The Showdown

I don’t usually write down my stories. I just tell them and hope that people remember. But the event that I witnessed tonight was so incredible, so terrifying, so life changing, that I had to make sure that it was not only told, but kept safe as well. I don't expect you, the reader, to believe my tale. I wouldn’t believe it myself, had I not been there. It’s ok. It doesn’t matter if you believe. After reading my story you will tell it to others, if only to find out if others have ever witnessed such a sight. The events of this story are true, as I witnessed them this night.

 

I arrived at the meeting hall at 7pm. I come in a few nights a week to clean the place. I take out the trash, sweep the main hall floor, and vacuum the offices, normal janitorial duties. I don’t mind doing the windows, but they are large and I can’t reach all the way up. I like to get there later when I know no one will be around. I have a calendar of events on my refrigerator, so I know when the place will be empty. I don’t want to kick up dust or make people smell those nasty chemicals. It’s normally quiet when I work. The meeting hall is located in the center of town near the library and police station, so there are cars that pass by, but no stores that people might frequent.

 

 

The evening before there had been a gathering: an award banquet of some kind. They left a bit of a mess. I usually like to empty the trashcans last so I can put any dirt I sweep up or paper towels I use in them. But they were completely full so I did them first tonight. I put the bags by the backdoor; I'd take them out when I left. I went about attacking a particularly tough soda pop spill on the floor of the main hall. Why people wish to drink something that sticky is beyond me. Pop will actually take the paint off your car. What then do you think it does to your insides? So I'm alternating between spraying the spill with a degreaser and mopping it up with hot water. Have you ever heard complete silence? It was like noise just stopped! No cars drove by. No wind blew. No dogs barked. I remember putting down my mop and heading for the door. I wanted to make sure there was still a world going on outside. Before I took more then two steps, one of the two doors in the hall burst open.

 

I don't remember any fire, but I think I saw smoke pour in. Behind the smoke entered a person. Another person followed and soon many had come through the door. They were all adults. I placed them all in their 50's. I always lock the doors when I'm inside, so as I was trying to figure out how these people had gotten in, when the door at the other end of the hall blew open. More smoke. More people. But this group looked younger than the first, maybe in their thirties. Well, I'll tell ya: I backed up to the wall fast. I grabbed my mop. If there was gonna be trouble, I was ready!

 

The two groups fanned out and stood opposite each other. They glared and made weird faces. Either no one had seen me or no one cared. Then again...an old man in the middle of a bright empty hall is hard to miss. My guess is that I wasn't that important here, which I decided was actually a good thing. No one had said a word yet, but I do believe I heard a whistle from somewhere. I couldn't see who did it, but it reminded me of the whistle before an old western gunfight. The dust pile I left in the corner suddenly stirred and blew away. More work for me. This was gonna be a long night.

 

From each door a single person entered. They each carried a portable radio. They walked to the end of their perspective groups and put the radios on the ground. Their groups split up into two lines still facing each other. By this time I had had time to count the two groups: two dozen in each. The meeting hall is quite large, so space wasn't a problem. And that's good, because I don't like people being uncomfortable when they're here. Gatherings tend to be less enjoyable if you can't move around with ease. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was gonna be a showdown.

 

A 50-something man nodded to the opposing group, some kinda sign I figured. The 30-something man with the radio kneeled down to push the play button. From that noisemaker came a sound that I will never forget. It was the kind of sound that wakes you up from a deep sleep. It was The Macarena. The Macarena was a song that was popular with the kids in the 90’s. Kinda a Latino type number. Maybe it was Mamba or something like that. I don’t think I’ve ever done the Mamba, so I could be wrong.  And then I remembered: the dance. There had once been a dance that went along with this strange and twisted tune.

 

And then it happened! The music cue the 30-somethings were waiting for played and they were off: Arms flyin’, hips movin’. It was a storm of a dance. CLAP! Oh that clap, twenty four hands sounding as one. And jump. They were good. They acted like a well oiled machine. I found my foot tappin after a bit. It was a catchy tune, I had to admit. But then it stopped. The radio-man sure knew what he was doing; the music stopped at a perfect part of the song. The group knew what was about to happen and they stopped on a dime. They stood there, breathing, looking at the other group.

 

The 50-somethings smiled and snickered. Me, I was sorta impressed. But I guess the other group wasn’t. I figured out what was to come next and watched the radio-woman in the 50-something group slowly bend down and push the play button. It was a song to rival The Macarena. The beast of a song was mocking the 30-somethings. It was mean and ugly and brought with it the humiliating time of long ago. It was The Hustle. I wiped my brow. This was getting serious. Was that a flash of lightning? I took off my glasses and cleaned them with the rag that I kept in my back pocket. The group moved as one. They were smooth and controlled. Their moves were much more complicated than the Macarena.

 

And then the 50-somethings did something that I still can’t believe: they paired off. They did! And they never lost a step. The gasp from the 30-somethings could be heard in the parking lot.  From the sky there came a disco ball, immediately catching the available light and spinning it throughout the room. When I say it came from the sky, I don’t mean from the ceiling. I have no idea how that thing was supported. I don’t really believe in magic, but I don’t have another explanation. Like The Devil in that Charlie Daniels song, the 30-somethings new that they’d been beat. They bowed their heads and collectively began leaving the hall as the triumphant 50-somethings continued to dance.

 

Only after all of the ill-fated Macarena dancers had completely left did the music stop. Everyone smiled at each other, patted backs or hugged. Then they too slowly exited. And I was left alone in the silence. I wasn’t sure what I had just seen.  Was it a dream? Maybe I had been around those nasty chemicals too long. I decided that I had had enough for one evening, so I began putting away my supplies. I hadn’t gotten much done, but then I didn’t expect that that would change tonight. I put on my jacket and went to the door. I turned to survey the area to make sure that it was in acceptable condition to leave and then I saw it: the disco ball continued to float in the air. I just shook my head, turned off the lights and left.

 

I plan to go back to the meeting hall tomorrow morning. I don’t know if that disco ball will still be there or not. I can tell you that I’m still a bit shaken up over what I saw. I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy. But my worst fear…my worst fear is that it will happen again. And what evils would I experience that night?