The Veil Lifted

[Bêthberry]

Snap! Spark! Air popped into flame.

The old oil drum flared up into a small fire and shadowy figures emerged from the walls, hands held aloft to warm themselves. Some one or two kicked around a ball, making it dance between their feet and the wall and each other until, tiring, they allowed the ball to roll away into hiddenness in a shadowed corner. Then another pulled a plastic bag out of a pocket, called the others to the fire, and, ripping it open, extracted a small object from it. The bag was then passed around so each figure could withdraw something. They toyed with the object, turning it over and over until it turned into two pieces. One piece was popped into each mouth while the other one was crumpled almost secretively into a small ball and then, one by one, thrown into the fire. All but one, who stayed out of the way, eyes watching the alleyway and the sky.

“See! I told you!” whispered a voice behind the blackened window which gave out onto the alleyway. “They remember the bonfires and the scrolls.”

“Don’t be daft. Men ages ago forgot the old ways. It’s why we never show ourselves to them any more.”

“But they haven’t, not really. All the old habits—they’re still there.”

“Nah, you’re dreaming it. You’ve been reading the old lore books again and they give you ideas. Men live in metal houses now, to keep us away.”

“But watch them, look. They even scan the sky, marking the crows’ trail. And they leave food out for those who’ve gone ahead.”

“Some offering. Plunked in smelly cans.”

“How do you know they smell?”

“I can guess.”

“Guessings no good. It isn’t real. But seeing, now, or touching, or sharing the living and breathing—that’s something to think about. C'mon, let’s come out. They won’t know it’s us. We’ll be just like those others I told you about.”

“What others?”

“You know, the ones I saw last Winter Welcoming. They come in strange clothes, knocking on doors, the little ones. They call it Guising. We can pretend to be just like them.”

“But hobbits haven’t shown themselves among men for almost four ages now.”

“But they won’t know it’s us.”

The hobbits grew silent, the settled gloom of the tenement cellar seeming to give eerie possibility to the idea. One of them passed around a sack of toasted pumpkin seeds, and they chewed on them as they thought.

~ ~ ~

“I tell you, it was something weird. Like the air moved apart.” The speaker munched another tiny chocolate bar and threw the wrapper into the flames. “Last night, over on ta commons, I’m sure. I saw something at the edge of my eye, something peering at me. I turned my head and the air kinda waffled, you know, and then it didn’t. But something was there.”

“You’re starkers, man, just some kids playing All Barrows Eve early.”

~ ~ ~

tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte

Meanwhile, an old aluminum can on the street rocked in the cackling wind. Hydro poles screeched like old crows as their wires twitched, spooked by the wind. Spiky bits of dark sky massed over the dusk horizon. Scuffling sounds assailed ears, but never materialised. You could smell time creeping away, like air hesitant before a storm. That is, you could, if you were there. Come. Dare.

The Veil Lifted awaits gamers who want to savour the treats (and a few tricks) in the challenge of imagining Tolkien’s Middle-earth in the 7th Age. It is middish in the 7th Age and our story takes place in New Ford. Like The Yule Log (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=12478&page=1) , this is an informal game for all who care to join—a Hallowe’en Handout for us Downers. Your moderators are piosenniel and Child of the 7th Age. Watch for an appearance by littlemanpoet as well.

Happy Hallowe'en, Downers. Bêthberry

[Noinkling]

‘I want it,’ he whispered, more to himself than to the friend who’d crept out the old door along with him. In the dark, Tolly’s eyes were large, and what pale light penetrated the deep shadows at the end of the alleyway made them glimmer, as stars caught in a darkling pool. He pressed himself as flat as his stout little figure would allow against the uneven brick of the wall, inching along toward the treasure the Big’uns had seemingly forgotten. A few quick, sideways steps and there it was, within his reach…the ball!

‘You’d better leave it there, Tolly! The others’ll come down hard on you if you steal it. It'll mean trouble for us if the Big Folk come looking for us.’ Bran plucked at his friend’s arm, urging him to follow him back in.

‘Who said I was going to steal it?’ Tolly hissed. He dug deep into his breeches’ pocket and fished out one of his leather slings; then, from another pocket in his yellow striped vest, he pulled a small leather bag filled with small, rounded stones. ‘This should be enough, don’t you think?’ he asked, crouching down to leave the sling and rocks in a neat little pile. With a quick motion, he reached out and grabbed up the ball. Just the feel of it in his hand sent a certain thrill coursing through him. ‘It’s mine now,’ he said, with a certain dark glee. ‘Mine….’

With an economy of motion, he slid shadow like back to the door and through it.

Bran hesitated, not knowing what exactly he should do. The old leather sling with its small pouch of rocks was well used and hardly a fair trade for one of the Big Folks’ treasures. He searched through his vest pockets, finding an old silver penny at the bottom of one and a small carved whistle he’d made in another. Bran settled them in among the other offerings.

‘Trick’r’treat,’ he whispered, standing back up. Saying the invocation, or was it a blessing, he wasn’t quite sure…the one the Big Folk little’uns had cried out at each door, the year past.

‘Wait up!’ he called once he’d scrambled back inside the building, his eyes straining in the dim light for Tolly.

[Glirdan]

A dark shadow ran up and down the dark streets, as if he was being chased by an unseen figure. He ran on and on, running into walls, stumbling here and there. Once he tripped but quickly gathered himself and continued running pell mell from that unseen figure, his tiny little feet smacking the hard ground, his breath rising in small puffs of air in the cold, still night.

It was then that he heard something ahead of him and his heart raced even faster, thumping wildly. He slowed down and flattened himself against the wall. "I want it," the voice whispered. The shadow clenched his hand tightly to his breast, thinking that the voice was talking about his precious treat.

All of a sudden, another voice rose out of the night. "You’d better leave it there, Tolly! The others’ll come down hard on you if you steal it. It'll mean trouble for us if the Big Folk come looking for us," it said as quietly as possibly. Then a full scale conversation started between the two voices.

"Who said I was going to steal it?" asked the first too the second. "This should be enough, don’t you think?" There was a pause. Then it said quietly, but loud enough for the shadowy figure to hear, "It’s mine now. Mine...." Then there was scilence.

Out of nowhere, the second voice rose quietly from the shadows. "Trick’r’treat," it said. What does THAT mean? The figure thought to himself. He was interupted as the second voice rose once more and said "Wait up!"

Then an eerie scilence fell. The figure waited a minute to check that no one was coming his way. His hand loosened it's grip on it's precious treat. The figure made his way slowly to where he had hear the voice. He walked quietly, hoping that they wouldn't come back. He didn't know if he could trust them or not.

Thump! The figure had tripped and fallen face first over something that was lying in the middle of the ground. He quickly picked himself up and looked back at the ground to see what he had tripped over. There, in the middle of the road, lay a leather sling, a pouch full of rocks, a small silver penny and small wooden whistly that looked like it was hand made.

Who would leave things such as these in the middle he street!? he thought in disgust. He turned and looked up and down the way. There was nothing in sight. Mind you, he couldn't see very far as it was a dark night. He looked around and saw an old building. Perfect! A place for me to stay! He walked toward the building quickly, entered and ran right into something solid, but a lot less solid than a wall. "Ouch!" He cried out loud. "What IS that?" Then he heard a scrambling as the other walked towards him. "AHH!! Stay away from me! The treat is mine! Stay away!!"

[Undómë]

A tall, slender figure unfolded itself from the space between the dustbin and the cardboard boxes piled near the thick painted end of the metal receptacle. In one fluid, graceful movement, Jack rose up, stretching his whip thin body even as he pulled the old tan greatcoat tight about him. His jeans were raggedy at the ankles, faded and dirty, thin spots and holes here and there about them. Not from fashion, though, but from long use. And long as they were, the legs of them barely covered the silver high-top sneakers he’d recently liberated from an unwatched delivery van. He wore, also, a long sleeved, cotton pullover, the sleeves of it barely to his wrists. It was scarce proof against the cool of the late evening.

And little he cared that it might be cold. His fair cheeks never bore the crimson stains of it, nor did his long, slender fingers pale at the advent of this chilly part of the year. These same fingers that now reached up to run themselves through his short dark spiky hair, black as a raven’s wing, and as shiny.

He was all of seventeen, this alleyway figure. At least he looked so at first glance and even perhaps at a second or third. It was his eyes, though, that belied such youth. Dark grey they were like some stormy sky and in them swirled silver’d glints of ancient stars.

Jack jammed his hands deep in his coat pockets, looking first one way and then the other down the alley. He’d seen the little folk moving in the shadows, heard their whispered argument. And down the other way, the group of neighborhood denizens gathered about their little fire.

He stepped out from the shadows, decision made, walking leisurely toward the light and the flickering tongues of flame.

[Kath]

Sam ran down the darkened street, laughing as his little brother tried to keep up. He was forced to take Billy with him every year now, his parents having decided that if he was old enough to go out on the dark streets at night on his own then he was old enough to look after his little brother on them as well. Sam had frowned when he first heard that argument, but had decided that the presence of his brother was a small price to pay for the absence of his parents. In any case, the kid had shown promise. Just one glimpse at those soulful eyes through whatever cute costume he was wearing got them mountains of treats.

"Come on Billy!" He called, slowing down enough that the younger boy could catch up to him.

When he received no answer he called again, a little more loudly this time. For all his protestations to the contrary he did like his brother, and would blame himself forever if anything were to happen to him.

"Billy! This isn't funny!" He yelled, cross now.

"Shh!" Came a voice from one of the side streets they'd walked past. Hurrying back down the path Sam found his brother peering down into the darkness. He could see the firelight flickering in the distance and knew that the men around it would have helped Billy if anything had happened, but it didn't stop his relief coming out as anger.

"What did you think you were doing?" He began, but was silenced by his brother who held a hand against his mouth.

"Shh, they'll hear you!" Was the whispered command.

"Who?" Sam managed to mumble.

"The Little Folk."

"Don't be silly, that's just a story." Sam scoffed, but looked warily down the alley all the same. He was about to pull his brother away by bribing him with the treats they had already gained that evening but movement at the opposite end of the street caught his eye. Astounded he watched as the little figures appeared from the shadows. He had to give Billy credit, those eyes were good for more than just sweets.

Silently now the two boys watched the goings on, and crept after the figures as quiet as mice as they moved away. Or so they thought.

