The Festival - finish the story competition

The Festival

The contest introduction:

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In the eyes of the couple, the slate-paved street of the village revealed a cornucopia of crafts, sweets and jubilant peasants. Along the noisy main street, colourful festoons hung from the balconies of typical mountain houses, made of solid stone and original woodwork. The buildings themselves, due to the abundance of decorations, seemed to curve over the long snake of stalls.
There had been an imperceptible moment of silence when the two had laid their feet on the dark pavement of the village, nothing but a quick counterpoint to underline the next wave of noise of the festival in its full becoming.
It had been enough to turn left on the path between the conifers marked by the navigator and their journey had moulted with grey scales now transformed into coloured harlequin’s diamonds.
"Fasnachat". That bizarre writing on a shaky sign had tickled their imagination.
"If Google had reported this village party we could have left two hours earlier." At her voice’s sound, Ben instinctively thought of two Dolce & Gabbana sneakers on the 100 meters starting blocks.
"A break cannot hurt us, but let's not forget about our timetable," he replied, not without a trail of scepticism in his voice.
Ben's senses captured fragrances, widened eyes and inebriated laughter. That joy was as disruptive as it was contagious.
"We do not need to remind ourselves of what it means being late for Grandma Maude's birthday dinner," he said, turning to his wife, whose hand was already wriggling from his, ready to compulsively stuff the car with the many bits and bobs offered by the fair.
Debated between the growing curiosity and the thought of his father-in-law blaming him for the delay, Ben had not even noticed that he had already lost sight of Joelle.
Like a pebble escaping the river’s current, the flow of the crowd had carried him in the middle of a small square dominated by a soaring wooden stage. An acute, strangely cacophonous, chant of stringed instruments enlivened a typical traditional group dance, where couples slapped each other’s feet and bodies.
Under the ever more pounding rhythm of the dance, among almost hypnotized and swaying villagers, his eyes increasingly focused on the show.
For a moment, he thought he saw Joelle surrounded by villagers who invited her to eat something viscidly black. The substance seemed to smear the white aprons and faces of the women, perhaps even that of Joelle who had joined them in a wild chortle. She seemed so lighthearted and it felt good. There was one thing Ben could not remember and squatted in the back of his head, but maybe it wasn’t that important.
He returned to plunge into the dance: it was simply wonderful. He felt he could not miss a movement, not even a note. He smiled at the villagers as a strange heat flared up inside him. An empty and collective smile painted back on the villagers’ gaunt faces.
In a frayed embryo of thought, Ben recorded the distant verses of Joelle, who, strangely, had fused together in a long animal bleating.

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My Entry:

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A hand reached out and clapped Ben on the shoulder, awakening his senses. He looked around for the owner, a man with a charming smile. Joelle would find this one attractive.
The man maneuvered Ben like a child playing with a toy, his smile never wavering.

Ben looked around once more for his wife but the man's grip held firm and pointed his attention to a stall. Shot glasses filled the table, each with an array of colourful liqueur.

“A tipple good Sir.”

The man's voice, like silk, encaptured Ben's thoughts.

Something tugged in the back of Ben's mind. His skin prickled with heat despite the cold wind.

The music played on behind him. The dancers in time with the beat. An animal shrieking with fear.

“Just a taste.”

The man held a glass of honey coloured liquid up to Ben's lips.

The man's eyes changed for a moment, long enough for Ben to see. He pushed the offered hand away from him, shattering the glass as it hit the floor.

The spell encompassing his mind was lifted for a moment. The music no longer sounding harmonious, the aromas no longer sweet and the man no longer smiling.

Ben turned and ran, his fear challenging his already trained legs into a sprint. He headed in the direction he last saw Joelle. The crowd began to swarm causing him to push and kick his way through.

“Joelle?”

His voice sounded wrong to his own ears.
He saw the stall Joelle had been at, the women still cackling with tears in their eyes. By their feet stood a goat bleating up at them.

“Where is the woman who was here?”

He asks the three women hastily.

They laugh again, their faces changing from old to young.

The goat nudges his leg, still making a sound like a baby.

“Joelle?”

His eyes widen with terror.

“What have you done to her?”

He asks the women who now look in their twenties.

The one nearest to him leans closer to his face.

“You should never eat or drink in the land of the fairies.”

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This was a really interesting story introduction. My mind immediately went to fairies so here we are.

You can find the contest rules here

Image from pixabay