Midnight Festerval

The ballroom was silent. The ballroom was ancient, disused, and empty. Cobwebs adorned the ceilings, and dusty drapes clung to the walls. The floor, however, shone like it had when it was new.


A door at the end of the hall creaked. A bony hand curled around the edge. Suddenly, smoke blossomed from every tile. From the outside, the building looked as dim as ever, but the inside was blazing with activity. An unseen band struck up; screeching violas, and a musty grand piano playing with a mind of its own.

The dead, in all their moth-eaten finery, waltzed and twirled, pirouetted and leaped. Partners caressed the opposites’ flesh, or what was left of it. The music reached a crescendo, and the dancing was more grandiose than ever, reaching on into the late hours.

Then, a sliver of light peeked through a window. A rooster crowed. The dead filed back to the tiles, vanishing back into their graves below.

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