The Macabre Terror Of Boogie Night 79

Lori looked in the mirror, gave her hair one last fluff, and spun around twice. She thought to herself, “once for style, once for luck.” Tonight was going to be a night of glitter, glamour, and maybe a little trouble. She grabbed her gold clutch, the one that squeaked when it closed, and strutted out into the hallway. This would be the big party night before heading out to a Toronto suburb and her first nursing job.

Two of her nursing school partners-in-crime were waiting, Lynn in a sparkly halter top and platform shoes she could barely stand in, and Madison in a dress so short it might get mistaken for a wide belt.

The three of them exchanged conspiratorial grins. They’d survived three years of exams, cranky patients, passes from middle-aged balding doctors and coffee so strong it could dissolve a spoon. Now they were free for one glorious night, and they were about to take the disco by storm. It was 1979, and they were going to meet other students for a night to remember.

Somewhere in the distance, the bass thumped like a racing heartbeat, and for a split second, they froze. Was it just the music, or something else? Lynn shrugged. “Let’s find out,” she said, as they clattered toward the elevator, unaware of the chain of ridiculous, slightly dangerous, and utterly unforgettable events that were about to unfold. Once outside, they saw a van with a large reptile painted on the side bouncing down the road, music blaring.

A taxi soon dropped the three young ladies at the doors to “Galaxy Groove.” The lineup was light, and Billy Madison, a young intern and about the only person that they had met in the last year with any sort of class, waved to the girls. A large Hispanic doorman waved an arm, opened the chain, and the three ladies followed the intern into the starship-like doorway into the club. Disco balls were all over the place with various coloured lights shining on them, creating an interesting blend of light and showmanship. The unmistakable scent of beer, hairspray, cigarettes and hard liquor filled the air.

Inside, the dance floor was a glittering battlefield of men in wide-collared shirts and gold chains, women in satin jumpsuits, all moving as if John Travolta himself was judging from the shadows. The intern pointed them toward a table with a half dozen other graduating nursing students.

The three grads squeezed through the crowd, dodging a man attempting a very slow and very unfortunate split.

“Okay,” Madison shouted over the music, “let’s just dance until our heels fall off!”

“Too late for me,” Lynn replied, wobbling in her platforms. She reached the table and collapsed near Karen.

They had just started their first set of Saturday Night Fever–inspired moves when the mirror ball flickered and slowed, like a heartbeat skipping. The DJ’s record scratched—an actual needle-on-vinyl screech—and for a second, the place went quiet.

From the far corner, a tall figure in a white suit stepped forward, grinning far too much for comfort.

“Ladies,” he said in a voice so smooth it could butter toast, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Madison giggled as she leaned toward the others. “Do any of us know the Disco King?”

Lynn shook her head, eyes narrowing. “Either he’s about to offer us a record deal or steal our purses.”

Lori laughed as she sipped a glass of wine, “I think he wants to steal something else from you, Lynn.”

The bass kicked back in, louder than before, and the lights spun wildly. The mystery man extended his hand toward Lori.

“Care to dance?”

A cloaked figure appeared from the shadows near the DJ booth, stepping onto the dance floor as if the glittering lights had summoned him. His long, dark coat seemed out of place among the sequins and polyester—absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. There was something about the way he moved, was it danger, or was it arrogance? Later, when the police interviewed the witnesses, opinions split neatly down the middle. He drifted forward, parting the dancers without a word. The bass thumped, and his left arm swung suddenly, almost to the beat, sending his cap spinning over his right shoulder in a practiced, theatrical arc.

The record kept playing, but the dancers closest to him slowed, watching, their steps faltering as if they’d forgotten how to move. Lynn felt a cold thread wind its way down her spine. Madison whispered, “Please tell me this is part of the show.”

The cloaked man stopped at the center of the floor. His head tilted slightly toward the nursing grads just enough to make it clear he’d noticed them.

Then the mirror ball above them gave a slow, uneasy creak, somewhere in the shadows near the exit, a camera flash went off. The cloaked man’s gaze locked on Lori, the shimmer of the disco lights catching in his eyes in a way that made them seem far too deep, too knowing. Without a word, he extended his left hand toward her, palm slightly up, as if issuing an invitation or was it a summons.

Lori felt her breath hitch. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered Don’t, but her legs moved before she could think. It was as if the throb of the bass had wrapped around her like a rope, pulling her toward him. She breezed by the Disco King. The moment her fingers touched his, a shiver ran through her, half fear, half something else she couldn’t name.

Her would be dance partner, a grinning guy in a powder-blue suit, froze mid-step, staring as though he’d just seen someone step into traffic. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides for a beat… then, with a tight smile, he turned and began dancing with Karn, who barely noticed.

The cloaked man led Lori into the heart of the dance floor, weaving between couples like he owned the room. Around them, the dancers seemed to blur, the lights spinning faster, yet the two of them moved in perfect, slow sync. Somewhere above, the mirror ball’s creaking grew louder, and Marcy swore she saw a flicker of shadow move across the wall that didn’t match anyone in the crowd. Lori moved to the beat of the Village People, strangely attracted to this stranger’s dance moves.

