Creepy - The Song and Dance Man

Episode Date: February 18, 2019

A little dancing never hurt anyone...***Credited to Dylan Charles***Check out Extraterrestrial at parcast.com/extraterrestrial***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to. decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The Song and Dance Man. Credited to Dylan Charles. There are a few left alive who remember the song and dance man. Times claim the ones that survived a long night and I'm sure they went willing to meet their maker. Life takes on a strange tint after a night like that.

The one still left, Bill Parker, Sarah Carter, and Sam Tannen. Don't talk about it. Sam's lucky. His brain started to turn to porridge a few years back, and now he has trouble figuring out how to put on his pants. He got an early reprieve from his memories. He doesn't wake up night after night. The music's still playing in his ears.

with tears still drying on its cheeks. The song and dance man came to Bell Carnay with a little fanfare in the fall of 1956. I just got out of high school and was working as a stock boy at Handy's hardware. I was there the afternoon that Sarah Carter burst through the door and making the bell over the door jingle like mad. George, you got to see what's been set up by the bandstand. There's this huge tent in this man standing in front of it

yelling like a carnival barker. Sarah was out of breath and it obviously run from the park and all the way down Main Street. Her hair was whips out every which way and one strand stuck to the end of her nose. She gave a quick puff and blew it out of the way waiting for me to react. With Sarah, I was always two steps behind and running to catch up. The girl had energy in those days and an unlimited supply. I stopped rearranging the nails and sat. There wasn't anything up there when I walked by this morning.

When did it go up? She shrugged her shoulders, quick raise and drop. Don't know, but it's up. You gotta see this guy. He's all dressed up, head to toe, and he can talk. Boy, can he talk? I thought about it and checked the clock. It was about five in time for me to quit anyway.

All right. Let's go check it out then. Sarah grinned from ear to ear and was gone. I didn't doubt she was telling everyone in the gang, the ones that were still in town anyway. Most of us scattered to the four winds after graduation. Only a handful of us remained in town and only a handful of us were on hand to witness to dance.

I walked down to the bandstand by myself, not bothering to wait for the others. Most likely Sarah was already there waiting for us. I met up with Bill as I passed a drugstore, where I worked as a soda jerk. What the hell is Sarah talking about, George? She blew in here and then blew out again before I could ask her anything. Bill was a big guy, the tallest and heaviest guy in our class, and I just about cracked up the first time I saw him wearing that little peak paper cap

Mr. Clearly made his soda jerk swear. Bill doesn't really like to be laughed at, though. and after the knocked under my eye went down. I made sure not to laugh at him anymore. He's a good guy aside from that temper. He was the best guy in the high school basketball team too, though. He's one of the few guys who got kicked out of a game. He threw another player halfway down the court,

and they were on the same team too. Bill said the other guy elbowed him in the gut. It had to be on an accident. No one would have done it on purpose. We both walked down the street, Bill smoking a cigarette. A habit that caught up to him in 1995 when they removed his right lung. At the end of Main Street, we crossed Buchanan and entered the park. Normally at that point, we would have been able to see the bandstand,

perched down a hill near the center of the park. During the summer, there'd be concerts. Performances by the school marching band, the church choir singing some hymns. That kind of thing. Once a couple kids from high school put together a pretty good rockabilly group but someone on Park Committee

passed in ordinance of band rock and roll in the park. Small towns, you know. But now there was a huge faded yellow tent blocking the bandstand like the kind of a circus or the kinds of those old revival ministers like to use when they're feeling

the spirit. And they like to feel your wallet too. There was already a pretty large crowd around the tent and as Bill and I got closer, we could hear the fella that Sarah told us about. He sounded like a carnival barker all right. Bill and I walked faster down the path that led to the tent. We pushed our way through the crowd, up toward the tent where we thought the man was. Come on in, everybody, we're getting close, getting close. We're going to have ourselves a heck of a time tonight. Yes, indeed, a heck of a time. We'll be singing, we'll be dancing, I promise you that,