[littlemanpoet]

So he was a little old for this kind of thing. Sid didn't care. Sure he liked the treats and had a big white pillow case to welcome all the treats. He got lots of strange looks from adult after adult when his cracking and verging on baritone voice announced "Trick or treat!" They wondered why he was alone. They eyed his cloak, worn boots, dirty tunic (well, an old, old vest at any rate), and his homemade sword belt with actual homemade sword and homemade scabbard. At leat the long dark hair wasn't homemade. It was real and down to his shoulders, and the eighteen hairs under his nose (count 'em!) were all he could manage for a mustache, and the three chin hairs were all he could manage for a beard, but they were his! And so tonight he was Aragorn son of Arathorn, Ranger, protector of the Little People.

There were lots of little people around to be sure. Other people's kids. He stomped down the sidewalk looking for egg-wielding and shaving-cream-can-holstering and toiletpaper-grasping do-no-gooders, ready to unsheathe his sword and chase them away. Or not.

The crackly oak leaves blew around in the wind, and the air was cooling as the last glimpses of red day were overtaken by the night shroud. Let the fun begin, he heard in his mind, and wondered what the night would bring. Besides candy.

[Forest Elf]

She looked at herself in the mirror, at her costume that she had put on for the night. Her shirt went down halfway over her fingers, and her broomstick skirt went down just above her knees. The silver lace at the neckline of her teal shirt made her eyes look greener instead of their usual blue color. Her brown skirt twirled as she spun in her store bought boots, which reached a few inches below her knee, and looked similar to moccasins. Her excitement bubbled up and she let out a giggle, not only because of tonight, but also because this was her last night of being fifteen.

Her hair barely reached down past her shoulders, she grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She did not care if she was different than her friends, she didn’t care that she was different than almost everyone she knew. This night would be great, she could already feel that, now to sneak past her parent’s, since they thought she was much too old to go out trick’r’treating. She didn’t really care much about trick’r’treating, just going out and having fun. Not the usual kind of fun, but the good old kind of fun, like working her homemade ghost from the old oak tree for unwary victims. But mostly, she loved going out and watching the fun, the little ones going from door to door, getting candy or a trick.

She quietly locked her bedroom door and walked over to her window and opened it. She climbed out onto the roof, and walked over to the old tree, grabbing onto one of the branches, and then swinging out onto the tree limb. She carefully made her way to the ground, where she ran down one of the ally’s and swiftly climbed up the old oak, so as no one could see her, and then kept an eye out for any unwary peoples.

All too soon could she see her first victim of the ghost coming out of the tree; she watched as he had his thoughtful look to his face, and then as had stopped, she carefully lowered her ghastly creation and began to make ghastly noises, trying to scare her first victim.

[Celuien]

One. Two. Three. Tap, tap, tap. The sharply pointed heels on Becca's boots clicked against the concrete steps leading from the street to her front door. Shifting her heavy bag of groceries to the side, she felt for her keys in her coat pocket. She unlocked the door, turned the knob in its center, and hurried inside.

"Brr. It's cold!" Coat and beret quickly found their spots on the coat rack. The groceries went to the kitchen.

Purr, purr. A glossy black cat came out from under the kitchen table and circled Becca's ankles, rubbing its chin against the hem of her skirt in greeting.

Becca stooped and lifted the cat. The sound of purring increased as she scratched under the cat's chin.

"Hello, Midnight. We're going to be busy tonight! It's Halloween, and we've got to have everything ready. Candy for the children, and a Jack-O-Lantern outside the door! Now go on back to your spot. I'll have treats for us later."

She put Midnight back on the ground. The cat stretched out on the kitchen floor near Becca's feet, watching her with sage, golden eyes as she work at carving a face into a pumpkin.

"All done." Becca snatched a candle and scurried outside to place her creation by the door. The Jack-O-Lantern's eyes grew bright from the candle. Becca smiled, and shivering again in the autumn wind, swept back through the door with her skirt swirling around her.

The last preparations - pouring candy into bowls on a small table near the door - did not take long. Becca and Midnight soon settled into a chair with a cup of tea and a book to await their visitors.

[Firefoot]

"Mum says black cats are bad luck," whispered Raven, glancing furtively at the next house on the street. "'Specially on Barrow's Eve. An' there's a black cat at that house. I see 'im sometimes, looking at me with those big golden eyes..." Her little brother Tucker nodded in agreement, his eyes wide. Raven hoped she hadn't told him too many scary stories. It was their first year guising out on their own, and Tucker would be completely useless if he was too frightened to do anything.

"An' if that cat sees us while we're gettin' treats, it's bad luck for a whole year," said Tucker, remembering this part of her story.

"Unless we can catch it... and... well, first we have to catch it." She couldn't remember what came next, or maybe she was making it up, but Tucker could tell she had a plan.

"So I'm going to go up to her door and say 'trick'r'treat,' and when the lady comes to the door to give me candy, you have to knock on the windows on the side of her house so she goes to find out who it is. And then I'll run in and take the cat if I see it. Just don't let her catch you. Ladies with black cats can make-" Raven glanced around again, as if afraid someone would overhear, then dropped her voice, "evil magic." She straighted. "I'm sure she won't catch you, though. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Let's go, then. You go around the side of the house, and listen for her to open the door for me." After a brief hesitation, Tucker set off across the lawn while Raven bravely stepped up to the front door, noting the Jack-o-lantern as it seemed to leer at her. She shivered slightly, whether from the chill breeze or fear was undetermined. Three times the dark-haired girl dressed like a miniature Elf knocked on the door, saying as loudly as she dared, "Trick'r'treat!"

[Celuien]

Soft knocks on the door announced Becca's first visitors. She marked her place in her book and stood.

"They're here," she murmured, and pulled open her door.

A little girl clad the the guise of an Elf barely squeaked out, "Trick'r'treat!"

So shy. Becca smiled warmly.

"Hello! What a nice costume!" she cried. Her hand moved to the candy bowl. Becca scooped out a handful of candy and dropped it in the child's treat bag.

Suddenly, there was the sound of rapping on a side window that overlooked Becca's strip of garden. What could the noise be? She would have to check. But first things first. The tiny Elf was staring at her with saucer eyes.

"Happy Halloween, my dear Elf princess." She shut the door, not bothering to lock it as she walked to the window to see who was in the garden. Empty. Becca shook her head and laughed to herself.

"Well, Midnight, I think I'm losing my head at last." She turned back from the window and the smiled changed to a frown. The front door was open.

I know I closed it. I did.

Becca closed the door again.

"Midnight. Here, Midnight."

She had to make sure the cat was inside. It would never do for her to be outside in the city at night and alone.

[Noinkling]

‘AHH!! Stay away from me! The treat is mine! Stay away!!’

Bran picked himself up from the dusty floor where he’d fallen. ‘Back off you great oaf!’ he hissed pushing hard against whoever it was had bumped him over.

Tolly, a number of steps ahead of his friend, crammed the ball into the deep recesses of his pants’ pocket and picked his way back toward Bran. Moonlight filtered in through the dirty, barred windows lighting the cluttered room in muted patches. Tolly picked up a wooden slat from a pile on the floor and walked menacingly toward the intruder.

‘Well, who would want your old treat, you clumsy git!’ He snorted and shook his makeshift club at the fellow. He motioned for Bran to come stand by him. 'It's probably nothing but rubbish.'

‘Who are you, anyway?’ asked Bran, brushing what dirt he could from his shirt and breeches. ‘And why did you come skulking after us?’

[piosenniel]

…..tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte tah ratte….

Gilly reached out with the tip of her shoe and knocked the can over. A quick flip of her toe sent it skittering wildly down the long uneven stretch of pavement. ‘Throw a bit more wood on the fire, won’t you?’ she called out to one of the others nearer the burning can. ‘Got to see about getting these fingers of mine warmed a bit before I play.’

She drew nearer the fire and flexed her hands near the rising warmth. Her eyes caught the movement of someone coming down the alleyway. The coat he wore billowing out behind him like a great tan sail.

‘Jack! Is that you?’ She gave him a wide grin, welcoming him into the circle. ‘What business brings you out this night of nights?’

[Glirdan]

"Who are you, anyway? And why did you come skulking after us?" the second voice asked. There was a pause before he answered. "I am Armundo and I didn't follow you on purpose, you evil scum now stay away from me! This treat is mine! I stole it from the Big People!"

He tried to look around to see if he could escape back out into the street and run away. But there was more light in here and he would have been seen.

Well, no way out. Might as well make conversation, he thought. "Well, who are you? And why were you in the street? And is that you're stuff on the ground out there?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

"But why do we have to go into the city? You don't like it there, and neither do I?" Though never leaving the safety of his leafy perch, the bird stared down at the old man, demanding an immediate answer. Hedwig was a creature of formidable size and appearance: an eagle owl (http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.shoarns.com/Eagle%2520Owl%2520s.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.shoarns.com/EagleOwl.html&h=690&w=412&sz=214&hl=en&start=11&tbnid=psLgQl0BE8sLSM:&tbnh=139&tbnw=83&prev=/images%3Fq%3Deagle%2Bowl%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26 lr%3D%26ie%3DUTF-8%26oe%3DISO-8859-1%26sa%3DG) whose wingspan extended nearly two meters. The largest owl in the world, about knee-high to a human adult, Hedwig was quite capable of taking out a cat or even a small dog at a single blow.

The old man looked over and growled, "Stop asking questions. You know why we are going tonight. We go every year at this time. This is the one and only day when the poor men of New Ford can actually see and speak with me and the rest of the inhabitants of Arda. The rest of the year it is useless to try and get their attention. They have their ears plugged up with the noise of traffic and copy machines and subway cars, and their brains are fixed on such mundane topics as mutual funds and stock prices. There has been considerable decline since the days of Ellessar, I am afraid."

"Malarkey!" retorted the bird. "It is because you and the others have faded. That is why they can't normally see you. It has nothing to do with the New York Stock Exchange!"

"Faded?" The old man's eyes flashed with fire as he responded in a harsh tone, "I have not faded. I am a Maia and Maier do not fade. How often must I tell you that. And, as for the others, they have not faded either. It is only a matter of perspective."

"Not faded? How can you say that" Hedwig challenged. "I read it myself in a big, fat book."

"So you have been snooping in my copy of Lord of the Rings? A dangerous book--I told you to leave it on the shelf. Frankly, Hedwig, you must take everything you read there with a grain of salt. Remember it is the faulty recollections of a man, and what do men know of elves, or dwarves or hobbits or a Maia? They say things only to flatter themselves. It is not we who have faded but they. Their ears are not attuned to the sounds and sights of Arda. They have filled their minds with a lot of rubbish, and it is only on this one night of the year that they can manage to sweep that all away and see the world as it really is."

Hedwig stubbornly shook his head, "That's not what Mr. Shippey or Mr. Hammond say, and it's certainly not what's on the Barrowdowns website, the one we looked at last year when we tried out that terminal in the public library."