The rest of the grads began to take notice that something was wrong. Lori never left the dance floor. She wasn’t laughing, wasn’t looking around, just staring into the stranger’s face as if the rest of the world had faded away. Madison danced past her twice, even brushed her shoulder once, but Lori didn’t blink. It was like her eyes were wired to him, her movements in sync with his in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

Thirty minutes later, the music had changed, the lights had shifted, and Lori and the stranger were gone. Her friends glanced around, their smiles faltering. Everyone fanned out across the floor to find their friend.

Billy Madison was the first to spot the partially darkened hallway near the back of the club. A single sign above it read:

PRIVATE.

The music dimmed in Billy’s mind as he stepped toward it.

Lori stood alone in the narrow, shadowed corridor. The throb of the music was distant now, muffled by the walls. The stranger’s face hovered close, too close, and the dim light caught in his pale blue eyes until the blue bled away into a terrible, glowing blood red. Her stomach dropped, and her survival instincts kicked in.

She took a step back, but his left hand snapped around her wrist like a steel trap. His grip tightened with every second, and her skin burned beneath his fingers. Panic rose in her throat, and she tried to scream but his lips were on hers before the sound escaped. The kiss was wrong. It wasn’t heat or passion, it was cold, stale, a taste of rot that made her want to gag. The texture of his mouth was rough, like sandpaper scraping her tongue, and there was grit in it that shifted like wet soil between her teeth. She tried to twist away, but his right hand clamped the back of her head, forcing her closer.

Billy burst into the hallway just as the man’s hands closed around Lori’s neck, lifting her off the floor. Her shoes dangled helplessly, toes scraping for balance. Billy was a healer, not a brawler, but he charged forward, grabbing the man from behind. They slammed into the wall, struggling in a violent tangle. Lori fell to the floor, moaning and gasping for air.

That’s when Billy, a trained medical professional, realized this strange man didn’t feel quite human. The muscles were wrong. Too dense. Too icy cold like death itself.

A moment later, the stranger lifted Billy clean off the floor, with his left hand, as though he weighed nothing. With a sharp twist, he flung the intern against the wall. The sickening thud was swallowed by the pounding bass from the dance floor. Before Billy could breathe, the man grabbed him with both hands and hurled him like a rag doll down the corridor. Billy tumbled out onto the edge of the dance floor, spinning under the strobing lights. The music stuttered as people turned, gasping. Madison saw him, pale and limp, and let out a piercing scream that cut through the DJ’s mix like a blade. She dropped to her knees beside him, shouting for help.

The Disco King with his six feet of polyester confidence rushed past her toward the hallway, followed by two other men from the crowd. They disappeared into the shadows.

Seconds later, the Disco King came flying backward out of the corridor, hitting the floor hard enough to send his gold chain skittering across the tiles. His face was bloody, and his right arm was broken. One of the other men staggered out next, clutching his shoulder, his face swollen like a losing prize fighter. The third would never reappear until a stretcher took his cold, lifeless body out.

From behind the bar, a tall man in a black shirt came running, James “Boom Boom” Lamar, the club’s retired boxer turned bouncer. His bartender friend followed but froze when he saw a crumpled body lying motionless halfway down the hallway.

Boom Boom kept going, every step echoing over the now-silent dance floor. He stopped only a few feet from the stranger, who stood perfectly still, a faint smile on his lips. Boom Boom didn’t waste time talking. He struck first with two lightning-fast blows, one to the stomach, one to the head. The crack of impact rang out, and under any other circumstances, it would have ended the fight. The stranger didn’t move. Boom Boom cocked his right arm for a third punch, but the stranger’s left hand shot out, impossibly quick, catching the blow mid-swing. The crack this time wasn’t from the punch it was from Boom Boom’s hand, bones crunching under the stranger’s grip.

Boom Boom roared in pain, clutching his crushed hand, but his eyes burned with fury.

“I’m going to bust you up!” he bellowed.

With the force of a charging bull, he slammed his shoulder into the stranger’s midsection, driving him hard against the wall. The impact rattled the thin panelling. Lamar snapped his head up, delivering a brutal forehead strike that would have dropped any ordinary man.

But the stranger didn’t fall.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway as more people rushed in. Then—click—a fluorescent light flickered to life above them. The narrow corridor was painted in streaks of crimson. Two bodies lay sprawled on the floor, one male, one female, both horribly still. The stranger’s lips curled into a slow, joyless grin. Then came a sound, a laugh, but not quite human. It was low, warped, and layered, as if two voices spoke at once. With a sudden twist, he tore himself from Boom Boom’s grip and spun toward the end of the hallway. His coat flared as he drove through the fire exit door, the steel crashing open against the brick wall. The night outside swallowed him in seconds.

Three or four people tried and failed to see where he disappeared to. The police would spend the rest of the night searching for someone who was suddenly quite invisible.

The party of a lifetime had turned into a night etched forever in the memory of the Nursing Grad Class of 1979.

The newspapers would later name it “The Disco Stranger Murders.”

But for those who were there… it was the night they learned that evil could smile, dance, and vanish without a puff of smoke.

Author's Notes

This is a short story of a Night at the Disco for a Graduating Class of Nurses. Thank you to the band, the Eagles, for the Song "Disco Strangler" that inspired this short story.

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Bruce Curle 2025