Dance Nocturnale

Dance Nocturnale

Roger Noons

a glass of Asti Spumante,a little fizz, but not too much alcohol

Something awakened me; compulsion drew me from the bed towards the window. Despite shivers passing through my torso and along my legs, I felt no cold; in fact my face was burning. My eyes scanned the moonlit lawn beyond the parterres, zig zagging in order to leave no space unchecked. In the far corner to my right, beneath the berry-laden holly, there was a badger; snuffling and foraging, its body rolling with the effort. I was mesmerized.

    My reverie was disturbed by a sound from within the house. The closing of a door I surmised, until I recalled that there was only me present. I concentrated; closed my eyes, unmoving. For at least five minutes there was silence; not a creak, no hum, nor a drip. A pleasing smell of lavender reached my nostrils.

    Convinced that I had imagined it, I returned my gaze to the garden. The mammal had moved to the opposite edge of my view. As I watched, it reared up on hind legs and I stared, open-mouthed as, after stretching, the shape peeled off a hairy garment and tossed it onto the grass. The exposed figure, which could have been male or female, was slight in build and naked, the glowing skin, hairless.

    Still with its back to me, the person began to dance. At first, slow, careful steps, but as I watched in my trance-like state, the tempo increased, the movement quickened and it became a frenzied programme, a blur of bright colours subdued by the available light. More figures appeared; the dance becoming an expertly choreographed chorus, and I began to hear the accompanying music. Involuntarily, my foot moved to the beat. Tap, tap, tap … my hand joined in; fingernails against glass.

    My brain crescendoed with the movement until there was a flash. My vista filled with silver light and when I reopened my eyes, all was still, the brightness muted, no sign of any living creature, and no indication of sound. Slowly, shaking my head, I returned to the bed and sitting on the side, with my back to the window, thought about what I had seen. I picked up the letter and began to read.

Cher Patrice,

 I have decided that I no longer wish to continue dancing; the control and discipline demands greater effort than I am prepared to give. Therefore after the current tour is …

     I swung my legs onto the bed, screwed up the letter and flung it across the room. I lay back and closed my eyes, a smile creasing my face.

Author Bio

Having spent the best part of thirty five years writing reports on such subjects as ‘Provision of Caravan Sites for Travellers’ and ’Aspects of Pest Control in the Urban Environment’, Roger Noons began even more creative writing in 2006, when he completed a screenplay for a friend who is an amateur film maker. After the film was made, he wrote further scripts and having become addicted, began to pen short stories and poems. He occasionally produces memoirs and other non-fiction. He has begun to perform his poems, and has just published ’An A to Z by RLN’, an anthology of 26 short stories. He intends by the end of the year to have followed that up with a novella.

He is a member of two Writers Groups and tries his hardest to write something every day. As well as CafeLit, he has had credits in West Midlands newspapers, The Daily Telegraph, Paragraph Planet, Raw Edge and a number of Anthologies.

Roger is a regular contributor to the CafeLit site and a couple of his stories have been selected for the Best of CafeLit 2012.