and the song and dance man always keeps his promises. We still couldn't see him. Too many people were blocking the way. I looked like the whole town had shown up to see the song and dance man. Bill tugged on my sleeve and pointed. I followed his finger and got bug-eyed. It was Reverend Harper, the Baptist minister. I've lived a good long time,

but I've never seen a man that could thump a Bible harder than he. Harper preached against evil. of sin, sin in drinking, sin in smoking reefer, sin in smoking tobacco, sin in lying, and most of all, sin in dancing. Yeah, here he was, lining up to get inside the tent too, because he certainly wasn't preaching. We waved at him, Bill waving with his hand that held the cigarette, that old Baptist turned red as of red sea, and turned and walked away. Bill and I grinned at each other and kept on walking toward the front and toward the song

and dance, man. Finally, we broke through the crowd, and there he was. He stood on an old crate, splintered, looking like he was on the verge of collapsing under his feet. On the grass beside him lay a black fiddle case with a gold trim along its edges. It looked old, older than the crate, older than the town. It seemed like something ancient. He was all angles, all knees, elbows, and shoulders. He was tall and gangly.

his body moving and bobbing to the rhythm of his words. He wore a red and white pinstripe jacket, looking like he belonged in a barbershop quartet. The straw hat sat on his head, always getting pushed back or pulled forward by his long fingered hands, long six-fingered hands. I stared when I saw it. I had read that some folks are born with six fingers,

but reading about something and seeing it are two different. things. His eyes just about flashed blue lightning as he spoke. And sparks nearly flew from those white teeth. He just never stopped talking. He didn't stop for breath, for questions, or anything. He just kept up that pattern like his very soul depended on it. All right, all right, all right, we're getting close, getting real close. Yes, we are. Are you ready to dance? Are you ready to sing? Because I'm ready to play my fiddle. Yes, I am, yes I am. Got to fill at my feet and I'm ready to play. Ready to make those. string sing. Can you believe it?

He clapped his hands and that's as close to a pause as he was willing to do. Sarah and Sam came up to us now, having found us in the crowd. Sarah elbow being in the rib and said, What I tell you? Looks like he should be in a carnival trying to get us to see that bearded lady or something. Sam nodded his head and greeting to us, which causes glasses to slide down his nose and he gave him a short push back up to where they belonged.

He was as tall as Bill, but nowhere is built. He was a smart guy in her gang. You have to have someone like him around to tell how to do things. Like take apart the principal's car and rebuild it in the school gym. Not that we ever did anything like that. What's he selling? Asked Sam. A dance, I figure.

I said. What's it cost? The song and dance man must have heard him because he said, What does it cost? I hear you ask, why it don't cost a dollar and it don't cost a quarter and don't cost a dime, folks, it will cost you nothing. Just get on in and dance to the song all night long. As we looked at each other, it was a good deal. A little free music and space to dance.

There wasn't much to do in town back in those days, and there still isn't. This was almost too good to be true. The song and dance man stopped now, a minor miracle in and of itself. He dug deep in his pocket, pulled out a gold watch, checked the time, and then grinned a grin that must have shown every one of his teeth. He pocketed the watch and said, folks, it's time for the dance. So come on in, come on in everybody, because it's time for the dance to begin. With that, he hopped down from his crate, grabbed it up with the fiddle and darted through the tent flaps. Sarah, Bill, Sam, and I nearly got mowed over in the rush to get inside, but we were still the first ones in.

We stopped short when we pushed aside those big old tent flaps but were quickly driven inside. It was huge inside. There was a hardwood floor beneath our feet that looked like it must have been an oak, a dark, dark oak, polished to a mirror shine. There were candles and holders all along the tent pole posts, and when I looked up, I couldn't see the ceiling for all the darkness. It was like looking up at a starless night sky where the moon didn't dare show her face. The crowd kept driving us and more and more people poured in. It wasn't just the young people either. There was Mrs. Crenshaw, our junior year English teacher who was in her 50s.

