"Dancing to the Grave" Excerpt by Karen Wiesner

WOODCUTTER’S GRIM SERIES—Classic Tales of Horror Retold
by Karen Wiesner
978-1-60313-256-5 (trade paperback); 978-1-60313-257-2 (electronic)
Available now from Whiskey Creek Press
Purchase Link: http://www.angelfire.com/stars4/kswiesner/fiction6.html
For more information, to read excerpts, and for giveaways, visit Karen’s website: http://www.karenwiesner.com/

Award-winning author Karen Wiesner is the founder of Jewels of the Quill, an award-winning group of authors in all genres banded together to promote their books. The group also does anthologies together. Woodcutter’s Grim Series—Classic Tales of Horror Re-told is a compilation of the first two novellas in the series that Karen contributed to Jewels of the Quill anthologies, plus two bonus stories in the series never before published!

For the ten generations since the evil first came to Woodcutter’s Grim, the Guardians have sworn an oath to protect the town from the childhood horrors that lurk in the black woods. Without them, the town would be defenseless…and the terrors would escape to the world at large.

“Dancing to the Grave ”
Book 3
Romantic Horror
(Exclusive to this volume! Never before published!)

Loosely based on “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” The children of Woodcutter’s Grim are changing...and only one person, music teacher Diana Anders, realizes the truth. Can she and her husband, Kurt Jones, a member of the ancient lineage of the Protectorate’s Chosen Seven, save them and the future of their town?

