A/N: Even if you haven't read Ratastrophe Catastrophe, I hope you enjoy this fic. It focuses on the three village girls who follow Diek (the Pied Piper), before he ends up going completely berserk. What we know of these girls can be found in just a few short lines in Chapter 3 and that's not very much. We don't know which of the three are related, we have no idea of their ages, nor their home lives. This fic intends to shed more light on them and on the pull of Diek.

Father had us go out to do what we did every day: collect the eggs from the chickens, milk the cows and tend the sheep. Life was fine in our village of Little Irksome, but only if you stayed in Little Irksome. Just Southwest was Dullitch, a town run by inept, corrupt politicians and overwhelmed by bandits, rouges and really, really stupid thieves (you know type – the ones who knock before entering). Yep, our lives were just fine as long as you played by the rules: stay dumb and don't ask questions.

We were good little girls, my sister Tadrai and I, right and properly dumb, just as was expected of us. Our friend Dreena was equally imbecilic too. Yes sir, we were the pride of the village.

Of course, we had our moments. Why just yesterday, sweet Tadrai chopped off Lidra's hair – it was really too pretty for her anyway. Dreena was famous for sticking bugs into pies before baking and, why, not even three weeks ago, we all took a heaping pile of fresh, ripe, stinking cow poop and dumped it on the head of Diek Wustapha.

What a weirdo he is. He has this stupid Barrowbird that always says the rudest things! Why would anyone keep something so crass around? We'd just had enough of him and his moaning and his bird and his totally undignified poverty. Blah. I mean, we're not that rich, but at least we're not that poor. Now that I think of it, he should reallt count himself lucky, most boys would kill to have our full attention like that.

Right in the middle of my musings of our generosities, the sweetest music crawled into my ears.

"Trist, do you hear that sound?"

Of course I did, we all did. A melodic beat jumped it's way from tree to tree until it reached our hearts. Nothing else mattered then. Dropping everything, we ran blindly towards the music. Imagine our shock to discover that the person making the music was none other than Diek Wustapha!

Ye god, how did this happen? Too enthralled to be put off by his stink of poorness, we marched behind him, keeping time with our steps. When he stopped, we stopped. The longer we were with him, the more beautiful he and his music became. When his song died, we begged for more.

"Play. Won't you play? Won't you, Diek? Play."

And he did. He played and we followed. We followed him through the woods, over bridges and into town. We followed him all day until finally -

"Diek! Diek, lad!"

Oh foot! The flute is put down as Diek rushes home to the voice of his father. We collapse in broken, sad heaps on the ground. Useless without his music, we return home sobbing with bowed heads. We agree to be better little girls because, maybe if we're nice tomorrow, he'll come back.

A/N – Of course at the end of the book Diek, now the Pied Piper, ends up taking thousands of children away from their homes with his music.