Dancing On Sunday

They were just a bunch of big stones, after all. Twelve of them, as tall as people, standing in a circle. So what was all the fuss about?

They were stones. They had always been stones.

Then I touched one.

And it was warm.

I patted it. It was rough, like Dad’s chin when he forgot to shave.

I took a step back and looked up at it.

 

And it was as if that stone was looking back. Winking at me over its shoulder.

I took out the camera Dad gave me last birthday. (Must have cost him a shed-load of money). I wanted to catch that winking look.

Read Like: Stones Can’t Dance

I went on taking pictures of the stones till Nan said it was time to go back.

“So what’s the story, Nan?” said Kelly,

While we were sat having our tea. “What were those people doing dancing up there, anyway? Why were they there?”

“Why not?” said Nan. And she told us the story. “It was a fine Saturday night. A full moon. And a fiddler was playing for them. Then, just before midnight, the fiddler stopped playing. ‘I’m not playing on a

Sunday,’ he said. ‘Not for dancing.’ Off he went, home to his bed and to church the next morning. They all stopped dancing and they thought the party was over. Then they heard the sound of another fiddle. One by one, they began to dance again. Once they’d begun, they found they couldn’t stop. Not till the church clock struck midnight.”

“That’s when they turned to stone?” I said.

“When the last stroke of midnight struck.” Nan nodded. “And it was Sunday morning.”

“But what’s wrong with dancing on a Sunday?” said Kelly.

“When I was your age,” said Nan,

“Sundays were a day off work so you could go to church. There were no shops open on Sundays. No sport. No kids playing in the street.”

“And no dancing?” I said.

“That’s right,” said Nan.

“Why did you put up with it?” said Kelly.

Nan gave a shrug. “It was just the way things were. I wasn’t afraid of being turned to stone! But that’s a very old story.

Hundreds of years ago maybe there were people who really did think that way.”

“Weird!” said Kelly.

That night I looked out of my bedroom window at the circle of stones on the hill.

I got the odd feeling that the stones were looking back at me.

I drew the curtains, climbed back into bed and hid myself deep down under the duvet.

I said to Mr. Frost next day, “Do you ever get the feeling the stones are watching you?”

“Not much else for them to do is there?” he said. “Only watch and wait.”

“What do you think they’re waiting for?”

I asked.

“They’re waiting to dance again.”

“But they’d have to turn back into people first,” I said.

“Wouldn’t it be great if they did dance again?” said Kelly, when I told her what Mr. Frost had said. “Wouldn’t it be great, Nan, if you could bring the stones back to life?”

“Would it?” said Nan. “Think about it.

How long do you think they’ve been standing out there in all weathers? Sun, frost, wind and rain. What does the weather do to stone?”

“It wears it away,” I said. “We did that in geography.”

“So how do you think they’d look now,” said Nan, “if they did come back to life?”

I thought about it. I thought of the stone that seemed to wink at me. It only seemed to wink because it had only got one eye. No nose, no ears, no hair, no mouth. Just one eye.

“They wouldn’t be human anymore,” I said. “They’d be monsters.”

“And how do you think they’d feel?” said Nan.

I knew how I’d feel. I’d be angry!