The Ghost at the Dance

She Wasn’t Meant to Be Seen

The party throbbed—music spilling in gold and crimson waves, laughter colliding like clinking glasses. Couples spun past in dizzy orbits. And then—she was there.

Not in any obvious way. First, a flicker in the far corner. Then, gone. Then—there again, standing in a pool of shadow as if the light itself didn’t dare touch her.

Porcelain. That’s what she looked like. Delicate. Untouchable. Blonde curls piled loosely atop her head like a crown she’d forgotten she wore. Gray eyes fixed downward, hiding storms he couldn’t yet name. Her hands were clasped tightly—as though they alone kept her from unraveling.

She didn’t dance. She didn’t speak. She waited. And Max—he couldn’t look away.

A Name She Wouldn’t Give

He crossed the floor, weaving between bright dresses and polished shoes. The music’s pulse pushed against his chest. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe until he was there.

“Hello,” he said.

Nothing.

“I’m Max Halbrook.” He offered his hand.

She looked at it, then at him, then back at it. Finally, she touched it—lightly, carefully, like she feared it might break.

“What’s your name?”

Her voice was almost not a voice at all. “No one important.”

He smiled, unsure why her words felt like a door shutting. “Come on. What’s your name?”

The crowd surged around them. She stayed still. Then—unexpectedly—“Dance with me?”

The First Song

She moved as though her body wasn’t bound by weight or gravity, as though the floor beneath them might dissolve if they stepped too hard. Her eyes never left his.

He talked because silence felt dangerous. Stories about his family, his friends, the girl who was supposed to meet him tonight but never showed.

“She’s out of my league,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe she liked me.”

Her answer was soft. Too soft. “I like you. I think you seem very nice.”

It was nothing. And yet—somehow—it was everything.

One More Dance

The next song came—slow, aching, almost brittle. She rose.

“One more dance,” she said. “Then I have to go home.”

He laughed gently. “We’ve got all night. Or maybe—”

“One more dance.” Sharper now. Unmistakable finality.

He led her to the shadows. She rested her head against his chest. He tried to convince her to stay. She gave him only the sound of her breathing—steady, quiet, final.

When the last note faded, she didn’t step back.

“Please take me home,” she whispered.

Mary

I told him my name was Mary. I don’t remember my name anymore. I’m not sure I ever had one.

The ride was silent. The streets slid past in silvered fragments—changed and unchanged, familiar yet estranged. It had been almost a hundred years since she’d last seen them.

When he asked where she lived, she told him. The wheel trembled in his hands when the car stopped in front of the cemetery gates.

He told her to wait. Warned her about the night. But she had never feared the dark.

The gates opened. She stepped inside.

The Ones Who Take Me Home

The ones who take me home never see the real me.

They’re always the same—lonely, or lost, or desperate enough to follow.

I let them think they can keep me. I let them believe they might be the one.

But I’m always searching—for someone who can take me to my real home. Wherever that is.

So I call myself Mary.

Do you think… just maybe… you can take me home?

When the Song Ends

She could be anyone. The girl in the corner. The faded face in an old photograph. The shadow at the edge of a memory you never meant to keep.

She asks for one more dance.

And when the song ends—

She’s gone.