It Dances at Night

October 13th, 2023

Kristen Zaza

This episode of On a Dark, Cold Night is part of Amazon Music’s Halloween collection of scary-good stories. It’s available exclusively through Amazon until November 2^nd. If you enjoy this story, please subscribe to On a Dark, Cold Night, and check out the Sonar Network and all of its other fantastic podcasts at thesonarnetwork.com. Thank you, friends. Let’s have a breath together before our story…

Breathe in slowly and deeply…

Hold the breath and observe it…

Breathe it out slowly.

Happy Halloween.

[Eerie theme music plays]

[Your Narrator:]

Good evening to you, my friends.

Welcome.

Welcome back to our castle.

Haunted, Imaginary, Changeable and Temperamental,

But at the same time full of lots of rooms for peace and quiet and rest.

And hopefully, a little celebration.

Like this room.

If you've visited me here before, then you know it well - this is perhaps the room I visit most frequently. This is the Story Room. The fire is roaring in its fireplace; the armchairs are deep and soft; we have blankets and cushions within reach, and a warm cup of whatever it is you like best to warm you during a chilling story. The only light is from the fire, and shadows dance around the room, eagerly waiting for the story you and I have both come here for.

It takes time for me to come to this place. Some stories grow in the shadows, and must come from fear; some stories unfold as I'm doing the telling of them, and must come from trust; but some of these stories come from a calm, distant place, where I can separate myself from the characters and the events, while at the same time feeling that I've been completely eaten up by them, too.

You have to gain a little distance in order to disappear completely, sometimes.

I wonder if you agree.

In the distant place I was in, a black and white place stuck in time, without growth, but with an ever-burning fire I've yet to fully comprehend the meaning of, you may look back into time one week ago to find it if you wish, but as I was there, I found myself wondering why we are so afraid of being seen fully for what we are, who we are, and what we love.

Sometimes I think we keep our joy hidden; sometimes I think we shrink away from being fully in the moment and fully our selves because we feel that it is not what others want from us

But if we all feel that...then who indeed are these 'others' we are so afraid of?

Joy is a funny thing. Sometimes I think we are more afraid of that then anything else.

Anyway. Onward we go.

Are you comfortable?

Are you ready?

It's story time.

Once upon a time, a woman started a new life in a new home.

She wasn’t exactly alone; she was married, and happily, but her wife often had to work far away, and so she found herself moving in to a new place mostly by herself; a rather daunting task. Saying goodbye to an old life, even the elements of it that she was more than happy to leave behind, is a difficult thing for anyone. They had lived in a dingy apartment, more full of insects than sunlight, noises from the city interrupting every peaceful moment; but it had been home, for she had made it a home, even as she spent much of the time by herself.

They had inherited a little house in the country from a beloved aunt who had loved her niece dearly in return, and it had caused a little debate among the little family of two. She was very excited at the prospect of change; her wife, however, felt not being in the city might affect her work opportunity in the future. But she had to travel so much, our hero countered - why shouldn’t at least one of them settle in somewhere a little more idyllic?

So the decision was made - they would move to the little house in the countryside.

There was a little time of chaos for our hero as she had to pack up an old life and begin a new one by herself, while carrying with her the elements of a life her partner did not deem necessary enough to take along for travel, but necessary enough to not discard. She remarked to herself secretly that she sometimes felt like one of those elements; but she pushed that thought away to keep moving forward, as one must try to do. And of course, she mourned the loss of a beloved family member. She assumed living in her aunt’s home would make her feel closer to her, bring her some joy and calm. She hoped, anyway, as she had found so little of it lately.

The house was small, but it was quaint. It was surrounded by trees and green grass and a garden that had long ago been left alone to die. There were cobwebs and thick layers of dust on the light fixtures and the shelves, and they would have to buy some furniture to make the place a little more inhabitable, but for the mostpart, it was lovely. A lovely little haven for this woman, a salve for the loneliness and over-expenditure of energy after the move was finally finished.

At least, that’s what she thought.

But when the movers were gone and the friend or two who had helpled left, and she was standing alone in a dusty little house and the sun began to set, casting shadows across the empty rooms, her heart pounded faster in her chest, and she suddenly felt more alone than ever before.

