There was only such a little space between the time the sleepers fell asleep and the time they began to dream in earnest, and it was only that space that began to the lovers. Once the dream began, the time for their pleasure was over. It was time to go to work.

She goes to the box and picks it up. She starts to open it when she notices the key in its side. There is no reason to think that a music box would work after being left lying out in the woods… in fact, that was probably why it had been left there, she thinks… but on the other hand it seems to be in good condition, and if it does work it seems like it would almost be a crime to not wind it before opening.

So she does so, and when she opens it she is not at all surprised to see the tiny, perfect figure of a ballerina.

With slow, graceful moves that gave no hint of mechanical origin, tiny ballerina raises her arms above her head and goes into a perfect plie. She curtsies to the the little girl… or straight ahead, the girl realizes, then makes a quarter-turn to each side and repeats the motion. Tiny tinkling chimes begin to play as the little figure’s hands go behind her back, and pull out a pair of cymbals.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

The girl shrieks, her eyes closing as if to shut out the loud and terrible sound. When they open, the cymblas are gone, and the ballerina is reaching behind her back again.

This time she pulls out a gun.

The music box is still there in the woods.

I fear it has started again. Despite all of my precautions, depite the traps and the presence of my faithful cats, it has begun. The protestations of my friend the captain as to impossibility of the testimony of my senses notwithstanding, the facts are irrefutable. The sound in the walls, the mad frenzied scrabbling beneath the surface of the solid-seeming limestone, is only the prelude, the first herald of my nightly torment.

They tell me that I am distracted, that my mind plays tricks on me. This they say to my face. Behind my back, I am sure that they call me mad. I would swear to the Holy Virgin that I am as sane as I was when first I moved to my ancestral home, insofar as I am able to recognize insanity when I see it. What follows each night as once-still curtains sway in sudden draughts and ancient tapestries writhe with the multitude of scurrying, skittering, chittering bodies boiling out of the walls behind them is nothing less than the very distilled essence of madness itself.

Am I mad? I, who have faced this terrible sight thrice thus far? I who alone have stood as mute witness to this secret horror of rhythmic rodentia? No doubt my nerves have suffered somewhat from the ongoing ordeal, but I defy any of my supposed friends or my innumerable enemies to remain as calm, as steady, as resolutely sane as I am when they see the hamsters come out to dance.

Da da di da di do do…

“I’m not that kind of magic fish,” the fish said, wriggling in the net. “But I can dance… I can dance right across the surface of the water. If you let me go, I’ll give you a performance that you’ll never see the like of again.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” the man said.

“Why not?” the fish asked. “I’m talking, aren’t I? That’s pretty clearly magical.”

“I don’t see the connection between being a ‘magical talking animal’ and a ‘magical dancing’ one,” the man said. “Plus, if I dump you out of the net then you’re already free whether you dance or not. You know? I think I’ll take you home and let you show me what you can do there.”

“And then you’ll let me go?” the fish asked.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’ll still be hungry then,” the man said, and he dumped the net out into his bucket.

I told him that I enjoyed moving in the same general vicinity as music. It seemed like the more honest response. Not knowing how to dance is not the the same thing as not liking it, of course… no more than asking someone if they like to dance is the same as asking them if they would like to dance.

None of this directly relates to the dance that we’ve been doing with each other, though it may yet one day all come to bear some magical night when there is music and he is there and I am there and we both feel like moving closer together.

Yes, I like to dance.

Yes, I’d like to dance.

Yes, I’d like this dance.

What a big difference a little difference can make.

On we dance.