Dancing Shadows

The campfire crackled, sparks dancing into the inky sky. A chill wind whispered through the skeletal remains of the drowned town, stirring the memories buried beneath the surface of the manmade lake. I stroked the worn pair of ballet shoes tied to my backpack while huddling close to the fire. Oblivious to the haunting history clinging to the air like a shroud, my friends howled at the moon, dancing and singing. The submerged steeple of the town's church, its spire a ghostly finger pointing to the heavens, cast a shadow on the night ahead of us.

"Come on, scaredy cats!" Clarissa yelled over her shoulder as she started down the path.

We skirted the lake, the bones of the buildings jutting from their murky graves. Our flashlights pierced the darkness, reflecting off broken windows that stared out like vacant eyes from the depths. The town I once lived in lay before me as the weight of the past settled on my shoulders.

The bones of the old dance studio protruding from it's grave called to me. The wooden floor lay open beneath the water's surface. My breath caught as I traced my mind over the damp walls, memories flooding back like a tidal wave. I found the dance studio a shelter from the grey darkness of my home. I found Mrs. Danvers a welcome warmth of wrinkles, grey hair, and pirouettes. She became my lifeline. The unseen memories tried to drag me beneath the surface.

"Amelia, let's go!" Clarissa and Mark said it in unison. "Jinx!" Their laughter permeated the sadness circling in the air.

My reluctance to leave the studio behind did not appear obvious to them. My childhood home offered no solace to me. My mother was always enveloped in sadness while my dad lived married to his work, which left me orphaned. I stared down into the depths of the water. The familiar ache in my chest, pulling me down into the past, longing for the joy of those days.

“What happened here? It’s like they barely escaped before they flooded it. Did they even have time to pack before the dam was imploded?” Clarissa’s sorrow broke me away from drowning in my memories as we trudged amongst the muddy weeds further into the depths of the town.

We stumbled onto the submerged graveyard, with tombstones visible below the water. The wind intensified, whipping through the weeds along the shore like a banshee's wail. The sounds of the drowning souls calling to us.

“Come on, you two!” I demanded. I wanted to get this done. They were oblivious to the trauma I overcame after I left.

“Laura Hayes? Amelia, isn’t that your mother’s name?” Mark intruded into my thoughts. His flashlight beamed at the names visible on the waterline. They stopped and stared at me. Little did they know her bones did not rest here, just her name.

“Let’s go; if you want to see the mansion, we have to keep walking.” I blurted it out and moved towards the front of the group. I paid good money to bury those memories, now if they could only stay buried.

“Amelia, are you okay?” Clarissa whispered softly, not wanting to taunt Mark’s attention. “I’m fine. Some memories are better drowned than saved.” My words were brutal and cold in my mouth.

The old mansion stood, its grandeur reduced to a haunting silhouette against the moonlit. My gaze found its way from the familiar porch flanking the house to the widow's peak. My last happy memories in the walls of this broken-down house erupted with the flames of the crepes flambé Lola, my nanny made for me on my 9th birthday. Dad had sent me the ballet slippers from Paris that birthday.

The thoughts of my mother invaded me. The figure before me held out her hand, inviting me into the dancing shadows of the house. "Come, Amelia, let’s dance." The voice rang in my head. With each step towards the waterlogged porch, the memory sprang to life. She danced with me through the house that day. Her last day of happiness before the darkness took her over.

I had tried to save her from her demons through ballet lessons, wanting to recreate her career for her. How could a nine year old girl save her mother from drowning in the depths of depression? Dancing was was not enough. I was never enough. She loved her grief more than she loved me.

"Let's get back, I'm cold." I whispered.

As we returned to the campsite, the once-flickering campfire now reduced to embers cast shadows on the water. The memories, now awakened and dancing within my mind constricted in my chest. Mrs. Danvers sitting besides me, she hugged me tight as she told me my Dad would be coming to get me.

“Your mom..... a lost soul.....found her happiness in heaven with your baby brother.” her eyes were tear stained as she looked deep into mine when she spoke those words. The heaviness drowned me again. ‘Your Dad is coming to take you to live with him in New York.” She excitedly clapped her hands as she told me about all the ballets I would be able to attend and studios available for lessons. That was the last time I saw Mrs Danvers before they flooded the canyon. She never wrote, or called, after that she abondoned me the same as my mother had.

"I'm going home." I blurted out.

The lake, standing still and silent, held the secrets of a long-forgotten town; its submerged buildings and cemetery served as a watery memorial to my past. My worn ballet shoes were relics of my lost innocence, a tangible connection to the spirits lingering beneath the surface, their silent whispers carrying the weight of long ago.

"Some memories are better drowned than saved." I whispered into the air as I, walked away.