This is a true life story.
• Year: 1518
• Country: France
• State/Region: Alsace Region
• Place: Strasbourg
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I was returning from the market when I saw Frau Troffea------ a widow who lived near the Tanner's Quarter------- standing barefoot in the street.
Her feet were slapping against the cobblestones, and her arms were jerking about wildly.
At first, I thought she was mocking a minstrel tune that played nearby but... there was no music coming from anywhere.
Everywhere was quiet safe for the wet slapping sound of her feet and the faint rasp of her breathing.
"Frau Troffea?" I called.
But she didn't answer me.
Instead her eyes rolled into the back of her, causing me to gasp at the absurdity of it.
I didn't know what to do; I didn't reach to stop her, but I also didn't try to call for help.
... And she kept moving, spinning, jerking and even trembling.
A few men began walking by, and they too saw her dancing to a soundless music.
They stared at her in puzzlement for a while, but instead of helping her, they laughed.
"She's possessed!" I heard one of them say.
Perhaps they said more, I'm not sure; I left for home.
The next morning, when my father sent me out to get bread from the baker downtown and I saw Frau Troffea again, I gasped.
She was still dancing.
Her feet were bleeding, she was foaming at the mouth, and her dress was soaked through with sweat.
A large crowd had gathered around her, although no one dared to go too close to her again.
"She's a witch," the adults muttered around me.
"Yes she must be, if not tell me why the prosecutors joined her in dancing this morning when they went to arrest her."
Many gasped, even I.
It was then that I saw the chief prosecutor, who was the one in charge of capturing witches in the town, dancing alongside Frau Troffea and along with...
One, two, three... five... eight...
Twelve more people have joined her in dancing.
"Swueeee! I spit in her face! She has enchanted them." A man with a belt over his large belly said.
"I always knew she was a witch. Why else did her husband die few months after marrying her?"
I shifted backwards nervously when they said that, I didn't believe Frau Troffea was a witch, but I was scared nonetheless.
What would make people dance nonstop?
Looking at the people dancing was like watching a fever spread through the town square.
They danced with no joy on their face; instead they looked like they were in pain.
Their faces were twisted in agony, their mouths parted open as their limbs and arms moved vigorously.
Now that I looked more closely, I saw that their feet were blistered and bleeding just like Frau Troffea's feet.
I watched their bodies convulsed, and yet they kept on dancing.
Fear made me pull apart from the watching crowd to find the baker at his shop.
When I got there, I didn't see him.
Instead I saw his wife arranging the freshly baked morning bread in stacks.
"Margaret," She called with a smile upon seeing me.
"Good morning Mrs baker," I greeted.
"Morning. Did you enjoy your birthday yesterday?"
"I did, thank you for the cake."
She rolled her eyes and waved her hand at me, "Oh please. That was nothing. Do you need bread today?"
"Yes please."
"Come on in then," She told me gesturing inside her shop with her head.
I thinned my lips at that, giving her a regretful smile.
"... Sorry I can't, Father will be angry if I stay too long. I already spent quite some time at the town square." I added with my head bent.
"Arhh, you mean those people dancing with Frau Troffea. What's happening to them exactly?" she whispered.
"I don't know," I said.
"Some people are saying it's witchcraft."
Mrs baker scoffed. "Frau would never taint herself to be a witch."
Then she handed me the bread and looked at me sternly in the eyes. "Do not busy yourself with such gossip, you hear me?"
"Yes Mrs baker."
She nodded, " Good. And in the mean time, stay away from anyone you see dancing. Lord knows what is truly going on with those lot."
I thanked her for the advice, however just as I was about to leave, a young man collapsed near us.
He tried to crawl away, but his legs jerked on their own, thrashing against the dirt.
"Make it stop!" he begged, sobbing.
"God help me! Please!"
Then he rose again, his body trembling as he resumed dancing.
Suddenly he tried to grab me, but Mrs baker pushed me out of the way, and in the corner of my eyes I saw him grip on to her, begging for help.
"Go. Go home Margaret!" She yelled to me.
Getting up to my feet I picked up my bread and began to run home.
On my way, many were dancing towards me, and I had to leave their path entirely to avoid being trampled on.
Finally I got home, and pushed the door open.
"Father, I'm back."
However father didn't answer me.
Quietly I walk towards the table and drop the basket of bread down on it.
"Father," I call again, then pause when I hear the back door open.
Turning around the house, I step out just in time to see my father's form... dancing.
"Fa... Father."
I gasped.
My father was dancing in the same uncontrollable way the others were dancing at the town square.
Clutching the corners of the door knob, I tried to stop. "Father, father come back."
However he didn't answer me and just kept... dancing away from our house.
