[story] the rites of spring
author: katrina caudle (crownofviolets)
email: crownofviolets [at] gmail.com



Something glowing calls me from the darkness. I stir from my sleep and pull myself from deep earth, shaking off the haze of a hundred years. I wonder what could be so strong as to pull me back to the waking world. The crisp taste of the melting winter and the promise of spring is in the air. I feel the earth's anticipation in my feet. Standing and feeling the dirt fall from me, I see lights dancing close by and I realize I am very hungry. Past the bushes and down the walkway that leads me through the formal gardens, I walk towards the lights.

At first, I am disoriented by the masks and whirling couples. Three dancers dressed as the sun, the moon, and a star float across their raised stage between tall torches of flickering light. All around me are people dressed as fantastic dreams. I feel the music as it flows through them, calling back the sun with their joy and celebration. Tonight they are a little bolder, a little more daring, a little wilder underneath their masks. They are covered in furs, feathers, jewels, and fine fabrics. They revel together, a glittering throng laughing, celebrating life. I breathe deep the energy, filling myself with its power. I smile in anticipation. Tonight is a time between time, a celebration of the turning of the seasons. It is a thin veil between my world and the waking world. They called me from my sleep. With gratitude, I will feast.

I begin to wander among them, caressing costumes and shoulders. They shiver as I pass. I'm curious about their lives and loves, their sorrows and secrets. To my left is a woman dressed as a swan, her elegant neck exposed as she bends to listen to her companion. I trace a cold finger along the delicate skin and she turns swiftly, eyes wide behind the mask of feathers. But of course, she can't see me. I am a specter, a shade drawn from the darkness by their gaiety, their music, their dancing. They cannot see me. But they will. Though there are so many of them, by the dark before dawn, they will know me.

I remember this house, though I've long since forgotten how I came to be here. I drift towards the open doors of the ballroom. Inside, more dancers are spinning around each other. Somewhere a clock strikes twelve and I see the swan maiden collapse in a heap of feathers, satin, and ribbon that is her costume. A murmur of shock runs through her circle, her companion's face gone white as her pale skin. I move on through the crowd, excited and energized as one by one all that I've touched start to crumble. I ghost through the garden doors into the ballroom.

They're beautiful the way they float across the floor, lost in each other. Candles in every corner light the room. Drapes of diaphanous fabric cover the walls, turned gold from firelight. They are celebrating the season of courting and coupling, of the warmth and passion of mortal hearts bringing the light back to the world. They will dance all night to welcome back the sun. It's all that much sweeter that they are so full of hope.

I make my way through the ones seated at the tables, becoming bolder with my caresses. They are every creature of myth, every beautiful dream they have fantasized about being. Some feel faint, bowing under my touch over their dinner plates.

"For every life comes a moment of death," I whisper in the ear of a man dressed as a satyr. He has pointed ears and large brown eyes peeking through his painted mask. My hold is made stronger by my previous victims and he falls within moments.

The crowd flows around their fallen companions, thinking they're too far gone with drink. My excitement builds and I skip behind a pair of dancers, twirling in their wake. It's not long before they stumble and fall in the middle of the dance floor. Surprised cries and delicious fear passes through the crowd. Their growing anxiety fills the air, thick and sweet. The night that was so recently warm with mystery and magic, joy and laughter, becomes cold.

They begin to break away from each other, trying to mask their fear, until enough victims start falling so that they no longer need excuses. They start to realize they will never again see the sun. I'm strong enough to take more than a few at a time now. They start falling in groups, costumes scattering across the floor. They tumble halfway out the room, blocking the doors. The ones that still stand are either frozen and silent or sobbing, terrified by the horror happening around them. Their fear feeds me as much as the life force of the dead.

I can feel the sense of touch returning to my arms and by their screams, I know that they can see me. I suck whatever is left of them until nothing in the room stirs but diaphanous drapes ghosting in the night wind. I savor the silence before turning my gaze to the open doors with bodies hanging between rooms. The night calls, whispering the joy of many other celebrations, many other lives to touch. I let myself be drawn down the halls and out the doors, called by the night to bring death in the season of life.



the end