Beneath the Gypsy Moon©

Gypsy & Werewolf Stories, Sky at Dusk

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

A full moon hung high over the night corridor.

The screech of a barn owl could be heard in the distance and it eerily mingled with the metal chimes of the dancing gypsy.   

She had arrived alone this evening beneath a full moon that bore a misted halo and the promise of rain.  And there she danced before the small crowd of used car salesmen.

 "Da-lings, do you lof me?" she bayed, her voice dark and husky, once she'd stopped dancing.

Jones, the loud one who had been wolf-whistling during her entire performance reared back, clasped his large hands behind his head and eased out, "Yeah, baby. We lof ya!"

The small group of men mocked his comment with a laugh.

Jones continued, "So, here's the deal. Come down to the car lot this Saturday. We're going to attach car keys around your wiggly hips. Part of a promo thing. When ya dance, you'll jingle."  

He paused, then went on to explain, "One key will be the winning key that will open up a brand new car. And for $20, any bystander can pull a key from those dancing hips of yours."

The gypsy gazed at him, her thoughts concealed. After a space of silence, she inquired, "How much?  How much you give Greta for big performance?"

"I'd say twenty bucks should cover it," Jones wagered.

"Pig! Twenty bucks wouldn't buy a loofa!" Greta spat out, quite angrily.

Suddenly, the group of men knew exactly what she was thinking.  

She continued, "How dare you drag Greta out here - make me dance - make me think that I'll make big bucks so that I can bring my family here!"

"Well that's just too stinking bad," Jones wheeled out, rising to scream at her shocked face. "Your kind are a dime a dozen!"

"You'll be sorry, just wait!" she promised.

Jones rewarded her by backhanding her face, sending Greta spiraling onto the ground.

The others just sneered and laughed, no one coming to her defense. No one.

Suddenly, Greta was spewing an incantation from her lips, lifting her arms and popping her tiny metal symbols back and forth.

 The men continued to jeer, then halted as a howl pierced the air.

"What the devil was that?" Jones wanted to know.

The others mumbled and Greta eased out, "The Hounds of Hell, Mr. Jones have come to paw at your heels."

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