The shadows from orange sunset through the trees swaying outside the window made it look like something with graceful limbs, moving strangely, dancing in the light of her living room. She smiled for a moment, thinking perhaps she wasn’t quite that alone after all

But the sun did need to set.

And the flickering light of old light fixtures was little comfort to her.

Neither was the frozen meal she popped into the oven.

Neither was the darkness of her new bedroom that she tried to sleep alone in

And couldn’t.

She thought about the piles and piles of boxes that sat in her living room, in her front hallway, by the stairs, in the kitchen.

She thought about unpacking them all, sorting through the lives she and her wife had left behind.

She thought about rearranging the place so that it could be liveable, comfortable.

But the thought exhausted her and sent her heart racing again all at once, and she froze in her bed, finding herself in tears at the prospect, unsure why.

Her aunt had been a joyful woman; a kind and vivacious woman with many hobbies and delights she took in life. But all the things in the house that reminded one of her were gone. It seemed all of her joy was gone from the home, and so our hero couldn’t find any joy within herself, either.

And it seemed strange to her that she should be homesick for the dingy apartment and the loud street sounds and the expensive city

But she was.

Everything was a little less idyllic at night.

And she was afraid.

She hadn’t been afraid in a long time. She had been anxious, rather, by grown-up things like money and rent and work. But she hadn’t been afraid of the dark since she was a child.

There was a bit of deliciousness to that, really.

[A ghostly sigh; then a strange drumming/walking kind of sound]

She heard something.

It sounded, rather, like someone.

Footsteps…but not quite…for they occurred in a strange rhythm, sporadically, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

She was too afraid to investigate, for if it was an intruder, she was all alone; what could she do? She had no weapons, she was not exceptionally strong or skilled at fighting.

So she locked the door to her bedroom and hid under the covers

Feeling once again like a child

Shaking, tears dripping from her wide eyes

As she waited for the sound to stop.

[The sound of the footsteps’ rhythm, which eventually fades]

It went on until the first light of dawn came through her window.

As the sunlight cheered her and the sound of birds rang, who sang as if everything in the world was just fine, she began to feel perhaps a little foolish

Maybe it was just an animal that had trapped itself in her home.

Maybe it was just the pipes or the wiring; old homes often made strange noises.

Maybe it was just her imagination, her newly rediscovered fear of the dark.

Nonetheless, she crept down the stairs

And she saw boxes toppled over, items strewn across the floor, some broken, most in disarray at least.

She hadn’t intended to unpack, but it seemed now that she must.

She made herself a coffee and set to work.

As she cleaned shards of broken glass from the floor of an object she had considered throwing away but kept instead and left for her future self to deal with, she noticed something

Something in the floorboards

A little silver ring

She tugged on it, and up came a square of the hardwood, revealing a secret compartment underneath. It was dusty, and centipedes and moths and spiders scatted at the sudden movement, but they were nothing compared to city bugs and our hero let them leave peacefully.

There was something here; wrapped up in fabric. It was a deep purple fabric, with a pattern of gold and blue and orange and red flowers woven through it. She withdrew it and unwrapped it, seeing shapes, lines, lettering she didn’t recognize scrawled over It, having been dripped on perhaps by wax.

Black candles, some new and some half-burnt

A little box with herbs and crystals inside

An old diary with instructions, ingredients

And a page

A page much older than anything else here

A page stained yellow and brown from time

With what she hoped was red ink

Writing some more of those sigils, those strange symbols she didn’t recognize

Around what appeared to be a figure

Just a shadowy figure with those ink-red eyes. Wide awake eyes

Its arms raised, one foot raised up, body twisted at an angle

It appeared to be dancing.

Look over there, at the shadows against the wall, here in our story room, my friend.

See the way the flames ripple, the way the light crosses through your form itself, making it look like you there, a shadow-you, against the wall, swaying?

Somewhere, there’s a you just like the figure on this ancient page, dancing.

Isn’t that something?

I apologize. Back to our story.

She put it all back.

She set the floorboard back down.

She stopped unpacking, and quickly stepped outside to breathe fresh air.

