FOUR HOUSES

Part 1

5 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT

I didn't plan to visit this house last. It's just I don't do purple. And the door in front of me is the ugliest shade of plum I've ever seen. It's a prune Grandma would eat, a raisin on its last leg, a swollen bruise in the most inconvenient of places.

The color isn't the door's only offense-it's the condition. The paint peels in frenzied curls, and the handle's been worked like a street walker. A single bulb lights the porch, but it's dirtied by dust and insect carcasses and makes me fold into myself. The overall impression says the people in this house don't care about appearances.

Which makes me wonder what they do care about.

This is the last house. There's nowhere else to go. I've already seen the others and I'd rather stand in that empty field than stay inside them.

I bite my lip and raise my hand to knock. The waiting is the worst part, wondering who will open the door. But this time the waiting is killing me, tearing me down piece by piece and devouring me with insatiable jaws.

After a few minutes, I raise my fist and knock again. My rapping is more insistent, and I feel a little put out that no one's invited me in yet. I was worthy of the other houses; why not this one? Are they on the inside, spying through the peephole and laughing? The thought makes me furious. After everything I've been through tonight, I won't be mocked.

I raise both hands and bang against the door with open palms. The cry leaving my throat raises goose bumps on my arms. If they don't answer soon, I'll throw a rock through the window and crawl in. Or maybe I'll throw myself through the window. Not like it matters now.

Time ticks by and I decide I've had enough. Not expecting much, I grab the door handle and twist.

The door screams open and I pull in a short breath.

Music fills the house. It reaches out and wraps its pulsing arms around me. I feel the tempo in my bones, my teeth. Inside, a purple cloud swirls back and forth, up and down. It's as if it's dancing.

And I want nothing more than to dance with it.

This time, I can't help stepping inside almost immediately. At first I think the house is empty. But as I walk down the long hallway and turn the corner, I realize my mistake. Dozens of dancing bodies move to the music. They throw their arms and whip their hair and rub against each other. My hands stretch open and all at once their heads turn to look at me. I cover my mouth to stifle a scream.

Something is wrong with their eyes.

They are enormous black pools of liquid. And they are empty.

I turn to go, realizing I shouldn't have come in. If the other three houses taught me anything it's that what lies inside isn't good. But they are on top of me before I take a single step. Hands and arms and legs grab me. They swallow me into them. I'm pulled to the center of the room and surrounded by their bodies.

They release me and the dancing resumes.

At first I try to push past them and escape, but it's far too tight, too close. Too intoxicating. Their skin rubs against my skin and their fingers intertwine with mine. Behind me someone runs their hands through my hair and pulls my head back. My mouth opens and I gasp.

The music.

It's the music.

The fear begins to recede, and the music rushes in to replace it. I stand unmoving, but already my breath has slowed and my mind has calmed. As I realize my heart will go on beating, the dancing ceases and the crowd breaks apart.