Confused, I ran back into our house, tossed the shoes I was wearing for some slippers and ran as fast as I could outside.
I didn't stop until I got to the only person I could turn to; Mrs baker.
But when I got there, I screamed.
She was dancing too.
Outside I was crying and I didn't even know why.
Dancing wasn't a bad thing right?
So why did it seem so bad?
I had no answers for myself and no one to comfort me, so I went back home.
Half way there, I met my father dancing towards the town square.
He didn't even seem to notice me, being only focused on dancing.
Watching him move away, I began walking behind him.
There was no one else for me to go to and I was already missing my father, so instead of heading home, I decided to follow him wherever he went.
On and on we walked; I walked, and he danced.
And I worried about his broken knee, especially each time he jumped.
The journey to the town square was far, but by the time we'd reached there, the towns priests were there.
"This is a divine punishment!!"
"Pray to our lord for forgiveness!!"
They said prayers with words---- that I didn't fully understand------ on all that were dancing.
... but the dancing only grew.
By the third day since Frau Troffea started dancing, there were nearly fifty people in total that had joined her.
The city's musicians were ordered to play drums because the priests believed that the only cure was to let the dancers 'dance affliction out.'
So drums and fiddles filled the air, the sounds echoing through the narrow streets.
But instead of sounding joyous, it only filled me with much dread.
My father's knees were broken now, he broke them around midnight while doing a twirl and a leap dance in the air.
I know because I was awake when it happened.
I hadn't slept since I began following my father.
Tears were streaming down my face silently as everyone danced.
Mrs baker, Mr baker and several others were all around me dancing, and they were all in bloody conditions
But my eyes stayed fixed on my father; even now with his broken knees and the bones poking out from his flesh, he was still dancing.
... Still twirling, still jumping, still moving in rhythm to a song no one could hear.
I placed both of my hands on my ears, blocking my ears from hearing the groans and cries of pain around me.
I wanted to shut my eyes to keep them from looking at my father, from seeing the state he was in which only got worse the more he moved.
... But I couldn't.
... Just like how I couldn't stop moving my legs.
Yes, I'd also began to dance.
My legs ached, my feet were dirty and my mind was scattered without thoughts, only pain.
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Days turned into weeks, and the number of dancers swelled to hundreds.
The streets reeked of sweat and blood, and nearly all the cobblestones in the townsquare were slick from the soles of our numerous pairs of torn feet.
That was how many we'd become; almost all of the town were now afflicted with dancing.
The bishop had declared it to be the work of Saint Vitus, the patron saint of dance, and had ordered the afflicted to be sprayed with holy water.
Why our skin bled when it touched us, i don't know, but I know it only made us dance faster.
I whimpered, I wanted to stop and wanted to fall to the ground but my body had a mind of its own and wouldn't let me.
My muscles were burning, my lungs were searing in anguish and I could feel more blood seeping out from the soles of my feet, yet still I danced.
I do not know how long we'd been dancing, or how many days I'd been now, but everyone was beginning to fall to the group, finally.
I also don't know when I fell down to the floor as well, but when I woke among them, my body was sore and I was missing all of the soles of my feet, and-----
... I wasn't dancing.
My cheeks spread as my lips pulled up in a small weak smile.
Finally.
I couldn't move my legs, but I found I could move my head, so I turned to see people laying all around me with their face contoured in pain and their eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets, thick red veins dancing all over their eyeballs and the corner of their eyes.
I opened my mouth to gasp, but only a small sound come out.
Death didn't happen so much in my town, but I knew... they were dead.
Then I turned my head in search of my father, finding him looking just like the others.
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It took months for the city to recover; they buried the dead in mass graves and burned the town square to cleanse it.
Only a few tens of us survived dancing.
I'd been taken in by a kind couple and they've been good to me.
But...
I miss my dad.
I didn't even get to see him because I'd slept for four days straight, so by the time I'd awoken, he'd already been buried.
I try not to think about what happened but it's hard with people talking about it all the time.
Sometimes, I dream of it, and each time I'd get up from a chair...
... Each morning when I wake up and take my feet off the bed to place on the floor...
I'd always feel my body sway, slightly…
The doctor called it something; 'muscle memory'.
I don't know what that means, but I don't ever want to dance again.
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The Dancing Plague of 1518 was a real historical event that occurred in Strasbourg, France.
It was a phenomenal the people then called; La malédiction des danseurs (the curse of the dancers).
Over the course of weeks, hundreds of people reportedly danced uncontrollably, and many died from exhaustion, heart attacks, and strokes.
Till this day, the true cause remains a mystery.
... But there's been several theories of what might have caused it, like mass hysteria and ergot poisoning from contaminated rye.
However some historians insist that something supernatural drove the people to dance themselves... to death.