Excerpt

© Karen Wiesner

October 14th…

This autumn day in Woodcutter’s Grim could only be considered perfect. Chilly, Diane Anders-Jones decided, but still warm enough for just a shawl wrapped securely around the torso. Colorful leaves in bright yellow and orange, russet and red, drifted lazily toward the ground. They produced a satisfying crackle under her shoes that put her in mind of long walks in the woods and Halloween. Like the town itself, both were picturesque and terrifying prospects.
Crisp and clean air, pollution-free. Another benefit of living away from the city. I could never live anywhere else again. Never.
With the string encircling her wrist, she swung the velvet case that held her rosewood fife, and walked south toward home on the sidewalk along the quiet residential street. Smiling, she contentedly waved to those out raking leaves and others passively enjoying the ideal Fall day from a rocking chair on the porch.
Diane had grown up in this small town. She knew everyone and, for the most part, liked them all, and she believed they felt the same about her. They’d wordlessly forgiven her one private indiscretion that had, somehow and not surprisingly, become fodder for town gossip—when it was the only thing worth talking about for more months than she’d appreciated.
“Missus Jones!” a small girl playing on the sidewalk in front of one of the houses called. Tansy Newman rose and rushed to her. At four, Tansy was already looking forward to starting kindergarten next year. When the child grabbed her hand, Diane followed along obediently. “Come see my pit-sirs, Missus Jones!” Tansy exclaimed.
Tansy had drawn Halloween ghosts and goblins in chalk on the sidewalk in front of the house. Her mother Rachel had gone to school with Diane’s oldest brother. She’d gotten pregnant when she was only fourteen and just last year finally divorced her abusive husband. “Hi, Di. How was school today?”
“Good. Some kids out sick.” Diane served as the music teacher at Woodcutter’s Grim’s Reece Public School, which housed the elementary, middle and high schools in one large, sprawling building.
She crouched before the chalk art. “Tansy, these are lovely. Did you do them all by yourself?”
Diane looked up. The vigoriously nodding little girl had a wide, nearly toothless smile. “And you’ve got the chalk to prove it,” Diane teased, wiping a bit of orange and black dust from her nose. She looked down at the pictures again. “You’ve making me eager for Halloween, Tansy. You’ve got ghosts, skeletons, pumpkins… What are those?”
“Rats,” Tansy said as if rats were a normal part of the holiday.
Diane glanced up at Rachel, who shook her head and said, “Don’t ask me.”
“Rats, huh?” Speaking of which, she hoped Kurt had caught the one that’d been making her allergic for the last few days…
Diane stood and tugged gently on Tansy’s braid. “You’re still coming to my Halloween bash, right?”
“Are you kidding?” Rachel said while Tansy jumped up and down in excitement. “It’s all the kids in Woodcutter’s talk about in October. Tansy and Van will be there.”
Van was Tansy's brother, a freshman in high school. From preschoolers all the way up to high school, the kids in town attended Diane and her husband’s annual Halloween lock-in.
Diane continued down the street, only a few blocks from home now. Up ahead, on the opposite side of the road, she saw Maggie Moore getting her mail. Maggie turned, rounded with eight months of pregnant belly. She saw Diane and waved.
Diane crossed the street to her. “How’s Alvin? I didn’t see him in school today.”
Maggie nodded, looking a little worried and run-down. “He has a fever. No other symptoms, but the fever got pretty high this morning.”
“Hmm. Seems like something’s going around. A lot of other kids were out today, too,” Diane murmured sympathetic. “Well, I hope he’s all better tomorrow, hon. You tell Jim to help you when he gets home. Sher and Dee can pitch in for the night, too. You look like you and the baby could use a nap.”
“Sure could. Thanks, Di.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Maggie squeezed the hand Diane offered her and instantly seemed less tired afterward. She went in the house with her mail.
Diane got back on the sidewalk, remembering what she’d tried not to—and failed—all day. Kurt worked the graveyard shift tonight. She hated being alone at night. Especially since…
A fluttery clutching feeling filled her chest. God, why did she have these panic attacks whenever she neared home? When would they stop? It’d been six months.
Even as she fought it, the scent of overbearing, heavy perfume filled her nostrils. The picture of high, spiked heels in the hall leading to the staircase knifed its way into her memory. A trail of clothing had led the way up the stairs. The blazer of a high-powered, expensive business suit, the skirt, gauzy white blouse, lacy push-up bra… The bedroom door had been opened. That soft, desperate feminine voice had drifted out. “She’s cheating on you, Kurt. Everyone knows it.”
Cheating on you…so why shouldn’t you cheat on her—with me?
No.
Diane closed her eyes, her step slowing as she tried to force the memory out.
I’m too fragile. We’re too fragile. I don’t want to go through what we did ever again. Things are so good now. So why do I have to keep dwelling on what happened, what I can’t change, what I can’t avoid thinking about, especially when I get close to the house, like I did the day I came to believe Kurt didn’t love me anymore…
A familiar chirping sound made her eyes fly open. Ahead a block, she saw her cat Bast sitting on the porch waiting for her the way it did every day. The images and bitter recollections assailing Diane dissolved in an instant, just as they always seemed to when she saw Bast, looking like a proud goddess of Egypt, on the step. Her oldest brother had given her the cat after she and Kurt got back together, saying that it would protect and heal her. Whatever that meant. At times, Mick didn’t make a lot of sense, but, like he said Bast would, Mick had watched out for her and protected her since she was a child.
The realization that Kurt loved her, he waited for her at home, sent a cleansing wash of happiness throughout her being. Kurt loved her. She couldn’t wait to see him and be in his arms once more. She’d loved him all her life, even before he noticed her as anything but her oldest brother’s best friend.
And I’ll love him to the grave. We’ll never be apart again.
Diane looked up at the house she’d fallen in love with from the first time Kurt showed it to her. The massive Gothic Revival had been left to him by his beloved grandfather when Kurt was far too young to be without the man he considered closer than a father. With a steeply pitched roof, cross-gabled, decorated vergeboards, pointed arch, stained glass windows, and the Gothic window above the entry veranda and the Gothic style-bay window overlooking the street from the dining area, it was a house that would always need work done by hand, considering the asymmetrical and unpredictable floor plan inside.
When they’d gotten back together earlier this year, Kurt had decided to re-design the master bedroom suite they’d never used before—Kurt had a hard time imagining himself sleeping in the same place his grandparents occupied for so many years. He’d turned the bayed sitting area with a ten-foot ceiling into a unique music area for her, put in a sumptuous skylight in the bathroom, a Jacuzzi tub for two, and a huge L-shaped walk-in closet. What she loved most about their new suite was the bed that his grandparents had shared. Constructed of rare Brazilian rosewood, poplar and pine, the carvings exquisitely embodied the classic features of Gothic Revivalism with an intricate high-backed headboard and skillfully crafted posts that incorporated Gothic vaulted arches and signature symmetrical design. Kurt had lovingly restored it a month ago. Now he was hard at work on a balcony right outside their bedroom, where they could sit before dark and view the fragrant garden and fruit trees below.
Everything would be different this time, he’d promised. And he’d done everything he could to make it so.
Diane reached the porch and Bast lifted gooseberry-green eyes, chirping in welcome. The Smoke Mau affectionately rubbed her silky head under Diane’s chin when picked up. The strong scent of exotic perfume rose from her well-groomed fur. “Have you been in my perfume again, goddess?” Diane asked. Bast chirped again.
The front door stood open. Through the screen door, Diane heard noises from the kitchen. She went inside, carrying her cat, tote and fife, to find her husband kneeling before the cupboard under the sink. He wore gloves and swept something into a dustpan. When he rose, she saw a dead rat caught in a trap on the steel pan. She let out an “Ugh” while Bast growled at the dead rodent.
“Guess you weren’t imagining a rat in the house,” Kurt said, dumping the rat and trap together into the trashcan. He immediately gathered the bag and took it out.

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Karen
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