A sexy and dark twist on the classic tale, where Dorothy searches for the truth about her origins in the cursed, dark land of Oz, is coming in April from Nikki St. Crowe, and I have a little sneak peek for you. Get ready for tension, banter, and murder, not to mention a mysterious and charming scarecrow and an axe throwing ‘shadow daddy’ tinman!
Excerpt
Toto and I keep walking.
The cornfields persist and eventually my mind wanders, lulled into distraction by the unchanging landscape and the repetitive sound of my own tune.
I think of Edward.
I think of being his wife, a mother, a homemaker.
There is a sinking feeling in my chest.
My stomach hurts so I take a drink of water from the thermos I found in the house.
I keep whistling.
At the horizon, where the dark sky meets the dark line of trees, there is a flash of moonlight until it too is hidden behind the never-ending dark cloud overhead.
I may have to sleep in the cornfields after all.
I’ve just about resigned myself to this idea when I pass a scarecrow staked in a crop row.
Thankfully, the East End is determined to keep the lights on regardless of population. I haven’t spotted a house in hours, but with precise predictability, every twenty feet, a lamppost glows in the dark.
The light casts an eerie glow on the scarecrow making him look more man than stuffed effigy.
I slow my pace.
The scarecrow’s head is hung forward as if his body isn’t tied tightly enough to the pole.
Henry always tasked me with making scarecrows for the crop field. He said I was better at it than he was. He would give me several burlap sacks and one of his old flannels. To keep things interesting, I’d give the scarecrow a different face every year and I’d unveil the design in a sunset ceremony where Henry and Em were the only attendees.
Another pang of sadness hits me in the chest and I turn away as stinging wells in my eyes.
I’m going to make it home.
I’m going to find this wizard and he’ll tell me how to get there—
A groan pulls me to a stop.
I turn back to the scarecrow.
His head lulls and the movement sends a bead of blood spilling from his mouth.
“Oh my god.”
I drop my basket, scramble over the fence and race through the field, corn stalks whipping at my face. I shove them aside, parting them like a theater curtain.
“Help,” the man whispers, his voice wet and hoarse.
“I’m coming!” I shout.
Scarecrow
The sound of whistling brings me back to consciousness.
It’s a soft melody, part bird song, part work tune.
Everything hurts.
I jerk forward but the ropes binding my wrists hold fast. Another length of rope is wound around my waist, lashing me to a pole staked in the ground.
I’m in a cornfield in the Ends.
The whistling gets closer.
It takes too much effort to keep my head upright, so I let it lull forward, let the blood drip from my mouth.
“Help,” I croak, but the word comes out a rasp.
Closer.
Closer still.
The girl stops on the yellow brick road.
I shift just enough to show her there is life here.
“Oh my god,” she calls out.
The sound of her voice is more music than the whistling and it catches me off guard. My heart beat quickens.
I pull in a breath, ignore the ache in my ribs.
“Help,” I say again.
“I’m coming!” she shouts.
The cornstalks part for her like a tide.
She is a vision of light. Prettier than expected.
My heart thumps harder.
I look up at her and smile.
Copyright © 2026 by Nikki St. Crowe. Reprinted with permission of Tor Publishing Group.
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