"The Barrowdowns? Those poor folk are even worse than Master Tolkien! Always carrying on with long vapid posts and never getting outside to mix with the animals and hobbits and even the occasional elf who still live on their own planet. No, I tell you the truth. Men pay such attention to dry details that they usually fail to see what is important in life, what lies just below the veil waiting for them to take a look. Truly, Hedwig, in many ways I feel sorry for Men. And I consider it my duty to go and have a look on this one night of the year and see if I can knock any sense into their heads. So no more complaints! Hop on my shoulder, and we'll be off to New Ford. Anyways" the old man conceded as an afterthought, "there'll be plenty of cats out roaming the street, so you may be able to pick up a bite to eat."

With that last assurance, Hedwig finally nestled on Aiwendil's shoulder, and the two set off to the east, striding on towards New Ford.

[Dimturiel]

So it was upon them at last, the spookiest night of the year, the night around which so many legends circulated. She had loved that night since she was a small child. She liked dressing up, and walking from door to door, friendly people smiling at her, with eyes twinkling with delight. Time had passed too quickly, she was older now, she could no longer do the things she had done as a chlid.

Yet she still liked to walk the streets on that night, being careful to have at her a bag of sweets that she would present to the children she met disguised as ghosts, or elves, or hobbits. She smiled to herself, imaginining how delighted these children would be, and how they would run to their mothers to tell them of the kind young lady that had given them candy because she had liked their costume. She even fancied she could hear such a child, talking quickly somewhere near her:

"And, Mum, do you know what she said? She said I was the prettiest Elf-maiden she had ever seen!"

She shook her head. In but a few years they would forget her, and would laugh at the way they use to wander the streets disguised as fairy-tale characters. Or else, they would become like her. Constantly dreaming, longing for a past that was so distant that the people around her had ceised believing in it.

When she was a child, she would tell anyone she met while trick-or-treating that she was an elf princess and that her name was Darlariel. And now, each Halloween night she walked the streets again as Darlariel. She thought-and she sometimes felt ashamed to admit this- that on one such night she would encounter a sign from the world in which she still whole-heartedly believed. Maybe she would run into a real Hobbit, or a real elf or ...or even...But what was the use of expresing such desire? Her mind told her clearly that it would not come true. And yet, her heart made her walk the streets at night, ever waiting for something to happen.

[Firefoot]

At least the lady hadn't bothered to lock the door; Raven would have heard the distinctive click. She stood on her tiptoes to peer through the window, making sure the lady had heard Tucker's knocking and was walking away. She was.

Quickly and quietly as she could, she opened the front door, darted in, and seized the cat where it still sat next to the treat bowl. Raven felt a little bit guilty taking the lady's cat; the lady had been so nice to her and given her lots of candy - good chocolate candy, not the icky hard ones or, even worse, the toothbrush that the dentist had given her. But only a little bit guilty; she wasn't about to have bad luck for an entire year over this.

Raven heard footsteps coming back from the other room and fled. She really had a very poor grip on the cat, holding it around its middle, and it was squirming violently. She didn't bother to close the front door behind her, only ran as fast as she could away from the house.

"Raven, wait!" She heard her name called and almost shrieked in fright. The evil lady knew her name! But it was only Tucker in his Corsair costume. "Did you get the cat?" he asked.

She could only nod; she felt as if her heart were pounding in her throat.

"Now what?"

"Well... we have to..." She cast about for an answer, trying to think of something suitable from scary stories - skin it? burn it alive? - while trying to shift the cat in her arms so that she could hold it better. It had slipped down while she had been running so she was holding it right beneath its front legs and thought that at any moment it might slip free - which it did and within seconds was off running down the road in the direction of the town.

"We have to catch it!" she cried, chasing after it, barely able to see it in the setting darkness.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Time to go, time to go! Candy! Candy, candy, candy!”

Ben hopped up and down, up and down, right in front of his older sister. She looked up from her book, and all Ben could only see her hazel eyes over the hard cover. Ben twirled around in his costume – this year, the six-year old was a flamboyant orange pumpkin, an outfit hand-made, like all his previous costumes, by his mother.

“Five more minutes, Ben?” His teenage sister, Ella, pleaded with him. Ben could not read the big words on the cover of her book, but he figured it must have been important for her to want to wait five more minutes to go trick-or-treating.

“Nooooo!” He wailed. “Mommy said we can go now! Now, now, now!” Ben tugged on Ella’s sleeve, and she groaned as she got off the couch she had been sitting on.

Ben squealed happily, bouncing his way toward the front door where his mother had set the bag of candy she would hand out when the doorbell rang. He grabbed Ella’s jacket for her, and while she slowly put it on, he took her scarf off of the coat rack.

Together, Ben and Ella left their home, and walked out into the dark, windy night.

“Ella, why don’t you have a costume?” Ben asked, holding Ella’s hand as they walked from one house to the next.

“I’m too old to wear costumes, Ben.” Ella replied. Ben let go of her hand to walk up the steps to the next house, and Ella waited patiently on the sidewalk.

Then, Ella heard a funny noise from the front yard of the house to her right. A soft crinkling sound erupted from the area right below the nearest tree. Whatever made the sound was moving, quickly – the crinkling of leaves got louder and closer.

Ella walked slowly towards the strip of grass in a sea of concrete, following the noise, and…

Mreeeeeeeeeowwwww!

Ella yelped and jumped back, surprised, as a black cat careened towards her. She reached down quickly and grasped the ebony animal tightly. Its eyes were wide, and Ella could feel the cat’s heart beating fast as a hummingbird beats its wings. It tried to wrestle with Ella, but she cradled it firmly in her arms.

“Oooh! A cat!” Ben came up behind Ella and peered up at the cat.

"Yeah...I wonder what was chasing him...or...uh...her...that made it so scared." Ella smiled at the cat as she spoke.

"Black cats are bad luck, Ella, everyone knows so." Ben informed her.

[Celuien]

"Rrreeeooooowwwww. Yeeeooooowww." The call of a frightened cat echoed just outside Becca's door.

Becca gasped. "Midnight!" She flung her door wide and stepped into the cold, hatless and coatless. Not too far away, the Elf child was running down the street with a small boy, and Becca caught a glimpse of inky fur on the girl's shoulder.

"No! Come back! Come back!" Becca set off at a frantic run. The children had stolen her Midnight, and no good could come of their cruelty. Tears started down her cheeks.

Run, faster, run.

[littlemanpoet]

Sid liked it when he came across kids got up as fellow Lord of the Ringers. Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves. He saw them here and there this night. It was cool even to see Goblins, Trolls, and Orcs. But people didn't do much of that. Bummer.

Rrreeeooooowwwww! Yeeeooooowww! A cat yowling in the distance. Sid's neck hairs prickled. Ah, it's nothing, he tried to reassure himself. That bad luck stuff isn't for real.

The front door of the rowhouse he was walking by opened in a hurry. A young woman ran out of the door. "No! Come back! Come back!" she called, running frantically.

That couldn't be good. She was headed in the direction of the cat noise. "Hey, why not?" Sid said to himself, and loosening his fake sword in his fake scabbard, started jogging after her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tish glared at the door, daring knocks to echo through it into her almost quiet house. She could hear shrieking from the street. On any other night, she'd be out with a broomstick or a cellphone, stopping the trouble with a quick thwack or a threat of police. Shrieking interrupted the candle light. But tonight she couldn't chase away the trouble-makers. They were children. Children of her neighbors, of her co-workers. She was reaching the age when her peers were settling down. Getting married. Creating little rugrats to dress up on national holidays.

She wore black. It wasn't special. She wasn't dressed for the occasion. She just always wore black. Tish had actually considered switching to pink for the night, just to dispell any notions that she had some sort of festive spirit. But if she did that, she was dressing up.

She glared at her wooden floor. She couldn't win. And somebody was going to knock on her door. Some small voice was going to yell 'trick or treat' and demand rotton teeth or threaten vengeance. Tish, usually nice, if widely known as That One, was, quite frankly, miserable on this depressingly spunky night.

[Folwren]

“I don’t see why he can’t just go by himself,” Ellen said for the hundredth time as she flung back the broad, white cloth. Her chin jerked back, her blue eyes flashed, and the cloth fell into place over her head. “He’s a sensible seven year old kid and yet…” she ground her teeth and picked up the round, pearly backed brush. Half of her golden hair lay over her shoulder, falling in curling waves over the white dress.

“Don’t argue, dear,” her mother said calmly. “Do you want a basket for your candy?”

“I am not collecting candy, Mom, thank you very much. I’m sure Josh will collect enough for all of us put together. Come on, King Brian.” She directed her last statement towards a short, stout little boy dressed up in the merry green and yellow of a leprechaun. “Ridiculous outfits,” she muttered between her teeth and she held the storm door open for her little brother. “Why couldn’t we have gone as something sensible – like a regular witch and wizard? Instead the little twerp had to talk me into these impractical Irish clothes.”

They came to their first neighbors house. Josh started up the walk away from the sidewalk and turned around three steps away. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked impatiently.

“No,” Ellen replied shortly. “You will go up and ask for your trick-or-treats and I will wait on the sidewalk. Hurry up. I want to get done as soon as possible.” She sighed as she looked away down the long street. In a moment Josh returned, showed her his first bit of treasure and passed on.

“Brush your hair, El,” he said as he went by her and walked on. “Banshees always brush their hair. And be sure not to laugh. I forget what happens if they laugh…but something bad.”

Ellen rolled her eyes and made no reply as she gave one or two half-hearted brushes to her long hair. Josh started up the next walk but Ellen, upon looking up, leaped after him and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “No, Josh, not that house. The…the woman who lives there doesn’t…isn’t…” Ellen didn’t like spreading bad gossip about people. “No, let’s skip it.”

“Nope! More candy the better!” Josh broke free and Ellen let him go without further hindrance. She stood with her arms folded at the beginning of the walk towards the front door.

The little boy ran up and bounded up the steps. He knocked quietly on the door, the wood hard on his knuckles. “Trick or treat!” he called out in his clear, high, piping voice.

[Firefoot]

Raven heard the voice calling behind her, "No! Come back! Come back!" Why did that cat have to have been so noisy? The lady never would have realized it was them - at least, not for a while longer. Now she was after them; they needed to find the cat and duck into a hiding place somewhere.

Mreeeoooow!

That way! There were more trick'r'treaters around here, not so close to the outskirts of town, and a couple of people were staring at them, but Raven didn't really notice, so concentrated was she on listening for the cat. They had to find it! If they didn't, it would be even worse, and the cat would give them even more bad luck for getting it lost!

