Spooky: The Sixth Day of Spooky
Oct. 31st, 2011 06:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lady_branwynThe official "Six Days of Spooky" over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spooky_arda is on hiatus this year, so this is an unofficial effort.
Title: No title yet
Rating: G
Source: LOTR
Characters: OCs (hobbits and Men)
He jumped again at a scratching sound from the hole. Something was burrowing in the dirt. Too loud for a vole or rat. A badger perhaps? Or even, he thought uneasily, a wolf drawn by the scent of carrion. Wolves had been seen in the Shire in recent days. They rarely attacked Men or Halflings, but he would make easy prey, crippled and alone. They rarely attacked unless they were very hungry. And in spite of himself, he remembered the gravedigger’s words—There’s nothing hungrier than a dead hobbit. “Old fool,” he muttered. “Trying to scare me with fireside tales.” He slowly dragged himself toward the graveyard gate, taking care not to overturn the lantern as he moved it.
Behind him, the frantic digging had stopped. He looked over his shoulder, straining to see in the darkness. The graveyard was empty and silent save for the wind. There was nothing but the black rows of markers and the swaying shadows of flowers. Nothing followed him across the grass. In spite of himself, Brandin gave a sigh of relief. “You’re as bad as that gravedigger,” he told himself as he turned away. Then he stopped as a flicker of light caught his eye. A dim form was crouched in the grass, not ten yards away. It sat beyond the reach of the lantern, but its eyes glinted faintly in the darkness.
“Who goes there?” he shouted as boldly as he could, hoping to frighten it away. It didn’t move, so he searched the ground for a stone. When he couldn’t find one, he threw a boot instead, sending it sailing in a high arc across the grass. In a pale blur of movement, the creature reached up and caught it. He could see the gleam of its teeth as it tore into the leather.
“It’s just a wolf,” he told himself aloud. “A hungry, young wolf without a pack.” He crawled away as quickly as he could, knocking over the lantern in his haste. The flame flared and then sputtered out. But even without the light, he could see the dim form that followed him.
Brandin threw the second boot and then his belt. The creature devoured them then waited, its eyes glinting faintly. It was closer now, and he saw that the eyes were too round to be a wolf’s.
What else did he have to feed it? His leather goods were gone, but his pockets were full of walnuts. He tossed a nut, and the creature snatched it before it hit the ground. If he waited long enough between each throw, he might be able to hold it off until Sharkey’s Men arrived.
“Hungry,” a high, childlike voice whispered when it had finished. He waited in the darkness, with his pocket knife clenched in one hand. “Hungry,” the voice whispered again and again, until his face was cold with sweat. When the dim form edged closer, he threw another walnut.
How long he sat waiting Brandin could not say. The stars overhead moved with unbearable slowness. As the store of walnuts dwindled, he wondered if the Halfling had simply gone home instead of summoning aid. Between the strain of the long watch and the pain in his foot, he felt strangely light-headed. Again and again, he began to drift off, only to start awake at the whispering in the dark.
Then he woke as something touched his shoulder. Knife clenched in his hand, he struck out blindly, again and again, until something caught his arms and hauled him to his feet. For a moment, he blinked in confusion at the crowd of Men holding torches.
“What happened?” several voices asked.
“He tried to kill Garth," a ruffian replied. "The Boss ain’t going to like it.” He pointed to a Man who lay sprawled on the grass, clutching his arm and moaning.
“I didn’t know it was him!” Brandin shouted. “I thought he was the wolf! It was going to attack!” They would think him mad if he said I thought he was a dead Halfling.
By torchlight, the Men searched the graveyard, but they didn’t find any sign of a wolf, not even a paw print in the muddy earth. Plenty of Halfling footprints, but nothing that looked like a wolf track. None too gently, they tied Brandin’s hands, dragged him to the graveyard gate and slung him over a saddle.
“Will they hang him?” one of the younger Men asked as the horse was led away.
“Since he only wounded Garth, they’ll just take him to the Wild and leave him. Most likely he’ll starve before winter. If you ask me, that’s worse than hanging, but the Boss doesn’t hold with no fighting among his Men.” The ruffian spat on the ground then went to find his horse.
