Dance marathons. They were a thing, apparently.

And not a very smart thing. Dance for hours and whoever dies of exhaustion last wins! How appealing.

That’s why I was so suspicious when they gate crashed the party and wanted a dance marathon.

Okay. Context.

I was invited to a party recently. My friend Dana’s birthday party, to be precise. And for some reason she wanted to have it in the woods near the border of town (Blackthorne, Ohio). She was always into that place. Plus she’d set up fairy lights and snack tables and everything.

So the party was going along like normal. Until this little man and woman tipped over a table.

They hadn’t even been invited.

And people noticed. “Who are you?” asked Henry.

“No one! Just a couple of people who wanted to join in the party!” answered the woman.

Oh. Gate-crashers.

Dana seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Heh.” she said. “Gate-crashing to join in the party. I like that.”

They both nodded.

The party went like normal for a while, until Alexis – that stupid wise guy Alexis who got us into this whole mess – opened his big fat mouth and said It.

“So… are you two midgets or something?” he said to the two gate-crashers, who hadn’t told us their names. “I mean, you might as well be a couple of Oompa Loompas what with your height there.”

Admittedly, they were very short. About dwarf or little person height. But they clearly weren’t happy at the remark. They frowned and stood up on top of the well.

“DANCE MARATHON!” yelled the man.

“What’s that?” asked Alyssa.

“It’s where everyone dances and the last one to drop out because of exhaustion wins!” they announced.

“Appealing.” mumbled George sarcastically.

“It can’t hurt.” said Frank.

“It sounds like it’s designed to hurt.” said Prudence.

I was inclined to agree. The music started (but now that I think about it I don’t know where it was coming from), and we all were like ‘why not’ and started dancing.

After a while, my feet inevitably started hurting.

“I’m exhausted.” moaned Ursula.

*I’m sitting down.” said Thomas after a few hours, when his feet started to bleed.

A shocked expression grew on his face.

“I…” he said. “I CAN’T SIT DOWN!”

We all tried. And none of us could either.

As for me, when I tried, it was like some invisible barrier was locked around my legs, and it constantly moved and twisted, forcing me to dance.

“I want to go home!” somebody cried after five hours. We were all grown adults and here we were, crying for our mommies.

That was three weeks ago, and Alexis and I are the only ones left. Forced to dance over piles of dead bodies. People who danced themselves to death. Was this what the Dancing Plague of 1518 was like?

There’s Dana, and Henry, and Thomas… all of them.

I glare at Alexis every time I pass him by.

I'm typing this on my phone right now, and my fingers are exhausted too.

If he hadn’t pissed those two off we wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t know how I know that…I just know.

But for now, all we can do is dance.

Until one of us drops...