Then she slowed suddenly. "You have our cat!" she exclaimed, seeing an older girl with the cat in her arms and not looking at all afraid of bad luck and such. "Please give us the cat?" she begged, mindful of the witch lady that must still be chasing them and getting closer all the time. She realized then that the boy with the older girl, who didn't seem terribly inclined to give up the frightened cat, was one of Tucker's friends. "Tucker, get Ben to have her give us the cat. Tell them how important it is."

Tucker nodded importantly. "If you don't give it to us, it's going to give us bad luck for a whole year, so we took it and were going to... going to... what were we going to do with it, Raven?"

Raven shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to say the dreaded words, "I don't know." But she didn't know what else to say, and was starting to panic so she just started to babble, "If you don't give us the cat the witch lady with the mean jack-o-lantern's going to catch us and we'll be cursed and have bad luck and please please just give us the cat please!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It begins, she thought dramatically, quoting Theoden, or Aragorn, or somebody. She put out the clove cigarette she'd lit. She hadn't smoked it. It just smelled interesting. Tish loved the spicy scent. But you couldn't pay her enough to suck smoke. Still, the image of a black haired, black clothed, smoking Corruptor of the Youth worked for her; it meant no parents ever asked her to babysit. She'd made it this far in her life without close contact with diapers and she had no inclination to end the trend.

She got up slowly and moped toward the door, opening it, suddenly, harshly and leaning on the frame.

"Just what trick, little boy, do you think yourself capable of playing on me?"

[Noinkling]

‘Armundo?’ Bran looked at Tolly, who merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry never heard about you before.’

‘And, yeah, that’s our stuff out there. Left it for a trade.’ Tolly pulled out the small ball and shifted it from hand to hand. He was about to ask just what this ‘treasure’ was that Armundo had found, when a voice hailed them from the stairway.

‘Hey! You two!’ Ferdy paused on the steps coming up from the cellar, his face peering over where the wooden floor of the tenement met the stairway. ‘Come on! Daisy’s found some sacks for us.’ He held up a crinkly, plastic bag with the with the words Shop-Smart emblazoned in red across one side. ‘We’re going to try that trick’r’treat thing we saw them doing last year.’ He climbed up two more steps and sat down, grinning through the stairposts. ‘Daisy wants to be one of the ones who asks for treats.’ He held up a carton of eggs in one hand and pulled a piece of soap from his pocket. ‘I’m gonna try my hand at the trick part.’

Ferdy laughed, a merry sort of sound that rang across the room. ‘Remember that big place we saw, the one with the moving pictures? Well, Bilbo and Frodo’s books, it seems, have been done up in that way. Or so Daisy said she’d heard from someone. Imagine that! Well, anyways, her friend says the big folk are quite fond of the Hobbits from the stories. So that’s what we’re going out as tonight. Ourselves…..’ He burst out laughing, thinking about pretending to be what they really were.

Ferdy came on up the steps, stopping short as he reached the top. ‘Hey! Who’s that with you?’ he asked, a suspicious look on his face. ‘You know him?’

Bran and Tolly shrugged their shoulders, not really wanting to get into the whole story of how they’d ‘met’ Armundo. ‘Sort of,’ they gave as a grudging answer.

Tolly turned to Armundo, an expectant look on his face. ‘Well, you want to come along?’

[Glirdan]

Armundo looked between the three figures. They seem friendly enough. Besides, I'm interested in finding out what they're going out to do.

"Sure I'll come," he answered as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off as he did. As he rose, he noticed that they too were Hobbits. "Hmmm, I don't think I reconize any of you either. I know that you're all Hobbits like myself, but from where?" he asked, quite interested and unafraid for the first time that night.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil blinked once, then twice, as he strained to get a better look at the small beggers who bounded up the steps and pounded at the door, yelling for treats until someone in the house responded. Most of those wandering the streets after dark were children or young teens, although the tiniest had a mother or father in tow who stood behind on the sidewalk waiting for their little one to scoop up candy and come scampering back.

Nearly everyone was dressed in costume. Even some of the adults had t-shirts festooned with pumpkins and black cats, or sported a clever hat. A few of the young boys wore clothing that made Aiwendil remember with longing his distant friends in Middle-earth like Aragorn, Treebeard, and Gandalf. The wizard had also counted at least one Galadriel and two Arwens by the time he walked the ten blocks and reached the center of town.

At the point when the two crossed the railroad tracks to continue into the tougher neighborhoods, the istar could not help but notice something else. Although there were a host of friendly types still roaming the streets, Aiwendil was struck by the number of teens who looked as if they were about to enlist in the army of the Dark Lord. Six hulking figures blocked the sidewalk in front of a decrepit storefront and glared at him menacingly as he strode past. They hung together in a single bunch, wearing an odd assortment of patched together clothing and implements: black robes, bat wings, fangs, bones, and axes smeared with gruesome make-believe blood. He even saw one miserable looking Orc tagging along at the back of the group.

Aiwendil had been walking for a long time. As they passed a small park overrun with weeds and trash, the wizard thought he saw a few grim figures flitting in and out of the bushes, glaring at him with menace in their eyes. A chill ran up his spine. These were not the elves or hobbits dear to the wizard's heart, but hints of things much darker and scarier, secrets hidden in the bowels of the earth that only reared their head on this single night of the year. He stopped for a moment and peered into the shadowed cement recesses behind the basketball court, but there was no movement or sound. He gazed confusedly from side to side, unsure of where he was. None of the streets looked familiar any more. Maybe Owl was right. Maybe he was going batty and would soon fade away.

After a long spell of silence Hedwig spoke. This time his sharp tone was softer and full of concern, "Where are we going, Master? Are you alright?"

"Patience, Hedwig! I haven't been here in a year. It's just that everything looks different. If you give me a minute, I will have us on the right road." But as much as Aiwendil stared, he could not figure out where he was. He had memories of a rambling Victorian house that should stand on this corner; it had been the kind of place with lilacs and rambling rosebushes that he instinctively liked. But now it was gone, apparently torn down and replaced by a parking lot that was meant to house more of the monster machines during the day when the residents of New Ford went to work.

Hedwig's eyes grew wide with concern. The Owl did not like how Aiwendil was acting. Perhaps the old man was truly going daft, and he should lead him back to the old shack in the woods where they normally made their home. But when Hedwig suggested that they might consider returning, the wizard had fixed on his face with a jaundiced eye. "Not tonight. I have things to do. Look here. That young woman. Perhaps she can help us." The wizard pointed towards a lone figure on the opposite side of the street. She was older than the teen but still young enough to have a look of longing and mystery in her eye. Her black hair fell down to the middle of her back. It reminded Aiwendil of the last time that he had seen Arwen. He sidled up to her and cleared his throat, "Excuse me. I'm so sorry to bother you. You see, I am trying to find my way to the library, the sacred hall where the books are kept. Someone or something is waiting for me there. And I must get access to a computer terminal." Aiwendil stumbled over the unfamiliar words and then continued. "But I am afraid I have lost my way. You wouldn't happen to know where that place is? Perhaps you could tell me or even lead me there."

For a moment the young woman stared at him, her face registering cnsiderable surprise. "I'm sorry," added the wizard, leaning on his staff. "I didn't mean to startle you. Let's see now...... Your name....your name is....."

For a moment the old man stopped. Sometimes the old osanwe trick let him peep into the mind of a resident for a single instant, just long enough to know by what name they preferred to be called. At first, Aiwendil glimpsed a plain simple name --the honest one that her parents had given her. But though sturdy and decent for the everyday world, this was not what a fine young woman should go by on a special night like this. He drew a deep breath and continued, "I believe you are Darlariel. My fine lady Darlariel, can you help me find the library?"

[Durelin]

Flapping wings excitedly, the black, smaller than a cat but bigger than some breadboxes form hopped around a lonely read container adorned with a golden 'M' which bore something he knew to be very tasty. Bringing his beak down with a snap he snatched up a long, mushy piece to munch on, half of it sticking out and up from his beak. He frequented this area often, knowing that many a delightful treat could be found on the pavement. Sometimes he would be forced to flee, whether another gang came by, or if other larger animals chased him away. Then he might perch up in a nearby tree to wait for the chance to finish his meal, or, if he was feeling bolder, he might venture towards a house, to see what he might find around it.

A flash of headlights and a low growling of engines sent him bounding off onto the sidewalk and into a yard as he used a combination of his thin, ungainly legs and his slightly less ungainly wings to propel himself away from danger. Each time he did it with less and less enthusiasm, understanding more and more that as long as he was out of the way, he was safe. But by the time he had slowed to a bobbing strut through the grass, he had forgotten the potatoe-y treat he had found in the road, and now made his way slowly toward the house, his head twisting restlessly from side to side at every noise he heard.

Suddenly he caught sight of a familiar figure: sleek black feathers, long pointed beak, beady black eyes on either side of the head, long spindly legs... He froze and observed it, standing as motionless as it did near the front door of the house, seated atop a large, round orange thing that triggered his desire to eat. But he would have to watch this one that seemed to have already claimed the orange ball for himself. Slowly the feathered being approached the similar feathered being, sizing it up as he did. It was smaller than he, and the fact that it did not note his presence made him feel it was too weak to attack him.

With a giant leap and a screech, with much flapping and jolting, he shot himself at the creature who had claimed the small orange mountain, feet first. His enemy fell to the ground with his feet, and after a bit of pecking and clawing, he was fairly sure it was not going to attack him. So, immediately claiming triumph, he turned on the orange object that seemed to glare at him. An aroma that translated to food filled the air around him, and so he plunged his beak into the thick skin, poking with a moist thud in order to get at the inside, which he knew was the best part. The fact that it was strangely warm was not a feeling that registered in his mind. A crow could comprehend the science behind a Jack o’ lantern even less than the confounded technology of plastic and fake feathers.

[Undómë]

Jack laughed, a rich sound as the throaty clinking of brass bells in a long gone garden. ‘My business? Why “treats”, of course. Though not those sweets I can see that just the mention of has set your mouth watering.’

Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he pulled out a small paper sack, crumpled from much opening and reclosing. ‘Here, have one.’ He offered the little bag to Gilli. ‘Mind you, though, they’re boiled sweets and quite sticky. You’ll need to lick those fingers of yours clean before you pick up your bow or fiddle.’ He took one for himself. ‘The old sorts are the best, don’t you agree?’ he added with a wink, sucking on the sweet.

‘Hey, why don’t you just come along? It’s quite warm where I’m bound. All closed in and cozy like.’ He grinned at her questioning look. ‘The New Ford Library, m’dear.’