There's Mr. Hoskins, the principal. There was a good old Reverend Harper, still looking embarrassed, but also like he couldn't help himself. It really was the whole damn town. Hell, even the mayor was there with his wife, standing and talking with the chief of police. Soon everyone was inside And the murmur from all the talking was nearly deafening It was already getting warm in there And I was feeling cramped and claustrophobic

We were all looking for the song and danceman To see where he'd gone No one looked up So no one saw him until the first pull of his fiddle bow He was there On the center tent pole Sitting on a small wooden platform About 20 feet off the floor

God knows how he got there Because there certainly wasn't any lateral going up. He dangled his feet over the edge and held his fiddle on one hand and the bow in the other. The fiddle and bow seemed to be made at the same dark wood that the floor was and gleamed in the candlelight like a thing alive. I almost doubted that the fiddle even needed the song and dance man to make its strings hum. We all looked up at him and he grinned and jumped to his feet while the crowd gasped, where he might plummet into their midst. And then he began to play. He made those strings sing.

I haven't heard anyone play like that before or since, and I thank God for that every day. It made the air around us crackle and spark. It loosened the joints and jolted the mind. He felt the urge to move deep in the bone, buried in the marrow. I grabbed Sarah's hands and began to move across the floor, and everyone followed suit. some with partners and some with out some were doing the fox trot some were doing a waltz some of us were doing the twist we danced moved shuck jived rocked and rolled i passed river and harper moving his feet in a clunky box step with elie's grendel an old battle axe of a catholic i saw the mayor's wife waltzing with dan adams one of our firemen i swirled with sarah moved across the floor bumping and jostling and jostling with the people around us. It was hot and getting hotter in there,

and it wasn't long before it smelled of sweat and bodies moving against bodies. I felt dizzy, but we kept dancing together, kept dancing and not stopping. It was a while before I realized that the song and dance man was singing too, but in a language I didn't understand.

He lorded over us, standing on that platform, making his fiddle sing and sing. His bow rose and fell, slipped back and forth, sighed to side. He played like he talked. There are no breaks or pauses. Just a manic deluge of tunes while his tongue curled around words. I had no business being said in this world.

I gave my head a shake as I spun with Sarah and I realized my legs were tired. My feet ached and my lower back was beginning to throb. I checked my watch and realized we were. We'd been dancing for a solid hour. I shook my head again, trying to shake off the dozy feeling that was clouding my thinking. Sarah! I cleared my throat. I'd only spoken in a whisper.

My tongue felt thick and funny. I tried again. Sarah! Louder this time. But you still didn't respond and we kept dancing. I shook her. But she didn't respond. I kept shaking her until I realized I was doing it in time with the music.

So I just tried to stop. And I couldn't. I couldn't stop. Underneath the fog, I began to feel frightened. I began to see the faces of other people now. I saw their terror. Reverend Harper's face had grown redder than I'd ever seen it before. Sweat poured down his face, but he still kept moving.

twirling Mrs. Grendel around and around, her head bawling from side to side. She had fainted, but her feet were still moving. We moved past Bill who danced with Susie Watkins. I saw her frightened eyes darting around the room, but Bill bobbed his head in time with the music and his glassy eyes, looked at nothing in particular. The song and danceman laughed from his perch and kept playing, tapping his feet. His eyes were glowing in that dark humid place.

They glowed and glowed and glanced off the bow with each sweep. I heard a scream and swiveled my head to watch a woman drop to the floor holding her leg. She cramped up. I was envious. She got to stop. She got to rest. My own legs felt like dead wood and the ache in my back had deepened. Then her partner stepped on her ankle.

and I heard the crunch from across the room. He was still dancing. His eyes blink and empty as he moved. She screamed again and started to crawl away but instead stood up. She started to dance, bringing her weight down on the broken ankle again and again and again. I turned away but I couldn't block the sound of her sobbing. The music ran on. I checked my watch again

And it was three hours now We didn't flag or falter We kept up the same speed as the fiddle Damn and fiddle Wrapping our feet against the floor Never mind the blisters that burst Never mind the broken toes or broken ankles Never mind that deep pain buried in the spine

To refuse to go Never mind old hearts and bad knees We kept up that frantic pace is one mass, a bobbing, thumping, jumping creature with one mind. Reverend Harper died at one point. I watched it happen. He was holding up the still-fainted Mrs. Grendel, whose feet still moved with the music. When he dropped her and fell to the floor, he twitched once, his feet beating a quick staccato rhythm and then was still. Mrs. Grindle got back up and kept on moving.

