Never Published Prologue to Shadow in the Woods!

Don't you love the outtakes at the end of movies? These are often bloopers, but not always. Sometimes I've wished that I could get a deeper look into an author's book. Maybe see their messy notes scrawled hurriedly before the first draft, or a glimpse at the scenes that were eventually cut from the manuscript. 

Here's your chance to get a sneak peek of a never before published part of Shadow in the Woods! This prologue was the first few pages written of the book, but at the encouragement of a writing friend and book expert, left out of the final manuscript. 

Ready? Here it is: 
SHADOW IN THE WOODS
Prologue
Old Times
“I am the storyteller,” the old woman said. Firelight flickered over the gnarled hands holding a twisted walking stick. Always the stories started the same way. With those four words. Words that sent shivers running up and down Greta’s skinny arms and legs.

The shadows danced on the old woman’s face. Her eyes were hollow sockets one second, glowed bright and shiny the next. Greta’s little brother drew close to her side. He sucked his finger which was stuck between wobbly teeth like a penny candy stick. The sound mixed with the snaps and cracks of the wood in the fire.

“A long time ago, many years before now, there lived a Shadow in the woods.” The old woman paused as the moon slid behind a blanket of clouds. “He was not a man. Not a beast. The Shadow just was.” Her breath accompanied these last words so that it was half word and half sigh. She looked away, into the woods, as though she could see this thing that she talked about.

Greta felt the same goose bumps that had danced on her arms and legs move up her back and wriggle along her neck. Far away a wolf howled.

The old woman was speaking again. “The Shadow was tall, taller than the tallest of men in our village. And he was dark, black as the night sky,” she swept a gnarled hand toward the stars above.

“He didn’t walk as we do. No,” her head wagged back and forth. “He moved like a spirit, like a ghost. That is why we called him the Shadow.

“Some people say that he is a man, forgotten by Time. Lost in a world that he does not understand.

“Others though,” the old woman takes her time, looking from Greta to her brother, then far out into the woods beyond. Greta’s heart banged against her ribs. Her little brother snuffled his face into her arm, clenching it hard with his small, hard hands.

“Others say that the Shadow is a monster.” The woman’s voice has dropped to a hoarse whisper. The children circling the fire bent forward to listen harder. “A monster that hides in the light of day and walks the woods at night. Watching. Always watching. And waiting.”

Waiting for what? Greta wanted to ask. Her lips felt like wood though, heavy and uncooperative.

The wolf howled again. Closer this time but still very far away. The keening cry was joined by another and then a third. Greta shivered and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Her little brother had started to cry, leaving a damp patch on her arm.

“He waits,” said the old woman, answering Greta’s unasked question. “He waits for you.” The storyteller’s knotted finger pointed to each of them, her eyes looked slowly from one to the other, pausing when she reached Greta. Or was it just her imagination?

“The Shadow is lonely.” Her gaze slides on.

Greta’s teeth ache and she realizes they are clamped together, hard.

The old woman’s voice is a mere whisper now, each word raising individual hairs along Greta’s neck. “He waits to take you with him.” ​