𝑀𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁 𝒥𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈𝑜𝓃

The studio was almost empty the day after recording Thriller. Only the distant sounds of people packing up equipment could be heard, and the yellow stage lights were still on.

Michael Jackson was sitting on the edge of the stage tapping his foot to the rhythm of an imaginary song while twirling a red jacket in his hands.

"You're still thinking about last night, aren't you?" she says with a small smile.

You look at him with your arms crossed.

—Because zombies literally appeared, Michael.

He laughs softly.

—Well… technically they were actors.

-"Technically".

Michael suddenly stands up and points at you, amused.

—Okay, come here. I'm going to teach you the choreography for Thriller. But don't laugh if I dance weird.

—YOU dancing weird would be the real terror.

He makes a fake offended expression.

—That hurt.

Michael walks to the center of the studio and begins to slowly demonstrate some steps to show you.

—Look. First you do this… then you turn… and then your hand like this—

You try to copy him but almost lose your balance and he laughs.

—No, no, wait— like that.

He comes up behind you to adjust your arms while trying not to laugh anymore.

—Okay… now the zombie step.

—This is humiliating.

—It's art

Suddenly…

The studio lights are flickering.

The two of them remain still.

And without anyone touching anything…

The music from Thriller starts playing on its own from the studio speakers.

“…Cause this is thriller…”

You look around, confused.

—Michael…

He slowly stops smiling.

Because the sound console is off.