I watched Harper as I danced, trying to see if he was breathing. He wasn't. I swear to you, he wasn't. But he still got back up. He was dead, but he still got back up and began to dance again. He turned to look at me and grinned the song of dance man's grin. His eyes were red, filled with blood from whatever broken in his brain. I watched as a single red tear rolled down his cheek.

I shut my eyes and kept moving. Harper wasn't the last. He probably wasn't the first. The old and the sick were the first to drop. No matter what it was, exhaustion, heart attacks, hemorrhages, somewhere deep inside, they died. Then they got back up and kept dancing, grinning. their grins.

I passed Lizzie and Sam. He'd lost his classes at some point. His eye started around, terribly aware. I looked at his leg inside, shut of some bone tearing through his denim jeans. There was a trail of blood behind him. And as he swirled, a spray landed on the legs at the people around him. He stepped on that broken leg, twisted on it,

and jumped on it all in time with that fiddle path. I remember stepping on something at one point and I realized I just crushed Mrs. Dempsey's right hand. She was lying on her back on the dance floor. She'd been stepped on time and again. I could even see a man's shoe print on her stomach. Her head had been caved in and her chest beneath her dress had a sunken look. And still, she was trying to get up and keep moving. The smell of blood mixed with the swine and I couldn't breathe.

breathe anymore. There was thick, and from all around it I could hear cries and screams, but nothing that drowned out the fiddle or was sung and danced me and singing, and then it stopped. I danced one more step, and then stopped myself. I looked up at the platform. We all did, craning our necks

upward. He was checking his pocket watch. All right, folks, that's all for tonight, the dancing is done, and the morning is come. You may leave if you can walk, and you should walk, because this song and dance man is going to be gone. We all stood there, like stunned cattle, then marched to the tent flaps. No one ran because they couldn't. There was a miracle we could walk. Sarah stepped ahead and left, but I stayed behind. I turned and looked and saw at least 20 people still standing there.

Harper was among them. They were all grinning, their eyes empty. They stood and made no sign of wanting to leave. Go on now, friends, a song and dance man has what he wants, but he'd be glad to add you too, if you'd tarry and dally too long. I looked up at him and saw him smile. Then I turned my back to him and left the tent. When I turned back again, it was gone, along with the people inside.

That's the story of what happened The others won't tell it Or pretend it never happened Never mind the 20 people that vanished that night The mayor's wife included They'd rather not think about it Sarah and I took Sam to the hospital Over in the next county

Far from folks that knew what had happened They had to remove his leg Sam was quiet before And quiet or still after pulling odd jobs that a one-legged man could do. He doesn't move around much nowadays, just sits on his porch, can't across his lap,

massages the stump with his hand, says it bothers him on cold nights and dry nights. Bill left and joined the army and stayed in long enough to fight in Vietnam and won a bunch of medals. He came back and settled down to drink and drink hard, and if you want to find him, you can find him in Eddie Dixon's bar.

No matter how drunk he gets, though. He doesn't talk about that night. None of us much saw Sarah after. She came through the best, but that's how she always was. She left and went to college, but like Bill, got pulled back to Belcarnay.

She teaches over at the high school now, teaching English to the juniors. I stayed here, plugging away at the hardwurst. door. I ran it for a while, but now I don't do much of anything. I just sit around with Sam, talking about things sometimes, though, not often. If I stay too late, if I stay too long, I'll see his eyes go glassy behind those coke bottle lenses and he'll disappear into himself. And I'll catch him humming a faint trace of a song, and the hair on my neck stand on end and

Goose bumps rise in my arms and great knots. My foot will start to tap a small beach on the hardwood porch. And a big, wide grin will spread across Sam's face, the grin of the song and dance man. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypastawiki.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.