Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Up There on the Dance Floor

The music vibrates through the walls of the room, flows through the floors, and cascades like crashing ocean waves against the bodies of those who dance within it without care. The sea of people moves in unison, like a hive, rising up and crashing down with the thumping bass, following the ebbing flows of its highs, and dropping with the lows. Like a plane taking off on its runway, the song crescendos endlessly, never quite getting in the air—just forever sitting on the verge of it.

Sergio shakes his sweat-drenched body into the air, bouncing off those around him, as they not only feel the music but live it. The smile that melts across his face is almost painted on, while the blank, perpetual high his brain now calls home resists any temptation to fight. Only to dance, to live, to love, and to serve the DJ.

He stands at the head of the room, his table of turntables, a row of four by four, all spinning—songs looping into songs, their tunes lost in the tunes of others—a mindless mix. His head bobs, a hand held high in the air, fingers in the sign of the devil, and he cares not who is offended.

The music continues, endless, unyielding. Sweat pours from the dancers, bodies dropping to the floor, empty eyes staring into the distance, void of life, drained by the dance, drained by the DJ as he feeds off his flies.

The blade digs into his throat, and her hot breath can be felt on the back of his neck. The room freezes, and all eyes turn towards them.

“Hello, little snowflake, are you sure this is what you want to be doing?” they all ask in unison.

She sucks in a stuttering breath and curls her lip as she pulls the knife back, digging the blade into his flesh. A drop of blood trickles down his neck. “I-I-I’ll do w-w-what I have to do to m-m-make y-you listen!” she hisses.

“I hear all, child, I hear all and I see all, but what wonders to me is—Is he worth it?” they all ask.

“H-H-He’s my sun, w-w-without him, l-life isn’t worth it,” she stammers, as a sea of sweat pours down her brow, her lips tremble, and her nose crunches.

“Then, for the sake of the sun, why don’t you join the dance, and be one with me, with him, forever?” they ask.

She grabs a laboured breath from the air and holds it for a few moments before letting it escape with a stuttered groan. “N-N-No! G-Give him back t-t-to me! G-G-Give him back!”

“But child, he’s not yours to take!”

“H-He’s not y-yours to keep!” she spits, as she curls her lips and drags the knife across the DJ’s throat. A sea of endless red sprays across the console, and the first few rows of the hive-like dance crowd as they still stand and watch.

The DJ collapses onto the console, motionless, while blood runs across everything, soon flowing down to the floor like a waterfall. The sea of eyes continues to stare at her, silently judging, silently watching.

“W-W-WHY WON’T YOU DIE!” she screams.

“You cannot cut the head off the hydra and expect the beast to drop dead,” the crowd says as the beat begins to slowly thump in the back of her skull. Her head gently bobs, and with a scrunch of her nose and a curl of her lip, she pulls the headset from him, tosses his husk to the ground, and assumes his spot. She looks out into the crowd, as they all stare back. She raises a hand into the air, and the music hits them like a train, and the dance party begins again.