The contest: https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-25
Source- Pixabay
The Start:
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.
Ben knew what was happening. But he could not accept that his wife had betrayed him to the Fasner family. Maybe it was something else. The detour, the village party. That sign Ben realized was not Fasnachat- It was Fasner Chateau. A marker that they had entered private property. And the fixed smile on some faces- these were no local villagers enjoying themselves. Ben had seen a gun peeking out of the jacket of the man "dancing" with Joelle and that had confirmed his suspicions. When had Joelle turned? Was she Joelle? Ben had known they would not give up easily when he had stolen the Fasner gold as a punishment for all the deaths they had caused. But Joelle! This hurt, just thinking about her.
But first he would have to get away from this gypsy ritual. He was sure he was being drugged- a hallucinogen probably. They would kill him only after the can get back the gold. But they had forgotten that Ben himself was half gypsy. His father had passed on many of the secret lore to Ben. He needed to chew Spurge, there would be many of these bushes around the forest.
Acting like he had stumbled Ben pushed his partner away while he himself fell toward one of the stalls. With a loud crash the stall collapsed sending all the brightly painted charms flying in all directions. Ben crawled a few feet towards the trees and away from the square on all fours; then he suddenly burst into a sprint. He heard the shouts behind him as he lunged between trees changing direction and leaping over some brambles he landed out of sight of his pursuers. He thanked his luck when he saw a young bright green Spurge right at his feet.
As dusk approached he climbed a large tree and settled 10 feet above the ground satisfied that he was temporarily safe. This was the first chance to think about what to do next. But Ben knew he had no choice. He could not bear it if another "Joelle" happened in his life. Running was not the solution. And he was not a novice at killing people. So be it- no more "Maybes"and "Buts" till either he succeeded or he died.