From some other pocket in the interior of his coat he pulled out a slender volume bound in a dark blue cover. ‘Just listen here,’ he instructed softly, the slender fingers of his right hand turning pages.

I am the Fairy Mab: to me 'tis given
The wonders of the human world to keep;
The secrets of the immeasurable past,
In the unfailing consciences of men,
Those stern, unflattering chroniclers . . .

He closed the book, putting it carefully back and pulling out another. A paperback, this time, and from the dog-eared pages, much thumbed.

Setting: A street.

He began, one hand motioning round the alleyway they stood in.

Romeo:
I dream’d a dream to-night.

Mercutio:
And so did I

Romeo:
Well, what was yours?

Mercutio:
That dreamers often lie.

Romeo:
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio:

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep . . .

‘Who could guess the words of Will and PB would still be found captured in these books?’ He grinned. 'Old El’s house library could have used some of this bookbinding knowledge, I think. They’re quite durable. Nothing like those old vellums and parchments gone all stiff and cracked and torn.’

Jack closed up the book, giving it a satisfied pat. ‘And all praise, too, to Mr. Dewey, and his lovely system. I’m just dipping into the 821’s and ‘22’s these past few years.’ He ran one finger over the letters and numbers on the spine of the book. ‘Unlike, again, the library of El’s where one had to spend a great deal of time poking about in this hole and that for an interesting scroll to read.’ He put the small book back in the pocket with the other and buttoned up his coat.

‘So . . . come along, eh? No one will be there. You can play in the stacks.’ He raised his brow at Gilli. ‘Lovely high ceilings. I’ll bet there are some great acoustics in the reading rooms.’

[Celuien]

The children were fast. Too fast for Becca, hindered as she was by the thick folds of her skirt and her stiff boots. They darted around a corner, and by the time she caught up, the catnappers were nowhere to be seen. Worse, Midnight had fallen silent. The trail was cold.

Becca stopped and stared down the street. It was filled with trick'r'treaters. Someone must have seen if the children passed that way. Or if Midnight escaped (as Becca hoped she would - Midnight was a special cat and always had always been bright, even for a cat), maybe they would have seen where she went.

Then Becca noticed a boy jogging up behind her. He came up alongside her. Becca couldn't help smiling at him. Recalling that footsteps had echoed behind her during her frantic run, she realized that he must have been following the whole way.

"Hello."

"Any trouble?"

"Yes. Someone stole my cat."

The boy flourished a painted cardboard sword. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I shall protect you from the miscreants."

Becca's eyes danced in friendly amusement. "Aragorn. I'm Becca. Mae govannen, Dúnadan."

Yeeeeoooooowwwwww. The sound came from just down the next street to the right.

"Midnight!" Waving to her new friend to follow, Becca ran towards the sound.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“See, Ella, I told you so,” Ben nudged his sister, who had gotten the cat to purr faintly in her arms. “Black cats are bad luck. I told you! You better do what they say.”

“It’s just a cat. It’s harmless,” Ella smiled at the cat, and made what Ben would call ‘kissy-faces’ at it.

The little girl looked nervous, and looked over her shoulder anxiously.

“Please, please give us the cat!” The girl’s eyes widened as she heard footsteps echoing behind her.

“Promise you won’t hurt it?” Ella asked sternly. Ben and the other boy looked sharply at the girl, who looked back over her shoulder once more.

“I promise,” the girl whispered the words.

“What?” Ella inquired with a smug look on her face, for she had most certainly heard the little girl’s words.

“I PROMISE!”

“Okay, okay!” Ella went to hand the cat over to the little girl, when two figures came dashing out of the darkness.

[Folwren]

The door popped open like a jack-in-the-box. Josh looked up, expectant. "Just what trick, little boy, do you think yourself capable of playing on me?"

What? That wasn’t the sort of reply grown ups were supposed to give. Josh took a step back, a puzzled look crossing his childish face. A moment later, he gained control of himself and his presence of mind and quick wit kicked in.

“I’m a leprechaun!” he said, his face brightening. “I can do a great many things. You’d better just give me the candy and not worry about it.” He extended his hands with his large basket presented.

“I’m not serving candy this evening,” the woman said. Josh thought he caught a sound of sarcasm in that voice. The door began to shut. He put his foot in the way.

“Don’t you dare shut the door in the face of King Brian! I’ll have Featheregoag put the Come-hither on you! There’ll be a changeling in every cradle! The Banshee will haunt the streets for weeks after tonight! Open up, I say, and hand over the goods!”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tish clenched her jaw in repressed annoyance. This little boy was obnoxious. She briefly considered slamming the door on his foot, but decided against it. She really didn't want to hear from his parents' lawyers. She rolled her eyes.

"Child," she forced through a plastic smile, "Go play elsewhere. Your sister awaits. There appears to be a youth with a cardboard sword running around. Try challenging him to a duel."

She nodded slightly to the girl on the garden path. No, little girl, it seemed to convey, I won't steal your little brother. No worries. I don't want him. You can keep him.

Tish waved her hand dismissively.

"Off with you. Go bother the old lady next door."

[Bêthberry]

"Do you think anyone will recognise us?"

The tall, somewhat willowy woman in the orange robes of a Buddist had scanned the neighourhood, marking young humans in mythological and Middle-earth costumes and catching sight of some shod, short souls who she knew would receive a scathing lecture from the Hobbiton Garden Club--the very thought of hobbits succumbing to the fetish of leather over their feet!

'Blunderbusses and horseflies, I can only hope," replied a very hirsuite fellow clad in armour from head to foot, but armour which couldn't possibly hide all his long, growing, glowing, beautiful hair. It was a luxury he allowed himself now that he was no longer in the army. "Hello, sweet lady!" he immediately beamed to a very distraught looking woman, her skirts flying about her, but before she could reply his eye caught site of a very fetching woman clad in black, stubbing out a cigarette, the whiff of which sent him off on fantasies--of trade. He stepped forward to speak to her, wondering which quotation from The Silm or UT would put him in the best light as a substantiated former of Tolkien opinion.

"Bruce, get your mind get your mind out of Books. This is a Mirth night, an RPG night, not a scholarly night." He glared glumly at the woman, who had a reputation as one who took Books a bit too lightly. "Maril," he began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Look at what those rugrats are doing to that cat. And that bird! Honestly, you'd think everyone here has succumbed to that wretched view of wildlife which Tolkien promulgated."

'Now, Birdie, wait and see what happens. We're not here to interrupt the Guising for All Barrows Eve. We're here to haunt the Downs."

"Haunt, schmaunt," replied the woman addressed as Birdie, whose name really was Birdland, "I'm here to pretend we're the Lollygag Guild. I hear some people are whining that the Downs has become too sedate. I'll show them sedate."

The three wights wafted down the street, walking into and through garbage cans and walls, trick r treaters and lamp poles, as was the wont of wights of eld. It had been a long time since any of the three had made an appearance on the Downs but none of them was the sort to make any bones about silly nonsense that only one poster could lay claim to brilliance and genius on the Downs.

[Celuien]

The chase came to an end. Four children - the two Becca had been chasing and two others - stood together in front of a small house. Midnight squirmed uncomfortably over the shoulder of the girl who had been at Becca's door. The cat spotted Becca and freed herself from the child's grasp with a sudden twist. Becca scooped her up from the ground and as she gently stroked her fur, Midnight calmed down and began to purr contentedly.

Becca's eyes flashed indignantly. She glared at the children, not softened (as she would usually have been) by the nervous look of fear her visitors now wore with their costumes. Had 'Aragorn' not been watching from one side and an older girl standing guard on the other, she was certain that they would have fled.

"Why did you do that? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves?"

[Dimturiel]

Darlariel did not know how long she had sat alone with her thougths, memories of her past mixing with her reflections on the present until she had not been able to discern any diference between them. Suddenly she was abruptly brought back to reality by a voice sounding quite near her. She turned around to have a better look at the one who had adressed her, slightly intrigued by the way he talked. She saw an old man, leaning on a staff, with an owl nestled on his shoulder. For a moment, she was too taken aback by his appearance to be able to answer his request, but then something else happened, something she had not expected.

"I believe you are Darlariel."the old man said."My fine lady Darlariel, can you help me find the library?"

Darlariel felt her heart miss a beat when she heard the old man, calling her so casually on the name she had not used for such a long time, a name she was sure all those that had once heard it had forgotten it by now. She took a step backwards, her eyes fixed on that strange apparition that seemed to know so much about her. Who was he? What did he actually want and why had he come exactly to her? Could it be that her greatest dream, her burning desire was now going to come true? But...but how?

All these queries were in Darlariel's dazled mind, and all of them were demanding to be answered immediately. Yet when she opened her mouth to speak, her lips could utter no more than one question.

"How...how do you know this name?" she whispered. "How do you know I call myself this?"

She wondered whether he had not seen her when she was a child, whether he had not heard how proudly she had spoken her name then. Yet, no, it could not be that. She had changed since then, he would not recognise her. And she did not remember seeing such a quaint old man before. Where did he come from? Was he...was he from...? Yet how could he be? Darlariel looked at the man, trying to look more determined than she felt, and hoping that her voice would not tremble from the emotions that were inside her.

"I will lead you wherever you want, Sir." she told him. "Yet fisrt you must tell me who you are. And why did you call me by that name?"

[Noinkling]

Daisy ran up the steps, plastic sacks in hand. ‘Where are we from?’ she said, hearing the new fellow’s question. She looked at her three friends, her eyes narrowing. ‘Well, from around…here…and sort of…sideways to this place.’

‘What she means to say,’ picked up Bran hastily, ‘is that we don’t come here…‘here’, often.’ ‘And really,’ he went on, giving her a smirking sort of look, ‘she’s not that good with directions.’

Ferdy smoothed out his vest, tugging down at the hem. He ran his fingers through his curly hair, then looked down at his feet. ‘You know, I saw some of those young folk, the ones dressed Hobbitwise. They were wearing shoes on their feet.’ He looked round at his companions. ‘Think we oughta?’ he asked, wriggling his toes.

[piosenniel]

*cough . . .

‘The New Ford Library?’ Gilli looked sideways at Jack and shook her head at the question. ‘It’s closed at this hour, isn’t it m’dear? Just how are you proposing to get in?’

From out on the street that crossed the alleyway came the pattering of many feet; the sounds of young voices calling out to one another, laughing. A part of her wanted to run out to join them, sack swinging as she skipped along. Traces of chocolate and sticky lollys round her lips and on her cheeks. She’d loved this holiday....still did, if truth be told. The veil between the everyday world and what worlds might lie beyond grew thin and sometimes even disappeared altogether. She smiled, remembering those few brief times when she’d glimpsed something beyond what her everyday senses told her.

