The Piper smiled and began to play. All around, the crowds laughed and shouted obscenities. A few small children picked up stones from the ground, hurling them at his tall body. Not once did the Piper flinch. An uneaten chicken drumstick hit the back of his cloak. A twig—the last remnants of a toffee apple—was thrown at his face, grazing the side of his cheek and leaving a sticky streak on his skin that glistened in the glow of the fires.

 

​Ignoring them, he shut his mind to everyone and everything. With the flute in his mouth, his fingers tripped over its body, and the sweet notes lifted into the warm breeze. Ignoring the increasing taunts, he played on, his tall body gently swaying to the sound.

​

Soon, the haunting melody of his flute filled the square, quietening everyone into silence. The crowd listened to the exquisite notes caressing their ears, softly murmuring dreams of faraway places, blue skies, deep oceans, and warm spring mornings. Notes stroked their senses with a magical touch, lulling them into a sense of safety, the rhythm surrounding them in a blanket of blissful calm.

​

Most villagers weren’t musicians; they could clap their hands and even sing. This tune was different. It seemed to have soaring depth, a lofty sense of height, and a light touch.

​

The music rippled, the sweet tones rising into the air like a dove on the wing, gliding around the crowd, filling their minds with its hypnotic rhythm and seducing them with its silvery song. Unconsciously, the villagers began swaying, tapping their feet, revelling in the music, losing themselves in its endearing mystical magic, unable to see the anger that blazed in the Piper’s eyes as he played on his instrument, using it like a soldier would use a weapon to defeat his enemies.

​

The golden notes of the music grew louder, filling the village with their heavenly sound and penetrating the homes of the inhabitants. Whispering in their ears, stroking their senses, kissing their thoughts and minds, they showed them visions of faraway places, of life without hardship.

​

As the sound reached the villagers who had stayed at home, they flung open their windows and doors to listen more intently. The music skipped on the breeze, weaving further and further into the village. It crept through cracks in the walls and under doors, filling every part of their homes. The music had a life of its own, and with every note, it grew bolder, stronger. It was more than a sound; it was hope, dreams, life.

​

Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement, accompanied by the clatter of hundreds of feet, and out into the streets danced the tiny figures of children. Their petite little feet pirouetted, skipping towards the melody maker, summoned by his music. Their faces glowed, enchanted.

​

From the north of the village, they came, followed by the south, west, and then the east—the boys and girls dancing their way to the Piper, moving as if in a deep slumber.

​

Some were wearing shoes, others had bare feet. Their faces were pale, their eyes soft and glazed. In their minds, they were in some magical dream, in an enchanted land where life was perfect. No hunger, no poverty, no sickness—just joy and happiness.

​

Horrified, the adults watched. Their bodies shut down, unable to do anything. But their minds were alert, terror creeping into every thought, fear growing with every beat of their hearts.

​

What was happening? Why were the children out on the streets?

​

The parents tried to move, tried to run towards their offspring, but something was wrong. Their bodies were held fast; nothing they did could break the enchantment. Slowly, the horror of the situation dawned.

Most of the adults were crying, panic and fear in their eyes. Helplessly, they looked on as their children made their way towards the Piper.

​

The children crowded around the minstrel. Those who couldn’t get near enough danced in the crowd, waiting for all their friends to join them. The older ones had brought along the younger ones, cradled in their arms. Every single child was eerily silent, the same glazed expression visible on every face.

​

When there were no more pattering feet coming towards him, the Piper slowly turned to face his young audience, giving them a warm, reassuring smile before turning towards the gates of the village and beginning to leisurely march out, never once taking his lips off the flute, never once stopping the hypnotic song. The children danced blindly behind, following him meekly, following him out of the village and into the darkness of the night, the music shrouding them in its caresses and promises. It caught on the soles of their feet, moving into their small bodies, murmuring magnetic commands and taking control of their movements.