The Sundowner’s Dance: By the Moon’s Eye

If you know Todd Keisling, it’s probably because Devil’s Creek kicked your ass with its Stoker-nominated Southern-gothic insanity, turning religious trauma into a carnival ride from hell. That book was a goddamn sledgehammer wrapped in a sweaty revival tent. Since then, Keisling’s been screwing around with short stories and novellas, each one a love letter to shitty Americana, broken faith, and the cosmic rot festering under your grandma’s apple pie.

With The Sundowner’s Dance, Keisling switches lanes, taking a hard left into something quieter, creepier, and so sinister it’ll make your skin crawl like delusional parasitosis. This isn’t the explosive gore-fest of his past; it’s a slow, sadistic bleed, poking at the terror of getting old, being alone, and waking up in a place that feels like it’s flipping you the bird in all the wrong ways. It’s Keisling’s most human story yet, which makes the batshit, worm-infested insanity hit like a brick to the face.

Meet Jerry Campbell, a 73-year-old widower who’s retired, heartbroken, and about as lively as a stale bagel. He shuffles into Fairview Acres, a retirement community in the Poconos that promises peace, potlucks, and a chance to not die alone. But the neighborhood BBQs are weirdly intense, the HOA chairman is a pushy prick, and Jerry keeps hearing shit skittering across his roof at night. When Katherine Dunnally, a neighbor everyone writes off as a dementia case, stumbles over muttering, “The worms… they dance at nightfall,” Jerry realizes Fairview Acres isn’t just a social hellscape. It’s ancient, it’s fucked, and it’s got no intention of letting him knit in peace.

Under the body horror and eldritch what-the-hell-is-that vibes, Keisling’s got layers like a cursed onion. The Sundowner’s Dance is about:

Aging and Being a Lonely Bastard: Jerry’s not just old—he’s alone, and the horror comes as much from that soul-crushing isolation as from the creepy-crawlies in the walls. He’s an introvert who leaned on his wife to deal with the world’s bullshit. Without her, he’s screwed, and not in the fun way.
Grief That’ll Fuck You Up: The deeper Jerry digs into Fairview Acres’ secrets, the more it mirrors his spiral into grief that just won’t quit. There’s a gut-punch line where he thinks, “He hadn’t merely stood in her shadow. He was her shadow.” That’s the heart of this book—a dude trying to figure out who he is when the sun of his life’s gone dark.
Fear of Losing Your Damn Mind: The book plays with “sundowning”—that late-day confusion in dementia patients—like a cruel magician. Is Jerry paranoid, or is he the only one not drinking the Kool-Aid?
Conformity vs. Telling the HOA to Shove It: The HOA-as-cult starts as a hilarious jab at nosy neighbors and ends in full-on Midsommar nightmare fuel. “By the moon’s eye,” they chant, like a Nextdoor thread got possessed by Lovecraft’s drunk uncle.

Keisling’s prose is like a grandfather clock ticking toward your doom: classy, deliberate, and dripping with dread. He doesn’t rush the weird shit; he lets it marinate until you’re begging for mercy. The dialogue’s real, Jerry’s inner thoughts are a punch to the feels, and the whole thing reads like Stephen King’s Insomnia got freaky with The Stepford Wives. It’s half domestic tragedy, half surreal fever dream.

There’s dark humor, snarky asides, ironic eye-rolls, but it never cheapens the story’s weight. Keisling doesn’t exploit dementia or depression for shock value; he’s too classy for that shit. This is horror with balls and a heart.

Strengths

Characterization That’ll Wreck You: Jerry Campbell is a fantastic horror lead. He’s no Rambo, just a sad, achy old guy trying not to get eaten by something worse than his own regrets.
Emotional Gut-Kicks: The grief here is raw. You feel it in every damn line. The ending (no spoilers) is beautiful, brutal, and will leave you staring at the wall.
Cosmic Fuckery: When shit gets weird, it gets weird. There’s a ritual dance with eldritch worms that’ll make you swear off spaghetti forever.
Narrative Swagger: The slow burn’s worth it. It’s got that “you’re screwed and you know it” vibe that keeps you hooked, even when you want to nope out.

Critiques

Old Man Overload: There’s a bit of an overuse of “old”—“this old guy,” “just an old fart.” It’s on-theme, sure, but it can feel like a cartoon grandpa shtick.
Been There, Done That: If you’ve read Invasion of the Body Snatchers or The Lottery, some plot points will feel like old news. It’s not reinventing cosmic horror, just giving it a snazzy new coat.
Predictable Shit (Kinda): The mystery’s solid, but a few ritual twists are obvious if you’re not half-asleep. Still, the emotional ride’s so good, you won’t give a damn.

The Sundowner’s Dance is a weird, soul-crushingly sad cosmic horror novel masquerading as a literary sob-fest about grief. Keisling writes a love letter to aging, freedom, and love, then feeds it to the worms. This is a near-perfect storm of creepy vibes and emotional devastation. For fans of The Twilight Zone, Grady Hendrix, or horror that rips your heart out before the monsters show up.

TL;DR: The Sundowner’s Dance is like if Stephen King’s Insomnia got rewritten by Shirley Jackson after a bad acid trip at an AARP mixer. It’s tender, terrifying, and weirder than a three-eyed cat.

Recommended if: You want horror where grief’s the real bastard—until the worms crash the party.
Not recommended if: You think old folks should stick to bingo and leave the cosmic dance battles to the kids.