Ah, well.... she thought to herself. Those glimpses are a rare thing these older days.

She shrugged, and looked toward Jack again, sizing him up. ‘Of course, there is you....’ she said aloud. ‘And I did once actually sing a few bars with two of my best girls in the upstairs carrels. Of course, Old Ms. Shrewsbry quickly put an end to that.’ Gilli picked up her little backpack and her fiddle case, hoisting the one to her shoulders while the handle of the old wooden case was grasped tight in her fist.

Maybe there was room for a little magic tonight....

‘Sure! I’m up for it. Let’s go!’ She hurried along, trying to keep up with her companion’s long stride. ‘So, you haven't told me....just how are you thinking of getting us in?’

[Firefoot]

A small yelp escaped Raven's lips as she turned to see the witch lady standing there, already holding her cat, already looking quite self-satisfied again. She was trapped. Trapped! The older girl on one side and behind her, the witch lady in front, and a boy menacingly brandishing a cardboard sword on her other side. And now the lady was talking to them! Raven cringed; any time now, the curse would come; what would she do? Turn them into toads? Make them vanish? Take away all their candy?

"...You ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

"N - ye -"

"It was her idea," Tucker answered defensively. Raven spared her brother a brief glare.

"It was going to give us bad luck," she said sullenly, staring at her slippered feet but also watching for an opportunity to bolt. With support like that, Tucker could fend for himself.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Darlariel, I am afraid you have me at an advantage. Unless you tell me where the library is, I may be walking in circles for the next four hours. And I must get there quickly. Your questions, however, are not easy to answer. You must excuse me if I talk in riddles. It is only that Hedwig and I see so few folk during the year. We live in the woods west of town in a snug cottage made of wood and thatch. Sometimes a young lad or lass will come by and drop off an injured bird or squirrel that needs to be nursed back to health. I have been called by many different names over the years, but to those young ones I am the "Bird-tamer". That name is probably as good as any."

"As to your next question.....how I knew your true name?" Aiwendil paused and stared blankly into the misty shadows, wondering how he would ever explain this in a way that would not seem too wildly implausible. He tried out half a dozen stories in his mind but the only one that made any sense was the explanation that came the closest to being the real truth. "You see, Darlariel, you are an open and friendly person and your thoughts came spilling out to me. And somewhere, amid all those lovely thoughts, I clearly heard and saw the name Darlariel. Back home we have a name for that sort of thing. Generally, it's called osanwe."

"But please, that's enough preliminaries. I need to get to that library as quickly as I can. I would be much obliged if we could go now."

[Dimturiel]

Darlariel had listened to the old man's explanations, frowning slightly. Indeed, he spoke in riddles, but riddles she thought she could understand. "Bird-tamer" was a name that told her many things, and so did everything else that the man had said about himself. But she spoke nothing of her thoughts. She was not sure of them, for one thing, and also, the sensible part of her brain-the part that she hated most-was telling her that most likely the man could be mad. Yet that did not explain how he had known her name.

Darlariel waved her thoughts aside. Whoever the man was and whatever he wanted was not her business. He had asked for her help and that was the only thing that mattered. Darlariel had never backed out when someone required her aid, so why should she now? It was not a hard thing he was asking her to do, she could find the library with her eyes closed, having spent many a hour in there. Therefore she nodded slowly, looking the old man straight in the eye.

"Very well, master Bird-tamer," she said, "I will take you and Hedwig to the library. It is not far from here. Let us go, then."

They started walking, and Darlariel could not take her eyes from her new acquaintance. There was something about him that fascinated her. And she knew that it would have been like this even if he had not said all the amazing things he had told her, even if she had not known who he was. "But maybe he is not who you believe him to be."a voice inside her protested. "How could he be? Maybe he has lost his mind, all because he has been dreaming all his life,just as you have, for the world of almost forgotten legends. Maybe he is like this because, just as you, he refused to acknowledge the world he lived in and sought refuge in the ancient lays." Yet what was to acknowledge in such a world? What could be found in those times save a dull, tiresome stream leading nowhere and lacking all meaning and all splendour?

Darlariel looked around her. Everything had gone quiet, or maybe it was her uneasy mind that made it seem so. This was the night when terrible things happened, or so old tales said. Who could tell what unknown dark creatures lurked in the dark places of the city ready to waylay the unwary. Darlariel felt a shiver run down her spine. Wanting to draw away from her that feeling of uneasiness, she began talking with her new companion:

"You told me very few things about yourself, master Bird-tamer," she began, "Yet I did not find it hard to understand your riddles. You spoke to me of osanwe. Well let me tell you that I know very well what that means and who used it. And also there is your name, and your friendship with your owl, Hedwig. I have rarely seen something like this. Now you call yourself "Bird-tamer", yet I believe that back home you had other names that sounded fairer. Let me see. Could one of these possibly be...Radagast? Or perhaps...Aiwendil?"

[Celuien]

What on earth? Bad luck?

Becca hadn't been expecting that answer from the children. She knew, of course, that black cats were supposed to be unlucky, but didn't think that anyone took the idea seriously. She didn't. If anything, Midnight had brought her only good luck since the day two years earlier when Becca picked a tiny jet black kitten from a neighbor's litter. She scratched behind the cat's ears and Midnight nestled her head into the crook of Becca's arm, purring.

The children looked more nervous by the moment.

"Black cats bad luck." Becca shook her head. "I suppose you think I'm a witch too."

The girl looked more startled than if she had been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. "Ye-n-n-n-no," she stammered.

It was Becca's turn to be startled. Startled and amused at the silly notions in the girl's head. The corner of her mouth twitched, hinting at a grin despite her irritation.

"Now that's just silly. Hmmph. What's your name?"

Terror entered the girl's face. "R-r-r-a--v-ven...and this is my brother Tucker." Becca forced herself to stifle a chuckle. Raven wasn't about to give her name without making sure that her brother was identified too.

"Well, Raven and Tucker. Though I'm sure we're almost neighbors, we don't seem to know each other very well. That's a shame, but it seems the way of the city these days. I can tell you that I'm harmless and that Midnight is the sweetest cat who ever lived, but I have a feeling you won't take my word for it. What do I have to do to fix that?"

[Forest Elf]

After she had gotten over the fact that he hadn’t noticed it, she decided it was probably better to climb down rather than be stuck up in a tree all night, “besides, Jacinta, you’re not the sort to wait in a tree all night. You’re the kind who’d much rather chat with you’re friends, no matter-AYAZ!” she yelled, as her boot slipped and she hung upside down, bending upwards, frantically trying to keep her skirt from turning upsidedown. Her foot was caught between two branches, and she was still a good four or five feet from the ground.

Her palms began to sweat, a shiver went down her spine and fear’s icy fingers took hold of the back of her throat. “Okay, Jacinta, don’t panic, what ever you do, don’t panic.” She whispered to herself and started to think logically, whispering the thoughts to herself as she did so, “If I move my leg, so much as an inch, I’m dead, well, fallen out of the tree and down onto the next few branches then on the ground…and the other branches are too weak to support me, other than the one right below my head…better to call for help than to stay up here all night trapped in a tree. HELP ME!!” She called out into the night, causing a bird that had not noticed her before, suddenly cry out and fly off into the night sky.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil turned towards the young woman and smiled gently. He did not look surprised, only tired and resigned. "You may be right, my friend, or perhaps you are just talking to a batty old man who clings to half muddled stories and forgotten dreams. But you are the only one who can weigh what we have said and try to see what lies behind the words. Words are important, very important, yet they can only take you to a certain point. It is the truth behind the words that we must try to hear and remember." Under his breath, the old man muttered to himself that this was something Master Tolkien with his great affection for words had not said clearly enough. Aiwendil waggled a finger at the woman and then went on to explain, "I come to the city but once a year. There were other years when I spoke with someone living here, and they heard my words and understood a little. But the next morning, by the time the sun arose, they had forgotten my name, who I was, and everything else I had told them. So try to remember Darlariel, Try to remember the meaning that lies underneath the words."

As Aiwendil finished up his little speech, the two stood in front of the New Ford Library. It looked dark and foreboding. The front door was securely locked, and the old man could not even see any hint of movement in the bushes. "They must be around the back," Aiwendil muttered to Darlariel, but did not bother explaining who "they" might be.

"Follow me if you like. I am meeting someone . Yet I must warn you. I am not all that sure what is inside. Usually, the library is a warm, safe place filled with books and memories. Perhaps it will be so tonight as well. But Hedwig has heard that strange things may be going on." Here Aiwendil nodded at the owl before continuing, "I don't care for danger myself. I prefer peace and quiet and the company of birds who sing their tunes amid the forest trees. Still, the world is the world, and sometimes fears must be faced. This seems to be one of those times. But the choice to go forward or turn back must be yours alone."

Without stopping to wait for her answer, the istar strode forward and, with an easy grace surprising in one his age, climbed the old iron fence, thrust his body over, and landed safely in the back garden. Hedwig flew up and over the fence in one swift bound.

Inching forward in the dark, Aiwendil whispered huskily, "Jack, is that you? I am here, and I am afraid Hedwig has brought me some bad news." Two shadowy figures stood under a tree just a few paces in front of the wizard. "Let's go inside and I'll explain," the old man urged. "Safer there than here. But who is that with you? And how are we going to get inside?"

[Dimturiel]

Darlariel listened to the old man fascinated. Never had someone spoken such words of wisdom to her. Not in the real world, anyway. When she read The Lord of the Rings-and that would happen quite often-she fancied she heard the characters talking near her. And their voices sounded just like Aiwendil's-soft, gentle, yet also persuasive, as if urging her to understand. She knew quite welll what Aiwendil meant when he told her about the meaning behind the words. Yet she could never explain that meaning save only through blurred visions and dreams.

She remembered a dream she had once had, not a very long time ago. She was sitting on the grass of a sunny glade with Aragorn. And he was talking to her, in the same deep and gentle voice that Aiwendil had used with her. When she had woken up, she could not remember what he had said, save only that his words had been full of wisdom and comfort. Even now when she thought of that dream she felt her heart invaded with peace and joy. Yet also, there was a pang of sorrow, and the beginning of a great emptyness. She could not recall his words. She had tried many times to bring back into her mind if only a sentence from that conversation, yet it had all been in vain. Would it be so this time also? But no, she would not let it happen. And plus, this was not a dream. She was wide awake. Or was she?


They had stopped in front of the library. Aiwendil then began talking of something she could not quite comprehend. He spoke of danger and of choices. She felt puzzled about what he had said, so puzzled that she had little time to realise that he had headed to the back entrence without waiting for her. She ran after him, and caught up just in time to see him jumping over the huge fence with an agility that was amazing at a man his age.