~*~
spooky_arda is on hiatus this year, so this is an unofficial effort.Title: No title yet
Rating: G
Source: LOTR
Characters: OCs (hobbits and Men)
He jumped again at a scratching sound from the hole. Something was burrowing in the dirt. Too loud for a vole or rat. A badger perhaps? Or even, he thought uneasily, a wolf drawn by the scent of carrion. Wolves had been seen in the Shire in recent days. They rarely attacked Men or Halflings, but he would make easy prey, crippled and alone. They rarely attacked unless they were very hungry. And in spite of himself, he remembered the gravedigger’s words—There’s nothing hungrier than a dead hobbit. “Old fool,” he muttered. “Trying to scare me with fireside tales.” He slowly dragged himself toward the graveyard gate, taking care not to overturn the lantern as he moved it.
Behind him, the frantic digging had stopped. He looked over his shoulder, straining to see in the darkness. The graveyard was empty and silent save for the wind. There was nothing but the black rows of markers and the swaying shadows of flowers. Nothing followed him across the grass. In spite of himself, Brandin gave a sigh of relief. “You’re as bad as that gravedigger,” he told himself as he turned away. Then he stopped as a flicker of light caught his eye. A dim form was crouched in the grass, not ten yards away. It sat beyond the reach of the lantern, but its eyes glinted faintly in the darkness.
“Who goes there?” he shouted as boldly as he could, hoping to frighten it away. It didn’t move, so he searched the ground for a stone. When he couldn’t find one, he threw a boot instead, sending it sailing in a high arc across the grass. In a pale blur of movement, the creature reached up and caught it. He could see the gleam of its teeth as it tore into the leather.
“It’s just a wolf,” he told himself aloud. “A hungry, young wolf without a pack.” He crawled away as quickly as he could, knocking over the lantern in his haste. The flame flared and then sputtered out. But even without the light, he could see the dim form that followed him.
Brandin threw the second boot and then his belt. The creature devoured them then waited, its eyes glinting faintly. It was closer now, and he saw that the eyes were too round to be a wolf’s.
What else did he have to feed it? His leather goods were gone, but his pockets were full of walnuts. He tossed a nut, and the creature snatched it before it hit the ground. If he waited long enough between each throw, he might be able to hold it off until Sharkey’s Men arrived.
“Hungry,” a high, childlike voice whispered when it had finished. He waited in the darkness, with his pocket knife clenched in one hand. “Hungry,” the voice whispered again and again, until his face was cold with sweat. When the dim form edged closer, he threw another walnut.
How long he sat waiting Brandin could not say. The stars overhead moved with unbearable slowness. As the store of walnuts dwindled, he wondered if the Halfling had simply gone home instead of summoning aid. Between the strain of the long watch and the pain in his foot, he felt strangely light-headed. Again and again, he began to drift off, only to start awake at the whispering in the dark.
Then he woke as something touched his shoulder. Knife clenched in his hand, he struck out blindly, again and again, until something caught his arms and hauled him to his feet. For a moment, he blinked in confusion at the crowd of Men holding torches.
“What happened?” several voices asked.
“He tried to kill Garth," a ruffian replied. "The Boss ain’t going to like it.” He pointed to a Man who lay sprawled on the grass, clutching his arm and moaning.
“I didn’t know it was him!” Brandin shouted. “I thought he was the wolf! It was going to attack!” They would think him mad if he said I thought he was a dead Halfling.
By torchlight, the Men searched the graveyard, but they didn’t find any sign of a wolf, not even a paw print in the muddy earth. Plenty of Halfling footprints, but nothing that looked like a wolf track. None too gently, they tied Brandin’s hands, dragged him to the graveyard gate and slung him over a saddle.
“Will they hang him?” one of the younger Men asked as the horse was led away.
“Since he only wounded Garth, they’ll just take him to the Wild and leave him. Most likely he’ll starve before winter. If you ask me, that’s worse than hanging, but the Boss doesn’t hold with no fighting among his Men.” The ruffian spat on the ground then went to find his horse.
~*~
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Date: 2011-10-31 11:05 pm (UTC)GAH. Creepy! Very well-told tale, fit for the fireside at The Prancing Pony!
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Date: 2011-11-01 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-05 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-06 12:01 am (UTC)