Cities in the dust

It was a sunny spring day in Arcadia, Florida.  Depending on the location, Florida had about five spring days, more or less.  I was finishing my senior year at Miskatonic’s satellite location and will graduate with a major in journalism and a minor in archaeology.  I don’t think this is too presumptuous. I have maintained a solid A average, and I see no reason to worry with only a few months.  

I have plans to leave Florida upon graduation and head to New York and obtain a job at one of the prestigious newspapers or magazines.  I have been a writer at  the Miskatonic Univerity’s student paper, “Arcadia Account,” and our student-run Magazine, “Miskatonic Monthly.” I even contributed to the “Arcadia Picayune,” our local paper.  The thoughts of traveling abroad to cover excavations of musty old tombs just kept me up at night with anticipation.

As I said, it was a lovely spring day here in Arcadia.  My girlfriend, Siouxsie, yes, that is how she spells it.  She is a bit avant-garde; she had a traditional spelling but decided this would be part of her “emancipation” from her parents, but she still accepted their tuition and expenses money.  We are all emotionally complicated puppets of muscle, bone, and sinew, no matter how high-minded we think we are.

The waterfront was a few blocks to our west, but we were busy looking in storefronts of merchants selling candles, balms, and ointments for esoteric skincare routines and fine leather goods.  I always laughed at how leather reminded me of a peated whiskey.  How could anyone drink that foul concoction that tasted like pennies and leather? 

I purchased a smart-looking leather attache’ in the leather shop.  I am graduating in a couple of months, and this will help me look the part when I make my way to New York and apply for that job at the New York Times.   $12 was a steep price, but I had $15 saved up, and that was still enough for Siouxsie and me to get a light lunch before taking her back home.

At the corner of Mulberry Avenue and Sargasso Street was a quaint little establishment called “The Prince of Whales,” you could get a platter of fish and chips and two cherry phosphates for $1.25.  “Smart money makes a smart man,” my father always says.  Now that I think of it, I think that was just a way for him to excuse being a miser.  The platter came with a scoop of coleslaw and some mushy green peas.  The fish was moist and flaky, while the batter coating was supple yet crispy.  Delicious.

After lunch, we were walking back toward Siouxsie’s room, and we heard a song being carried along on the spring breeze.  I gave Siouxsie a quizzical look, and she nodded as if to say, “Tally ho!”. I didn’t need much more encouragement than that.  We went down the street and turned left, heading east on Bladder Wrack Street.  Then we took another left on Oak Avenue. As we headed south, the music started fading, so we turned around and headed north of Bladder Wrack, taking one more left on Sea Grapes Street.

Tucked behind a bar named “The Ship Wreck” were a pair of musicians with a guitar case in front of them.  Some of the people were tossing change in there.  It's an honest way to make a living, I suppose.  The pair consisted of a gentleman playing guitar and a lady who was the group singer.  

They started in on another song, and though they did not have a drummer, the vocalist was on a wooden box, and she was stamping out a beat.  

Duh deh duh-duh deh

Duh deh duh-duh deh

It was a unique beat, definitely a departure from Duke Ellington.  I looked at Siouxsie, and she was enjoying herself.  So I asked her if she would like to stay, and she leaned into my neck and said, “Absolutely.”  So I put our packages behind us on a bench and joined her.  Soon afterward, we were in the street with the rest of the revelers.  

“Were you praying

At the Lares shrine?”

The lyrics pulled me out of the moment: “What kind of devilish lyrics are these?  Prayers to household gods?”  But the beat was captivating, and I decided to throw caution to the wind and keep enjoying the revelry.

“Your city lies in dust

My friend”

Duh deh duh-duh deh-deh

Duh deh duh-duh deh

Duh deh duh-duh deh-deh

The extra backbeat foreshadowed an upcoming tragedy, a sense of danger.  But it was indeed for the subject of the song, correct?  I looked at Siouxsie, and her face was ecstatic.  I shut down that worried part of my brain and enjoyed the impromptu concert.

“Hot and burning

In your nostrils

Pouring down

Your gaping mow-uuuth!”

Enough was enough, I would not stay here and listen to this drivel any longer.  I moved my hand to Siouxsie’s, and my hand would not move from the gyrations and movements I had been doing while dancing. I tried to move my feet to walk away but was still dancing in the same spot.  What kind of foul magic did these bards cast upon us?  I looked at Siouxsie, and she looked at me with terrified eyes.  She mouthed the words, “Help me,” as I took in her entire visage, I noticed that her shoes had nearly disintegrated, and she was dancing barefoot and bloody on the cobblestone streets.

Panic set in.  I scanned my surroundings, and what faces I could see were the same expressions of pain and fear.  A hazy purplish glow started surrounding all of the dancers, me included,  caught in the song’s snare, and like fine wool being spun into thread, it started flowing, gauzy, and ethereal into the guitar case.  I could see that the inside of the case looked more like a nebulous storm, but I thought it was red before.  It was some kind of cosmic vortex consuming our life force, as I understand now.

It was quite a unique sensation to begin to see everything happening, not with my eyes but with my whole conscience.  I could see our bodies withering; my dear Siouxsie was nothing but a husk, as were the other dancers.  The last thing I remember seeing was the guitar case closing. Ultimately, we were turned to dust, just as the song had related.

So you may ask yourself, “If you were consumed by this cosmic vortex in a guitar case, how can you tell this tale?”  Dear Reader, haven’t you ever been drawn into a song or live performance?  Haven’t you been enraptured by a musical performance where you were lost to time itself?  Maybe you’re still there, or in here, with the rest of us, trapped dancing in the shadows for eternity.