Her heart pounded again; that same fear from the night before, not grown-up anxiety but child-like terror, as she wondered what her aunt who lived alone until she died had done in the lonely nighttime hours in that little house.

And she wondered about the sound she heard the night before, and what it was that had toppled her boxes, her and her wife’s items from the move.

The sun began to set again

She feared going back inside

But as the call of an animal startled her, and the air grew grisp, and a cool wind sent orange and red leaves whirling by her feet, she realized she had to.

With all the lights on, frozen meal, perhaps a little music, and a few less boxes to deal with, she managed to forget for a little that fear. But as the night grew more and more silent and the hour grew late, she checked that all the doors were locked ten times each, she turned the lights off, and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, locking that too.

The fear was great

Her grief was great

Her sadness was great.

Sometimes she wondered at whether or not she could bear all these things. All these feelings. It felt sometimes she was filled with them to the brim, and if even one more negative feeling crept in, she would simply burst. With all that roiling around in her, it was no wonder she couldn’t fit any joy in.

She managed to sleep. She dreamed of her aunt. And in her dream, she was as she had been in life. She was loving. She was kind. She was joyful. But at what cost, she wondered? What had she gotten up to in this house?

She tried to ask her aunt the question, but her aunt smiled more widely and laughed through that broad smile

[Laugher; echoing]

And that laugh was overtaken by another’s laughter, a deeper laughter

[Deep-voiced laughter overlaps then drowns out the woman’s laughter]

And our hero woke up to the sound of footsteps, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, in a strange rhythm, once more.

She found the courage somehow to slowly rise from her bed and silently open her door a crack. The noises did not stop. She took a few very careful steps into the hall to try and glimpse what was going on from a distance. Her whole body was shaking so very violently that she thought she might simply collapse any moment, but somehow her legs kept her upright. She looked over the railing and down into the main hall. It was far too dark. But she heard, with the footsteps, another sound..

[The rhythm now has a different, overlapping rhythm - breath]

Something was there.

She could not see it.
But she could hear it breathing, hear it moving.

She heard boxes being toppled again, items breaking.

But she could not see what was doing it. It was too dark.

Her hand slid along the wall to find a lightswitch, and she clicked it

But it did not work.

She tried several times, frantically trying to turn the light on, to no avail.

Then all the sound stopped.

And she saw, looking up at her from the darkness, two large, red, wide eyes…

She woke up in her bed

And she hoped it was a dream.

The boxes strewn across the floor along with more broken, unnecessary items from her old home proved her very wrong.

She thought about phoning her wife, but what could she do?

She thought about phoning her friends, but they would just offer to come help her

She thought about phoning her family, but it might distress them to hear she was not happy

And she thought of someone coming here, perhaps offering to help her unpack, perhaps offering to talk to her about these feelings she was filling up with, asking her where her joy was amid all of that

Needing to clean up the place for someone else’ arrival

Needing to answer questions about her work, her money, her spouse, her house, her sleep, her mind, this, that, this, that…

She was already exhausted.

The thing with red eyes from what she hoped was her dream filled her with child-like fear

But everything else she thought of filled her instead with grown-up anxiety

And there was a mischievous part of her, a dark and shadowy and strange little part of her that she never before dared ever look directly in the eye

Who much preferred the child-like fear.

She spent the day sitting on her front porch meditating on this realization.

Unpacking, socializing, hosting, organizing,

It all seemed healthy enough

But she wasn’t ready.

She had come here for peace and quiet and to make the place her own

And she was going to do that.

She was going to know herself more deeply

She learned something about her heart today, after all - she learned that a little horror, a little supernatural drama, while it terrified her,

Excited her a little too.

She thought of her aunt’s laughter

And she thought for a moment - just a moment, as the birds sang in the trees and the the wind grew a little colder in the early evening and the autumn breeze brought with it the smell of decaying plantlife

She thought for a moment that there may be a  little room inside of her for joy after all.

She went back inside

She swept the floor and pushed all of the boxes off to a closet to deal with later

She lifted the floorboards

She unravelled the fabric

She lay it flat on the ground, its sigils facing up

She placed the black candles in a circle and lit them, and the crystals across the sigils too. She scattered the herbs among the flames.