Darlariel frowned. Entering a deserted yard near midnight on Haloween was not exactly what she felt like doing. Who knew what struggle would take place there, or what creature of darkness had found refuge in that place? She had never considered herself a warrior, she could not even fight with someone from her world, let alone some unknown peril that Aiwendil was now ready to face. Maybe she should turn away and go back to the safety of her home.

Yet she found out that she could not. Not now, not when she knew who her aquaintance was. She would not turn back, and risk turning this meeting into a dream, an unsure vision of a much too troubled soul. Not matter the cost, no matter what lay in store for her. Therefore, she too climbed over the fence and ran after Aiwendil. She saw that he was now accompanied by two figures but she did not care. She ran until she reached him and spoke to him in a quiet, yet pleading voice:

"I do not know what lies there. I am sure I have little power against it. Yet I cannot turn back. I am afraid but I cannot turn back. Please, please let me go with you. If my thoughts have indeed told you so many things about me, then I have no doubt you will unerstand me and let me come with you."

[Undómë]

Jack stepped forward from the shadows as Aiwendil approached. ‘An old friend,’ he said. At least for this little span of life allotted her he went on, speaking mind to mind with the old man. ‘Gilli, the fiddler. We were just about….’

Before he could show where the entryway was, another figure….a girl, slender and fair came running up. All out of breath from exertion and a little fear, too, it seemed. And quite in a rush to assure Aiwendil of her intent, and her need, to carry through.

‘I do not know what lies there. I am sure I have little power against it,' the girl said. 'Yet I cannot turn back. I am afraid but I cannot turn back. Please, please let me go with you. If my thoughts have indeed told you so many things about me, then I have no doubt you will understand me and let me come with you.’

And aren’t you the naughty wizard! Jack’s eyes glimmered with amusement. Reading her thoughts were you! Recruiting her for some adventure on this night?

Jack looked the newcomer up and down. She was comely enough he thought, looking at her in a mortal’s way. So young looking. Though, if he looked a little closer he thought there was the shadow of some old sorrow sat heavy on her brow.

Plucking out the two slender volumes he’d put in his coat pocket, Jack tucked them securely beneath his arm. ‘Well, I suppose we should be heading in before anyone else shows up, eh?’ He cocked his head and grinned at Hedwig. ‘You don’t have some feathered friend you want to come along, do you?’

Jack led the little group around to the rear of the building. There was a short paved driveway leading down to a small loading dock where the library took in shipments of books or sent them out for any major repairs. To the left of it was a heavy metal door with the tag on – Staff Only, and next to it a small metal box with buttons.

‘Let’s see,’ he said, running the fingers of his right hand lightly over the numbered and lettered keypad. 03J92 he tapped out, listening closely for the familiar click. There was none. He screwed up his mouth. ‘Ah! The woman’s changed it! Clever git!’ He turned round to the others. ‘Tis a game we play. The head librarian and I. She’s a fan of The Professor. Now, let me think, let me think.’ He rubbed his forehead as if the act might prise some hint of the new code.

ScullHammond came next – the door remained firmly locked. Followed by Snergs and next, Hurin in the off-chance the woman was looking ahead. No hint of tumblers sliding back could be heard. Cellardoor? No!

Then his fingers tried out a long ago password. Delighted laughter spilled from his lips as the handle turned and the door opened to the old six-lettered word.

‘Well, come on in, m’lord, m’ladies!’ Jack said, holding the door open for the others. He made a sweeping bow, his right hand gesturing toward the dim lit basement room.

The librarian had left a small light on at the far end of the room for him. Jack smiled and dug deep into his pants’ pocket, searching out the small green jewel he’d brought for her this time.

[Esgallhugwen]

Tonight is especially important to me, maybe more important then Christmas. When the veil is thinnest, it seems I can feel things that people can't or things they choose to ignore. I call them 'things' because I don't even know what they are. Ghosts, spirits, the memories and feelings of a past life. A gift my spirit carries granted by the powers that be. Was I meant for something in this world?

I've always felt like I don't belong. This isn't my time, I cannot tolerate humans, my heart is numb and sick. Have I lost something , am I not human like them? What am I, there is something inside i can feel it gnawing away.

The red head looked up from her reverie her bangs almost in her eyes. A grey wizard and a blue wizard laughing alongside eachother. Children. One was even wearing the quintessential bluish-grey pointed felt hat.

She smiled at their innocence, happily shovelling sugar into their faces, more then likely not even knowing what this night was intended for. She left food and water out for the deceased before she left her house for the evening, a custom to ease their passing in mortal lands.

All Barrow's Eve was a mingling of emotion to be sure. Sadness and mirth, she could be both. Questioning one's self was not all together a bad thing. Her long leg swung out in front of the other. The woman's graceful body turned into the tight corner of an alley way, her thick mane of hair flagging out behind her.

Her pale complexion disappeared into the darkness like a phantom. All the while smiling to herself the way she did when no one was looking. The sudden threat of realization made her stop, the tingling of others. "Help me!", the voice of a living girl.

It came from the end of the clutterd alley. She hurried her pace finely hopping over a misplaced garbage bag to find a girl hanging haphazardly by one leg from a tree. She cocked her head to the side and stared at the girl a moment a grin of subtle amusement on her face.

[littlemanpoet]

Sid cleared his throat. "Uh, Becca, ma'am, all the kids think you're a witch because of your cat. If you invite them into your house for a cup of cider, they're sure they'll be thrown in your oven."

Raven's and Tucker's eyes widened, as if Sid had 'hit the nail on the head'.

"Well that's just plain silly," Becca said.

"Mebbe," Sid said, "these little hobbits ought to just go trick-or-treating some more and leave off cat stealing. Here, I'll show you two the way. I'm Aragorn son of Arathorn. You're safe with me."

[Firefoot]

Raven's suspicion turned from the stern lady to this Aragorn. "Is that your real name, or are you trying to trick us, too?" she asked. She knew of a story with an Aragorn in it, but he was a heroic king. This skinny boy was allied with the strict old lady.

"Well, it's my real name for tonight," he said.

Raven frowned. What kind of answer was that? "What's your real name? Mum said we weren't supposed to listen to strangers."

He was starting to look the way Dad did when she asked too many questions - exasperated Mum called it. That was a big word. Raven giggled. "Sid," he said.

She giggled again. "Sidagorn. Arasid." She thought for a moment. "Okay. You can come with us. But you can't tell us what to do. And -" she gestured for him to stoop down so she could whisper in his ear, "Make the witch lady go away."

[littlemanpoet]

This little nip of a girl was trying to give him orders! Make the witch lady go away!? Sid couldn't keep from retorting.

"She's not a witch, silly! She's a nice lady who gave you candy and you stole her nice little cat! She's not even old so she can't be a witch! Come on!"

He looked back to Becca who was petting her cat, a smirk on her face. "Sorry about these kids. I guess they just don't know any better."

Sid tried to get Raven and Tucker to follow him back to the street but they just stood there.

"You'll miss out on all the caaaannnnndeeeeee!"

That got them going. They started running back to the street. Sid waved to Becca and she waved back. She really was a nice lady. Sid decided that he would stop by and say 'hullo' some time.

[Esgallhugwen]

The tall girl made her way over to the tree. She pressed her long fingered palm up against it's bark. Please don't let me fall.

She hesitated for an instant then attempted to grab the nearest branch. "Too short", she jumped up pulling her leg up against the tree while extending her arm again. This time she caught hold kicking her foot out into a knotted clump of bark she inched herself along until she was sitting atop one of the stronger limbs of the tree.

"Almost there", she half whispered to herself, closing the gap between them was easy. "I'm terribly sorry but it just occured to me I actually have no clue as to how to get you down from here".

She looked about thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as a thought struck her. "I shall return shortly" while she climbed down the tree she slid half way down the rest abruptly stopping when her feet hit the concrete.

The girl recalled from the alley way a large folded lump of something that looked soft enough to fall on. She pulled it forward into the lamplight. It was a mattress.

After a couple of rough starts trying to pull it the distance necessary she finally edged it up to the tree. "It may be dirty but it's better then driving your head into the stone walk way".

[Kath]

The two brothers had followed the Little people as they made their way out of the side street. Sam grabbed Billy's hand as they stepped out of the shadows, not wanting to lose him among all the other kids milling about. He knew if he did that his parents would never let him out of the house on his own again, and how embarrassing would that be? Of course, it would be no less embarrassing if his friends found out that he had spent the night chasing after kids dressed up as Hobbits because he believed them to be real.

"Billy," he began, "you know those people aren't really Hobbits don't you? So there's really no point in following them. And we won't get any treats at all if we just trail around after them all night."

Billy turned to look at him, his big brown eyes wide in the dark.

"They are so really Hobbits. They're dressed proper, look, they don't even have any shoes on! If I was dressed as a Hobbit I'd have shoes on, mum wouldn't have let me out if I didn't. And we can follow them and get treats, we just stay a few doors down from them."

Sam shrugged in defeat and allowed Billy to pull him on toward the first house. At least this is keeping him entertained, he thought to himself, we might actually make it through without screams and tears this year.

Standing in front of a house a little way down from the one the Hobbits were currently at, Billy instructed Sam to keep an eye on them while he did the trick'r'treating. Knowing his brother would be able to get more candy than he would Sam agreed, and watched as some sort of argument broke out. Strangely enough, it seemed to be about feet.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tish laughed.

Alone in her dark, candle lit house, with only a cat and chopsticks for company, she laughed and tried to flick her hair out of her eyes, forgetting, as always, that she had short black hair now, not long blond hair. It made her stop laughing.

With cold eyes and no candy, she took her cloak, her beloved full-length, black, embroidered, purchased-for-way-too-much-off-EBay, cloak, and slipped out the back door toward the cemetery for her annual stroll.

If she ever could have guessed what horrors awaited her, surely Tish would have dressed as a fairy princess and stayed home with Twix and Skittles. If she could have known - and known that they'd reached a time of human existence wherein epics and death chants and songs of heroic deeds pretty much stopped existing - she never would have stepped onto the dark road.

[Forest Elf]

Jacinta looked down, the girl was right; it was better than nothing…“Thank you!” Jacinta called down. She closed her eyes and gulped, she wasn’t used to being stuck in tree’s, much less, in this rather odd position. She opened her eyes again and stared down. “Do you think that I should fall? Or jump, kind of…”

She stared down at the mattress, her head starting to spin. She closed her eyes again, and started to hope that this wasn’t really happening, but the sharp bark against her arm proved that is really is happening…and soon, if she didn’t do something, or someone else, she wouldn’t be able to feel her foot.

