#24 Danse Macabre

by Mark Kenney

“It’s so beautiful!” the artist gasped in delight. “Oh Chandra, if only you knew how right you were, my child. It’s too bad we can’t share this with the oth—” . . . suddenly, his voice cracked and he grabbed his left arm. “My . . . my God—what’s happeni—Stop! That hurts! Stop! Not so much! Stop doing this . . .” Marcus wobbled for a second and fell faint. As he hit the floor, he had no pulse left. The lights rhythmically pulsing from his crystal and glass sculpture collection were the only lively things left in the room—light, color, sound and shadow playing a ghostly danse macabre across the walls and floor, enveloped in a torrent of sonic bliss and crystalline fury.

Sgt. D’Anton reviewed the vidcam of the crime scene the forensics team had beamed to his patrol car en route. It did look every bit as though the victim had gone berserk in his final moments. Shards of colored glass lay everywhere, mixed in shattered harmony against the reflective pebbled surface of the crystalline studio floor, the victim’s inert form awash in a kaleidoscope of color.

Later that day, D’Anton spoke with his commanding officer. “Y’know, Chief, it wasn’t obvious at first but I know we shared the same sensation walking into that room. It was eerie, yet peaceful. Then the glass . . .” D’Anton’s voice trailed off . . . “God—I knew I’d seen that pattern before—it's like a goddamn blast zone! Sorry Chief, I’ve gotta get back there before the tape goes down!”