And in the centre, she placed herself, sitting, and staring at the ancient parchment with the shadowy figure with red eyes.

“You’re coming anyway,” she whispered. “Come to me, now.”

Why?

She was terrified, sure

But maybe it was a welcome distraction from the sadness, the loneliness, the anxiety.

She waited.

She waited.

She waited.

She saw nothing.

But she heard something.

[The footsteps in rhythm, and music now]

Music

An old sound, a familiar sound

The one she’d heard the last two nights, sure

But she knew she knew it from before even that

In her heart, in her soul, in the darkness behind her eyes, she knew this music

She couldn’t help but nod her head to the rhythm. She couldn’t help but sway a little, side-to-side. She tapped her toes a little.

Her breath came a little faster and harder, too, and in rhythm with the sound

Before she knew it she was on her feet, and dancing

Dancing within the circle of candles, with her aunt’s magical symbols she didn’t know and yet she felt she did now, somehow

It was a summoning

And with her eyes closed, she saw his red eyes before her

She heard his breath behind her

And she felt his hands on either side of her

They took her hands and began to move them in slow, graceful circles, to the beat her feet now made

She danced in the circle of candles

She felt him move her body to and fro for her

It didn’t matter that she was so exhausted and spent

He would dance for her

He would dance through her

She was dancing by his command

And it felt

It felt

[The music grows louder]

You want to know what it felt like?

Look over there

Look at the shadows over there in our story-room, the ones cast from you and I being between the fireplace and the wall

See how, in the flickering firelight, see how our forms dance?

Interesting because you and I, as I always need to remind us, have no bodies here. We have no physical bodies here

BUt as the fire casts its light against us, there indeed are our shapes on the wall, shadowy silhouettes, dancing

Swaying our arms here and there

Lifting our legs

Bodies bending like branches in a great wind

Heads lolling side-to-side as though our necks have never known pain

And eyes red as the blood coursing through our physical bodies, far, far away.

We could go back to her, our character in her little house

But she is busy dancing with the joyful thing she summoned

The joyful thing that dances at night in a witch’s home.

Is there one that dances in yours?

There is one in mine

And if I am overwhelmed, or sad, or lonely, or anxious, or any other dismaying grown-up feeling

I see his eyes in my mind

And he beckons me to dance

And make just a little room

For even just that one child-like feeling

Of Terror

And somehow also

Immense

Joy.

[Eerie Theme Music.]

(Host speaks as Kristen:)

Hello everybody, and thank you so much for listening to On a Dark, Cold Night - this is Kristen Zaza, your host, writer, podcaster, narrator, composer, etcetera, behind the show, and I hope your autumn is turning out to be spooky, sweet, relaxing, chilling, gentle, and all the things you'd like it to be. If you're listening to this episode in October, then you are listening to it as an Amazon Exclusive - thanks for meeting me over here, and I hope you enjoyed it as a little pre-Halloween ghost story we could share!

Sending a big thank-you to all my Patreon supporters - I'm eternally grateful to you for helping me keep going every month. Through patreon, supporters of $1 or more a month US can receive access to my complete show soundtrack, while every supporter of $5 or more a month US get that, a monthly tarot reading video every full moon, and a weekly bonus "Quick Moment" meditation on Thursdays. You can learn more at patreon.com/darkcoldnight. You can also support one-time only via ko-fi.com without any of those perks; visit my page at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight. And you can buy a t-shirt or hoodie at bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night.

I'd love it if you left a rating or a review wherever you like to rate and review podcasts; you can follow me on social media under darkcoldnightpodcast on Instagram, On a Dark, Cold Night on Facebook and Youtube, kristenzaza on Bluesky and tiktok, and ADarkColdNight on Twitter.

Thank you again for listening, everyone; wishing you good rest, and lots of room for joyful mischief and merriment this fall. Goodnight.

[Eerie theme music]

This podcast has been brought to you by the Sonar Network.

The episode of On a Dark, Cold Night you’ve just heard is part of Amazon Music’s Halloween collection of scary-good stories, only available through Amazon until November 2^nd. To hear more, subscribe to On a Dark, Cold Night,  and visit thesonarnetwork.com for other great podcasts. Sweet Dreams, my friends.