Midnight Dance, Karen Alexandra [free children's ebooks pdf .txt] 📗

The night breeze whispered between birch trees that towered over the river. Crickets chirped in the woods, making barely a sound, but it sounded like the noisy marketplace at a Sunday morning compared to the hushed town. Not a single word was spoken and every single person had his eyes glued to the huge bell tower, anticipating. The entire place was quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional howling of wolves in distant mountains, and the hooting of night owls, preying on its unwary supper. Hundreds of people were huddled in the town square, every single face concealed by flashy masks adorned with feathers and fancy jewels, lent to the townspeople by the royal palace. At midnight, the bell tolled exactly six times, ringing out through the gentle ripple of the slow-flowing river, dubbed the Ambrose Brook. They had been waiting for the bell for hours, for anyone who was even one second late would be refused entry. Seconds later, a loud, clear voice boomed out, seemingly from the dark night sky. "Let the 12th annual dance begin!" And thus marked the beginning of that year's Midnight Dance, where one could finally be themselves, without being tied down by the knots of responsibility and social statuses.
The Midnight Dance was originally a biannual event that the King created for fun and relief of boredom and for relaxation. For a beggar, it meant no one would jeer at him. For a rich man, it meant something exhilarating, trying out something new, and being someone that he wasn't. It was all for the good of the whole kingdom, an innocent game played by all. Until people started to go missing and mutilated bodies were found in the nearby woods. Until one could hear tales being told of impossible stories weaved with magic and illusions.
The King tried to ban it, of course, and all the towns agreed. Except for Silverwoods Town. That small little town where the story begins...

A knight in shining armour, hand reaching out to meet mine. “Come with me,” he said, a smile breaking through like the sun after a rainstorm.
That was the dream I had. The same image I’ve seen for years replaying over and over in my mind every single day. “Pfft…” I laughed dryly to myself. Like the boys in this ancient, old town were any good. But at least they made good friends. I leant back against the rough bark of the oak tree on the cliff, overlooking the sparkling turquoise waves crashing noisily. I looked up at the sky breathing in the salty smell of the sea. To people watching, I would look like a stunningly beautiful girl deep in thought. In truth, I was recharging.
As the only lamiae bloodline left on earth, our family’s power doesn’t come easily. I had to sit still for ages in the same position for more than 30 minutes when the old demons only had to touch the earth’s soil to gain infinite energy. We are demons of the sea, and we drink blood once in every winter, but all other stories about us are myths. We don’t kidnap children or even eat them. I doubt they’d taste nice. Sucking a little blood doesn’t hurt anyone, right? We only take a few hundred millilitres anyway, and it has to be from one same person. But whatever I say, naïve humans only believe what they want to. That’s why all the other bloodlines were eliminated. Lamiae blood is passed down from mother to daughter, like a family heirloom. Over the years, our numbers depleted due to carelessness and the humans’ hatred and jealousy. And love. There were cases of some lamiae falling in love and revealing their true forms. Powerful monsters reduced to helpless captives in love, all because of one man. I swore I would never fall in love with a human, but my lifestyle was just too boring.
For us lamiae, we are only allowed our power when we could finally find our soul mate. That’s what I call them, the one human who would willingly give up his blood, freedom and life only to follow us lamiae. We would never age but we’ll all die at 200 years. And so would the man whose blood was taken by us, and he would forever have to follow us whenever we move, which is often, considering the fact that we would always stay the same age. Our extraordinary beauty was a plus, though, and the only advantage a powerless lamiae without a soul mate could have. But the lamiae knowledge was passed down from parent to child and these were the only information I could get out of the book that woman gave me. The rest were only undecipherable scribbling of only god knows what.
Sighing, I got up and made my way home to an old, abandoned house at the outskirts of town.
“Hey, hey! You there!”
My head snapped around. Heart thumping, cold sweat started forming on my forehead. Have I been discovered? A boy with curly flaxen hair was sprinting over. When he was near enough, I realised that he was pretty cute, with huge coffee-coloured eyes and a pair of peach coloured lips. I don’t mind being found out by such a cute boy, I thought, giggling. What was wrong with me? Nervousness and anxiety was making me light-headed and dizzy. I hoped it was only that, because falling in love would be disastrous. Giggled a little bit more. That would never happen.
“Your handkerchief!”
So that was what he was here for. Relief made my limbs loose and my heart unclenched. My mind was clear again. I stopped in my tracks, laughing. Then, I turned around to face him. A puzzled look was so clearly written all over his face. I realised what must be going on in his head. Why was I running, did I think he was a stalker or something? Another burst of laughter. It wasn't often, but us lamiae sometimes get mood swings, coming as suddenly as a lion pouncing on its meal, but on a less severe level.
“Eh—hi,” the boy said. Clearly, he was seeing my face for the first time. A blush reddened his already rosy cheeks. How cute he looked when flustered, I thought. Oh my gosh! Have I become a pervert, now?
“Hi, I’m sorry I ran. There was this guy the other day following me, and I was scared he was back. Oh! And thank you for bringing my handkerchief.” Lying was my forte, after 19 years of doing the exact same thing over and over again.
Days later, we were good friends. Well, sort of, if good friends lied to each other. Emil would come over at least three times a week when his baker father allowed him, and gobble up any story I fabricated, accepting it as the truth. Most of the times it was, but I would leave out the parts which would lead to his discovery of me, or skilfully weave the story into such an impossible one he’ll think it was a joke. The peaceful days continued and nobody suspected anything until one day, he asked me if I wanted to go to the dance with him. As a friend, that is.
“Yes, I would, of course, but why have I heard so many talking of it?”
“You didn’t know? Well yes, that is to be expected since you came from another country…”
“Go on, then.”
“You remember that story I told you before, right?” he began haltingly. “Yes?” “That story years ago, the king organized a masquerade that was supposed to last so long, but on the third day, some people was found missing.”
“That wasn’t just a story?”
“Eh? N-no! I was telling you our history.”
“They banned it, though, didn’t they?” I asked
“Yes! Yes they did, I-I mean… THEY did, but the people living here didn’t. They started holding it once a year and it sort of…like… stuck on, you know? They called it the Midnight Dance because it starts at midnight and all. And there are so few people living here because last year, the same thing happened, just like what happened at the king’s ball. But no matter what the mayor says, there would always be threatening letters anonymously written and sent. And it was sent in such large amounts, too… I know it’s dangerous, but will you come with me?”
Apprehension was drowned by my excitement. Finally, something interesting! I couldn’t help it, because if I had to spend the next 183 years doing nothing but moving every 2 years, I’d rather die. Never mind that I was the last living lamiae, there’s not much point in living, is there? So quickly, and unthinkingly, of course, I shouted, “Yes! Yes! I’ll go!” I wish now I could go back in time to warn myself not to go, to save myself from all the complications brought along by these four little words.

Publication Date: 04-11-2012

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