The desert was vast. Empty. He drove. The sun beat down. The truck rattled. Dust devils danced on the horizon. He squinted.
He owned it all. Or would. Soon. The oil was there. He knew it. Deep down. Black gold. Waiting.
He stopped the truck. Got out. The heat hit him. A wall. He walked. Boots crunched on the sand. He looked at the ground. Signs. There were always signs.
He saw it then. A figure. In the distance. Moving. Strange. He watched.
It danced.
A slow, jerky dance. Unnatural. The figure swayed. Arms flailed. Legs bent at odd angles. It twisted. It turned. A grotesque ballet.
He walked closer. Curious. Fear mixed with fascination. The figure was human. Or had been. Now… something else.
Skin stretched tight. Over bone. Eyes vacant. Empty sockets. Hair matted. Caked with dirt. It wore rags. Torn and faded.
It danced on. Unaware. Or uncaring.
He stopped a few feet away. The smell hit him. Rot. Decay. He gagged.
The figure didn’t react. It continued its dance. A macabre performance. For an audience of one.
He spoke. “Hello?”
No response.
He spoke louder. “Can you hear me?”
The figure’s head tilted. Slowly. It stopped dancing. It looked at him. Or through him. He couldn’t tell.
Its mouth opened. A silent scream. Teeth yellowed. Decayed.
It moved towards him. Slowly. Shuffling. Arms outstretched.
He stepped back. “Stay away.”
It kept coming.
He reached into his truck. Pulled out a shovel. The metal gleamed in the sun.
“I said stay away.”
It ignored him.
He swung the shovel. Hard. It connected with the figure’s head. A sickening thud.
The figure fell. Limbs splayed. Still.
He stood over it. Panting. The shovel dripped. He stared.
He felt nothing.
He turned. Walked back to his truck. He needed to call someone. Clean this up.
He looked back.
The figure was gone.
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. The desert was empty. Silent. Except for the wind.
He got in his truck. Started the engine. Drove on.
He tried to forget.
He couldn’t.
That night. He dreamt. Of dancing figures. Eyes empty. Mouths open. Silent screams.
He woke up sweating. Heart pounding. He got out of bed. Walked to the window.
The desert stretched out before him. Under the moonlight. Empty.
He saw it.
A figure. In the distance. Moving.
Dancing.
He ran outside. Grabbed his rifle. Ran towards it.
He fired. Again and again. The figure didn’t fall. It didn’t even flinch.
It danced on.
He ran out of bullets. He threw the rifle down. He screamed.
The figure stopped dancing. It looked at him.
It smiled.
He ran. He ran as fast as he could. Back to his truck. He jumped in. Started the engine.
He drove. He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back.
He drove for days. Until he reached the city. The lights. The noise. The people. He felt safe. For a while.
He bought a penthouse. High above the city. Where he could see everything. Where he could be safe.
He was wrong.
He saw it. On the rooftop across the street. Dancing.
He closed the blinds. Locked the doors. Drank himself to sleep.
He woke up. The music was playing. Softly. A faint melody.
He followed the sound. Through the apartment. To the living room.
It was there. Dancing. In the middle of the room.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could only watch.
It danced closer. Closer. Until it was right in front of him.
It reached out. Touched his face.
He felt cold.
He looked in the mirror.He saw it.
His own reflection.
Dancing.
The oil was there. Deep down. Black gold. Waiting.
He danced.
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