We are back for another round of Finish the Story by 
Fasnachat
In the eyes of the couple, the slate-paved street of the village revealed a cornucopia of crafts, sweets and jubilant peasants. Along the noisy main street, colourful festoons hung from the balconies of typical mountain houses, made of solid stone and original woodwork. The buildings themselves, due to the abundance of decorations, seemed to curve over the long snake of stalls.
There had been an imperceptible moment of silence when the two had laid their feet on the dark pavement of the village, nothing but a quick counterpoint to underline the next wave of noise of the festival in its full becoming.
It had been enough to turn left on the path between the conifers marked by the navigator and their journey had moulted with grey scales now transformed into coloured harlequin’s diamonds.
"Fasnachat". That bizarre writing on a shaky sign had tickled their imagination.
"If Google had reported this village party we could have left two hours earlier." At her voice’s sound, Ben instinctively thought of two Dolce & Gabbana sneakers on the 100 meters starting blocks.
"A break cannot hurt us, but let's not forget about our timetable," he replied, not without a trail of scepticism in his voice.
Ben's senses captured fragrances, widened eyes and inebriated laughter. That joy was as disruptive as it was contagious.
"We do not need to remind ourselves of what it means being late for Grandma Maude's birthday dinner," he said, turning to his wife, whose hand was already wriggling from his, ready to compulsively stuff the car with the many bits and bobs offered by the fair.
Debated between the growing curiosity and the thought of his father-in-law blaming him for the delay, Ben had not even noticed that he had already lost sight of Joelle.
Like a pebble escaping the river’s current, the flow of the crowd had carried him in the middle of a small square dominated by a soaring wooden stage. An acute, strangely cacophonous, chant of stringed instruments enlivened a typical traditional group dance, where couples slapped each other’s feet and bodies.
Under the ever more pounding rhythm of the dance, among almost hypnotized and swaying villagers, his eyes increasingly focused on the show.
For a moment, he thought he saw Joelle surrounded by villagers who invited her to eat something viscidly black. The substance seemed to smear the white aprons and faces of the women, perhaps even that of Joelle who had joined them in a wild chortle. She seemed so lighthearted and it felt good. There was one thing Ben could not remember and squatted in the back of his head, but maybe it wasn’t that important.
He returned to plunge into the dance: it was simply wonderful. He felt he could not miss a movement, not even a note. He smiled at the villagers as a strange heat flared up inside him. An empty and collective smile painted back on the villagers’ gaunt faces.
In a frayed embryo of thought, Ben recorded the distant verses of Joelle, who, strangely, had fused together in a long animal bleating.
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Yet his attention went back to all the smells, the visuals and the pageantry of the festival.
Caramel apples on a stick, Saltwater taffy like what they are offering Joelle . The smell of grilling meat in skewers was making him salivate.
He was swaying to the music as if his limbs were not his own . He saw the same empty grin on everyone's face and it was starting to creep him out.
He began to look for Joelle who was being led to a buffet table and he saw that she began stuffing her face with all the food. He called out to her but she was busy eating.
He moved towards her with so much effort as his limbs only wanted to keep dancing to the beat but eventually he was able to will himself to the table.
He could see the tears streaking down the eyes of Joelle as she kept eating, unable to stop. He shook her but was swatted away and all this time he was locked in a silent scream that he could not utter.
"What was going on here?" Ben said to himself, "We need to escape!"
Yet she continued to eat paying no heed to me. He turns to the villagers and besides the creepy, empty grins he saw them, some of them were slick with some fluid. Not sweat but more like mucus. There were something off with their smiles as it looked alien, unnatural on their faces.
These moved forward and encircled him, running their hands all over sliming him over. They began touching his face, his nose and his mouth and then their fingers reach in and he felt their mucus slide down his throat and constrict his heart.
Then he felt the edges of his mouth curling into a smile. He hears a car stopping. He hears a woman's voice "If Google had reported this village party we could have left two hours earlier."
He hears a man's voice saying " Well, I could use a break and get me some of that delicious smelling meat."
He sees Joelle approach the man and lead him to the middle of the festivities.
He feels himself walking towards the woman wearing a welcoming smile. He wanted to scream at the woman and tell her to drive away!
He felt his mouth start to move and hear his voice speak words he never wanted to say. "Welcome to Fasnachat!"
The woman smiled back and I could see the rest of the villagers smile that empty grin. Soon she will be one of us.