see, Death cannot exist without a victim, and it was under this paradigm that a diabolical scheme was carried out. All the members considered to be fine, upstanding citizens, they were aware that dead bodies draw attention. And so to keep their activities from being discovered, the brotherhood hid their hideous deeds. Adhering to the original legend, they drew hoods over their heads, choosing weary travelers to prey upon. Knowing that vagrants could be eliminated without raising a fuss, these victims fell with no notice that anything was wrong. And so it was that the legend about those who walked down a dark road meeting their end became true. A hitchhiker here, a drunk over there; one-by-one unwitting sacrifices were lured into the woods.

“The premeditated course of evil worked like a warlock's charm. With every death, they grew stronger. More adept in their powers. They sided with the Devil, and in return, they were rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. While non-believers did see lights and chanting voices coming from the woods, there was only speculation.

“It’s here that a disconnect took place. A sense of incompleteness festered within the group. It was stirred by the crimes’ anonymity. Victims no one missed didn’t inspire fear, and fear was the component that remained absent. They’d become too skilled at murder, and their success troubled them. Angry that their neighbors lived in comfort, they decided to teach the town a lesson in respect and humility. They sought an effective way to make the town obey their master.

“The remedy quickly became apparent. They all agreed that the next victim would be known. Narrowing down the options, they settled on a girl ... ” Standing, she casually strolled through the people now clutching together, stopping before Melissa. A sardonic grin overshadowing her young face with the callowness of sin, she pointed the long stick straight at the dancer she'd grown to hate, “…a girl very much like Melissa Solange.”

Zoe’s flawless face contorted into a mixture of disgust and condemnation. Spitting out the next words that collected as vomit, Missy hadn’t expected the verbal assault.

“Barbara Moore was also a nothing girl. A plain girl. A girl so ordinary and dull that you'd pass her in the street—not even noticing her walking by. She rarely went out, preferring to keep to herself. Awkward and shy, they devised a plot to lure her into the woods. The scheme hatched, a member was appointed to befriend her. The overture successful, they laughed as she lapped up the male attention. The insincere flattery worked better than they ever imagined. A few dates were all that were required to capture her heart.

“Now that she was in the member's hip pocket, the Lothario proposed a picnic in the forest. While she’d heard stories about the strange noises and flickering lights coming from the deepest parts of the woods, she dismissed them as talk. The girl that erred on caution didn't that day. Instead, she looked forward to a romantic dalliance under the cover of the hot sun and brilliant blue sky.

“She packed a few sandwiches, and took along fruit and homemade jam. Driving her to the location, the couple walked hand-in-hand to this clearing—the place where you sit. Spreading out a blanket, he poured a glass of wine in which he’d slipped a powerful sedative. It didn't take long for her to fall into a deep, unbroken sleep. Awakening at midnight, she was confused—and alone. She called out his name, but all she heard was a disembodied voice say an odd phrase.

ʻ
Momento mori, Barbara
’

“She was decapitated—her head hidden in the hollow of one of these trees. Her family reported her missing, but no one except the cult knew what had happened. As the days and weeks dragged on, no suspicion was cast upon the murderer
s. They’d won. The girl’s disappearance elicited the intended paranoia as a cloud of hysteria descended upon the residents Holybrook. Wanting to believe that she’d run away, too many people had seen the bonfires burning brightly in the night. Too many had heard the distant chant:

‘Zig, zig, zig, Death in cadence,

Striking a tomb with his heel,

Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,

Zig, zig, zag, on his violin.

The winter wind blows, and the night is dark;

Moans are heard in the linden trees.

White skeletons pass through the gloom,

Running and leaping in their shrouds.

Zig zig, zig, Death continues.’

“They still dance. Especially on Halloween. In fact, they dance now. For it is on this night, the night of All Hallow's Eve that the Angel of Death appears. At the stroke of midnight, he calls the dead from their graves to join him in his dance. And dance they do. As they dance, The Innocents wait.

“It has been over 40 years since the death of Barbara Moore and the town has forgotten all about her. Fear no longer alters their footsteps, and citizens wander where they might. The time is ripe for The Innocents to come out of hiding and teach the town another lesson. So be careful, because this very night one of you may hear, ‘
Momento mori.
Remember you too will die.’”

Taking a moment for the audience to gather their senses, they looked to one another before erupting in tumultuous applause. Zoe soaked in the appreciative reception, curtsying graciously. Good at feigning humility, she never took her evil eye off the girl who was having trouble lifting herself to her feet. Wobbling, Missy tried again, this time aided by Collette. Holding her under her arm, Missy didn’t understand why she was so weak, but there seemed to be a lethargy sucking the life out of her.

Bradley took his spot by Zoe’s side. Taking the talking stick, he tossed it into the fire.  

“Okay, that's the last speaker for the night. And how apropos she spoke about the Angel of Death dancing at midnight, because it is almost the witching hour. So let's say our farewells, and head back lest we meet ... you know who!”

Cheers and laughter rang out as Melissa tried to get her bearings. Her head swimming, her vision was blurry. Confused and disoriented, she just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

“What's the matter, Melissa? You drunk?”

The hateful words made Melissa spin around to confront the person speaking. There was Zoe's evil face in its full glory. Obviously reveling in the trouble Missy was having keeping her balance, a shit-eating grin was plastered across her face. “You couldn't even manage to stay sober for one night?” Zoe taunted loudly enough for too many people to hear. “But then what could we expect! Your mother was a lush and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree! Isn't that right, Melissa?”

Stunned, she staggered backward, tripping over the log. Landing on her side, she scraped the side of her hand. Collette rushed to her, yanking her to her feet. Her thoughts jumbled, it had to be Brandi that told Zoe. Intent on finding Brandi in the crowd gathering around her, she was standing open-mouthed—like a carp waiting for a hook. A flood of rage filled Melissa with a destructive hatred. As furious as she was with Zoe for the humiliation, her thoughts centered on her false friend. She was beyond livid at this latest betrayal that she could never forgive. 

“You, y-ou couldn't even keep your fucking mouth shut?” Melissa screamed tearing into her roommate who stuttered an insipid defense.

“But I didn't do anything!”

Covering her ears, Melissa couldn't stand it anymore.

“Shut the fuck up!” she screeched.

Feeling an overwhelming desire to be alone, she started to run. Clumsily drawing a flashlight out of her pocket, the light allowed visibility along the dirt path. While each step taken was unsteady, she was at least moving away from the girl she wanted to strangle.  Her legs shaking, her head was reeling from a dizziness draining her of reason. Finding that she was being impeded by an increased density of foliage, she realized that she was headed deeper into the forest and not in the direction of Velofsky's.

“Melissa!”

Hearing her friends call her name, she stubbornly refused to turn back. Tripping again, she caught herself before she fell. Her flashlight spilled out of her hand, shutting off as it made contact with the forest floor. Wondering if it was still usable, she heard a noise coming from behind her. Twirling around, she tried to back away as she shielded her brow with her arm. Jeff sheepishly emerged from behind a clump of poplars. Nervously zipping up his pants, he held out his own flashlight, driving its beam into her face.