Demon Dancer. Alexander Valdez
and I told him that it was in the bank of the riverbed just past the St. Mary’s street bridge.
Now I could sense the wheels starting to turn in ole pop’s brain. He then told me that seven or so years ago, coming home late one night, driving over the St. Mary’s bridge, he saw a man carrying something draped over his shoulder jump over the side of the bridge. That would be about a thirty-foot leap onto the sand. He promptly stopped the car and got out to look over the edge. There was a small amount of moonlight, just enough to see that there was nothing there. I pressed him on as he further recanted.
“I don’t care who you are. That high jump will break something,” he stated.
The next morning, he decided to go and give a look down in the sand for obvious prints that should be there. As he walked around the approximate spot where the person would have landed, he saw no interruptions in the sand, with the exception of hoofprints, which could have been from a deer. The vision always perplexed him until eventually, he gave it no more thought.
Now I asked him for specific details about what he saw and to give his first gut-feeling response to the question of who did it.
Dad was a pretty sharp fella who came over from Mexico as an orphan. Upon his arrival in this country, he determined the most important thing upon getting here was to master the King’s English.
He told his children, “If you can erase the Spanish accent, you will be taken seriously and have a better chance of melding right into the gringo’s society.” He did just that, and all his children did as well.
“Now what was it you saw that night? Were you drinking?” I asked.
Chapter 4
The Wedding and Him
With these new occurrences and the dead little girl, my father felt able to make assumptions of his own.
“First, I have to tell you a story of something that I witnessed firsthand back in Mexico forty years ago,” Dad said. He began to tell a tale that I thought was a stretch for a sober and sensible man. According to my father, he was about my age when he and his buddies went out to the country club one Saturday night. They would peer through the windows and pretend they were part of the festivities.
“That night’s dance was a celebration for the newlywed couple who graced the dance floor,” he said. “This country club dance hall sat atop a hill off to the side of the golf course, a bit remote, but still, it lit up like a mansion on the hill every Saturday night. As we hid in the bushes, a carriage pulled up, delivering a man that was completely dressed in black, dressed in a long black coat with tails that softly brushed the ground as he proceeded up the walkway to the hall entrance.
“If I ever wanted to look like somebody when I grew up, I was watching him now. He wore a beautiful black silk fedora, and he had the most perfect mustache and Vandyke beard any man would want. He approached the entrance and walked right into the midst of the crowd. We noticed how all the ladies seemed awestruck when he walked past them. The men couldn’t help but admire him with an envy that was obvious but kept in check.”
“Who was this fine caballero?”
“Nobody knew him, or at least had not made any advances or greetings of recognition. He was at this party, and he was the main attraction. It didn’t take long for him to select someone that caught his eye. It just so happened he fancied the newlywed bride, who was the most beautiful woman in the ballroom.”
My father was getting fidgety as he told the story. I knew it was dinnertime, and we would have to continue the tale after dinner. I just hoped I could coax him into it before his favorite mini-nap time. He would dent the old recliner after a meal with his portly frame, and all bets were off till after he got his snore on.
The next morning, as I rode off with my chums, I started telling them about my dad’s experience and the tale he was telling me. I had everybody’s attention as we all pedaled off together in a squadron formation. When we got to our brick pit diggings, we stopped and discussed what kind of adventure was scheduled for the day. We caught our breaths after our race to the pits, and I finished giving them the rest of my story. All my friends were now intent on getting more information. I assured them all that later in the evening, I would pester my pop for more details.
This tale opened a new can of worms for the crew. We looked across the river and through the tamarack trees at the old dance hall that has been a part of all our lives since we were able to start roaming the streets. We then toyed with the idea of returning to where we had found the corpse. Curiosity was really burning in our jeans but decided we would need to be careful, lest we ran into the hoodlums from the next barrio. The dance hall building now loomed before us in the distance. Well, for now, that’s another story.
Starting off toward the riverbed, we set our bikes down and ran down the bank and across the sandy bed to climb the other bank. We never had the occasion to go near the building because it had windows that were not friendly to prying eyes. They were seven feet off the ground and whitewashed over. There were no doorways or columns or anything that you could hide in or around. So it held no value to us, and as a result, we never bothered with it.
The reason the windows were intact and not busted out was simple. The owners, in their infinite wisdom, had all the rocks picked up and removed from around the perimeter of the building. That didn’t occur to any of us geniuses until I had a dream one night in my later teens. Go figure.
Chapter 5
The Ballroom
Patrolling the entire area around the dance hall was a new adventure for us, albeit a boring task. The four sides were flat blank walls rising up maybe thirty feet or so. We were kids, so everything was exaggerated until we grew into adulthood and really got a grasp of the proper perspective. For now, though, we were walking around the Lincoln Memorial, or so it seemed.
The west side of the building held the windows, and the south side had the entrance doors and ticket window. Not much to see at all. It was a big block of cheese sitting there. We stood at the entrance doors, each of us handling the thick chain and padlock that were securing the double doors. Maybe today would be the day that the lock would just plop open for us, and we could gain entrance. Each one of us, over the course of years, had occasion to jangle the chain as we passed the building on the way home from school. It would never open, of course. Why today would be any different is anyone’s guess.
The cars were whizzing by right next to us, and it seemed unusually that the street was so near to the doors. I guess the widening of the street came later, and they grabbed up any and all available space. Well, we all walked back around to the west side to see what we could make of the windows and how we would get inside. This was a thought none of us had ever had before, and like I said, this building was of no interest ever before. Now it had piqued our interest, and we were gonna go in for the kill.
It was evident that we needed a ladder to gain access. So off to our respective houses to gather the materials and tools for the job.
We were now a driven bunch, and nothing was going to stop us.
Nails, scrap lumber, and tools were gathered up for the next day’s project as we called it a day and went to our separate homes.
Chapter 6
Shadow Demons / Mayhem
Dad had arrived home from work now, and I paced behind him, quietly waiting for the time when I was sure he had wound down sufficiently from the day. Then I would get the information I needed to finish telling my friends in the morning.
“You have to finish telling me the story of the elegant man at the wedding dance,” I asked. He sat me down and began his tale of an event that would become a part of my life even into adulthood.
As my father spoke, I stared intently at his eyes for any hint of deceit or fabrication on his part. His eyes took on a look of trepidation as he spoke, and I have to admit, that gave me cause for concern, now believing everything he told