A Spanish woman is at the annual dance of her town. She's spent half the evening dancing and is resting for a moment against the wall. She watches the other dancers twirling and sweeping past on the floor. From among them steps a tall, dark-haired man who she's never seen before in her life. He saunters up to her with an easy confidence.
"Would you care to dance?" he asks, holding out his arm. The woman is tired, but for some reason she finds the offer difficult to resist. She takes the man's arm and allows him to lead her into the crowd.
Five minutes later the rhythm of the music is sundered by a scream. The dancer's grind to a halt and turn towards the source of the disturbance. It's the woman, and she's lying on the floor in a cold faint. Her partner is already pushing his way through the crowd towards the exit; he's gone in a flash before anyone can grab him.
Smelling salts are fetched and the woman is eventually roused to consciousness once more. She's deathly pale, and looks terrified. It's a long time before she can explain what happened, and when she does the listeners that surround her don't know whether or not to believe her. It was the handsome man, she tells them. They were dancing together, quite happily, when she happened to glance down. There, in the place where his legs should have been were a scrawny pair of chicken feet, thick horny claws and all.
The listeners withdraw in fear. This can mean only one thing; a man with the feet of a chicken can only be the devil.
No comments:
Post a Comment