Human Spines

Everybody Can Waltz-II

Emmeline

        I didn't want Lochlan to leave. He reminds me of my dad. My actual dad, not Amistifer. But I can't figure out why. The last time I saw my dad, he was bent over, red in the face from laughing at my sister. Lochlan looks nothing like Dad. My father gives off the grown-up-surfer-dude look, with his blonde hair, tanned skin and constant wearing of flip flops with button down shirts, while Lochlan seems to favor boots and simple long sleeves to go with his dark hair and fair skin. They sound nothing alike, Lochlan's voice being deeper and far more Scottish than my father's. They have completely different tastes in cars, my father enjoying new large trucks while Lochlan takes care of his little retro city car. But there's something they have in common, and I want to find out what it is.

        I don't think I like this man. The old one. But maybe that's because the only old man I've ever known of was my grandfather, and he was a horribly racist man. Old men have always frightened me. Especially ones with power.

        I weave us through the dancers, back and forth, back and forth. They move like a school of fish. We reach the old man in the middle and everything seems to melt. The pace of the entire room slows.

        "Why hello there, my dear non-dancers," he speaks to us. "May I teach you how to dougie?" Wrinkled face, pale eyes, white-blond hair. "Or perhaps a shuffle today? Swing? Reject?" A couple inches taller than Dumaine, small rounded belly, olive green polo, cream dress pants. "Or would you prefer a grand jetè?" Toothy smile, large nose. Secretly hyper aware of everything going on in this room. Maybe even the Demons. I breathe in, preparing to test my theory. I peer at the Demon I saw earlier on the ceiling directly above us. A deep maroon arachnid-like thing with tufts of course, lengthy hair on each joint of its body. It stays perfectly still, facelessly watching the entire room.

        The old man follows my eyes upward and the moment he sees it, his eyebrows draw together. But it's not the Demon he sees as his lips curl ever so softly. He must see something pleasant. But holy jeez! He sees something!

        "Thank you, but no, sir. We're here for a different reason, but it can wait until the end of your class, I'm sure?" Dumaine glances my way and I nod. I smile at the old man, attempting to rid myself of my fear of him. It isn't working. I'm leaving now, Dumaine behind me, dancers surrounding me, I look for an empty space.

        "You okay? You seem... off. And I know you're not possessed." Dumaine asks as soon as we slide down, in the corner of the room, away from the sea of humans and, now that I actually look, several bipedal Demons.

        "I'm okay, but I most certainly am off. The old man frightens me and he can nearly see Demons," I speak slowly for him.

        "What do you mean nearly? How can someone nearly see a Demon?" His eyes are wide, staring into mine. Why are his eyes always so wide?

        "There's a large Demon on the ceiling. He could see something there but it wasn't the Demon," I simplify.

        "Are you sure he saw something? And it wasn't the Demon?"

        "Yes, and yes. He would have jumped or gasped or something if he saw the actual Demon. It's not a pretty one."

        "Well what if he's just used to them like you are?" He asks but I don't have an answer. I move on to my next question.

        "How old do you think he is?" I examine the room, trying to gage how long this class is going to take.

        "I don't know... seventy? Maybe we can ask her." Dumaine points at a tall, calm woman with a load of brown hair piled on top of her head. She's hugging a little clipboard to her chest, observing the class, while leaning against the wall several feet from us.