[Bêthberry]

The library was not greatly lit after hours. There was a subdued lighting around the main librarians' desks, the computer terminals, the old card catalogue which no one ever searched these days but which maintained a pride of place. Not everything had been transferred over to the electronic system and some day some scholar was going to discover just what significant tomes were encoded on the small cards. That discovery would lead her or him to the quiet spot on the shelves where waited the expectant book, savouring the prospect of discovery in the patient knowledge of the long wait of years.

The main hallways were lit, of course, as well as the central study areas where tables now were bare of any books, laptops, photocopies, day planners. Yet off to the sides, at the very edges of the building, there lay the study carrells, like applicable (not allegorical) reminders of the ancient monks' carrells oh these long years ago. A mumble was heard in the corner where the blue carrells ran up against the yellow carrells. There, the last remnant of comfort remained, signifying a scholarly desmense from years back. Yes, there in the corner were the last upholstered chairs of the library, where someone could seek comfort and ease and curl up with a great book, out of sight of the timeclock which imposed the mintues and hours of every assignment due.

And what to wondering eyes did appear but two figures, heads close, almost closeted in intimate discussion. Around them were piles of books, stacked irregularly. Some books were laid open, their spines split, while others more modestly merely held spots with bookmarks. Yet these tow figures oft referred to the books, pulling open a page and reciting chapter and verse--well, not quite, as these books more tellingly were of letters. It was date and number which were pulled forth for proof and refutation. For that was the business of these two figures, pale in the pale light.

"No one appreciates the letters any more," complained one. Surprisingly, he wore a mohawk hair style. "I tried to nail one discussion the other day by reference to a letter to Rayner Unwin but no one else had read it."

"Ke ke ke ke ke" retorted the other figure.

"Really, it's worse than fangirls gushing without having read the books, let alone the Letters."

"Ignorance."

"Worse than that. Then you've got some who tear the letters to shreds, insisting that Tolkien didn't really mean what he said, that it was all fabricated for the person he was writing to."

"Well, don't ride me. I never suffered fools gladly. And look where it got me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's sad, really. People think the height of the Downs is this Yorkshire new age bloke. They don't arfing realise how scholarly things were once when we really clued in on the historical aspects, the consistency of Middle earth."

The second figure remained silent at this, merely shaking his head.

The two of them sat there, resigned, wondering if anyone would show up this night at the library, or merely fixate on the easy pop culture charicatures of the movies. Surely some night someone would come by to read the books that started it all. They sat there patiently--a characteristic each had learned with some effort--these two, burrahobbit and obloquy--wondering if ever again would the really interesting discussions come to the forefront of Books again. They sat there, so pale that their figures could easily be missed, except that they had chosen this night to present themselves. But wondering too if anyone would ever find them, mired as they were in the lost reaches of the bookshelves, where no scanned online version ever trod and where no one could with a click of a finger copy text.

[Firefoot]

Raven had glared at Sidagorn as he spoke loudly to the witch lady, spilling the contents of her whispered message - and then the way he treated them! "Sorry about these kids," indeed. His following call of "Caaaannnnndeeeeee!" had gotten her and Tucker moving, having reminded her of her woefully empty bag of candy.

"That looks like a good house," he commented as they neared the next one on the block, and it was delightfully spooky with "cobwebs" strung up on their porch and tombstones strewn about the lawn. Nevertheless, Raven felt resentful at the comment; she and Tucker were old enough to be out on their own, after all! He wasn't in charge of them.

"We can go by ourselves," Raven informed him, and as she and Tucker hurried up the walk, she muttered to her brother, "We don't need this Sidagorn tagging along with us. We can go trick'r'treating on our own. We're going to ditch him - we'll slip down an alley somewhere or something."

Tucker didn't seem to care whether Sid went with them or not, but the idea of trying to escape him definitely appealed.

They collected their candy at that house and trudged back towards Sidagorn standing on the sidewalk. It's not going to be any treats for you, Mister Sidagorn. Only tricks.

[Esgallhugwen]

She looked to the girl still in the tree. "I would suggest jumping. That way you can prepare for the inevitability that you may get hurt whereas falling would leave you prone to become hooked by the tree again and then possibly hurt".

She shrugged her shoulders, "I really can't give you much advice, I've never been in this predicament before". The tall girl knew that either way the younger one stuck the tree would get hurt whether a few scrapes from the weaker branches or some bruises and bumps on top of that.

"I know this is easier to suggest than to do, but can you reach up and pull your foot free of the branches?, if so maybe you could try to drop down without being hit". Another whisper of the others made her tense but she pressed her dark red lips into a hopeful smile, trying to expect the best outcome.

She almost looks like the Hanged Man from my tarot card deck. Emphasis on almost of course, considering she didn't choose to be in this state. Yet still something to be accounted for. A choice for either her or myself must be made tonight. I'm sure of it.

[piosenniel]

The monitor screens threw little pools of soft light here and there in the reading room.

~*~ New Ford Public Library ~*~
scrolled silently across their pale grey surfaces. And there in the lower left corner of each screen was a little blinking light. A bright little jewel, a star... beckoning.

Gilli looked sideways at one of the screens as she passed. She stifled a gasp, and bit back a giggle as a quick little face peered out at her from atop the flashing light. A wee sprite’s face, it seemed. And just as quickly it disappeared when she turned her gaze full on it.

‘Well, I’ll be! There’s pixies in the wires. Just as my old granddad told me.’ Her eyes slid furtively to the right and she was sure another little face gave her an impish look and stuck out its tongue at her. Again, it was gone as soon as she tried to pin it with her eyes.

‘Have it your way, then, good folk!’ she said, turning away from the screens. Gilli put her fiddle case on one of the reading tables and drew her instrument from it. She held it under her chin and plucked at each of the strings, turning the tuning pegs until her ears were satisfied with the sounds.

Above her arched the rounded dome of ceiling; while above the room itself a wide balcony made its way about the area with carrels stashed here and there among the second floor library stacks. Most of what lay just beyond the balustrade fronting the balcony lay in shadow and Gilli wondered, as she looked upward, if her eyes did really see soft shadows moving among the darker ones.

Best not to think about them too much, she whispered to herself. Acknowledge them; leave little gifts as you can, is what her granddad cautioned. Just don’t call to much attention to yourself...lest the wee people take too much note of you and do some mischief.

She drew her bow softly across the strings and tapped her foot in time. ‘Well, now, here’s something for you. The Faerie Reel (http://www.efolkmusic.org/ArtMusic/preview.asp?tune=macmaster_fairy.mp3), it’s a lively one. Go on then, dance if you will...

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil turned in appreciation and smiled at Gilli who was playing a sprightly fiddle tune. The old man would have liked to stop and dance, but there was no time for that. A more serious business called. Eerie noises still drifted from the carrels above, as glimmers of light flashed and beckoned from inside the pages of books. These tiny sparks glowed for an instant and, if no one picked up on them, quietly faded into darkness. There seemed to be quite a bit of fading going on in the dusty recesses of the stacks.

Aiwendil’s eyes traveled warily from one end of the wall to the other and then inched upward towards the domed ceiling. He could sense no real animosity or evil here, only hearts filled with mischief or resignation. Whatever live bodies or spirits inhabited these particular halls, they were unlikely to be the ones he had come to find. And yet Aiwendil could not throw off the feeling that the dangers Hedwig had described were somewhere close by, close enough that the creatures in question could actually see the things he was doing.

The old man sat down uneasily in front of the terminal screen and pulled out a long sheet of rumpled paper from his back pocket. It was a simple scribbled list that anyone except Aiwendil would have a hard time deciphering. The original listing had been even longer than this, but a number of the other sites had gone out of business after the uproar over the films died down. Even so, it would take him some time if he was going to try and visit every site appearing on the sheet.

http://www.lotrplaza-we'rethebiggest!com
http://www.councilofelrondandarwen.com
http://www.planet-tolkienandlewis.com
http://www.minastirithrising up.com
www.writersofrohanandtheshire.com
http://www.theonering.net/rumourmill. html
http://www.khazaddumonlyforthefoolhardy.com
http://www.glyphweb/wikicombined.com
http://ardalmabion for the brave
www.mythsocforthestuffy.org
www.tolkiensociety-we're the best!.org
www.forum.barrowdowns.com

In his haste to get something down on paper, Aiwendil was sure that he had overlooked a number of important sites. But the old man did not have the time or patience to do any more research, and he was hopeful that at least one of the names on the list would yield something interesting. Hedwig had sworn he had overheard whispered conversations between several of the nighttime beasts about strange and potentially perilous goings on. One fruit bat had even hinted that on the eve of Samhain some of the more powerful shadow creatures would claw a terrible rent in the fabric of the veil and threaten to overwhelm the world of man.

Aiwendil sincerely hoped that he would find Hedwig had been wrong about these rumors. In the old, old days he had left such headaches to Gandalf as he had no special love for untangling other people’s problems. But alas, after Gandalf sailed west, he sometimes had to exert himself, since no one more appropriate was left to deal with these matters. Once in a hundred years the istar might receive a reassuring dream from Manwe or his own beloved Yavanna to let him know he had not been totally forgotten. But he could not remember the last time he had received such a message of hope.

Aiwendil sat down at the terminal crossing his fingers that the electronic beast would behave and allow him to get on these various sites. The old man had a limited understanding of computers and, if anything went wrong, he was never sure how to fix them. In that one respect, luck was with him. He quickly logged on and began pulling up the various sites. His actual search results, however, were far from encouraging. He had hoped to find some mention of the goings on that Hedwig referred to. Fans of the professor were quite good at digging up rumors and passing them on, even if they misunderstood many key elements of the legendarium to an even greater degree than Master Tolkien had done.

In the first place, one or two of the sites were filled with off-topic conversations that were totally useless for Aiwendil’s purposes. The quality of the posting was definitely going down. Many of the other sites contained endless gibberish about a few, fixed questions: Balrog wings, speculation on where the Lady Ents had gone, and lively debates on who Tom Bombadil actually was. Aiwendil could have settled each of these problems for the mortal posters. Someday, he would take the time to do a post and tell them what the real answers were, but tonight he did not have that luxury. He pushed on to some of the more serious sites, the ones that dealt with languages and books and provided short reference articles. Surely, these learned people would have picked up on any serious threat to the health and happiness of 7th Age Arda. Again, he met with disappointment. The old fellow was getting desperate since he was down to the last name on the list: http://www.barrowdowns.com. It was a rather smallish website with an odd color scheme of black, green and orange. Aiwendil ruefully concluded that this must be the Barrow-wight’s idea of a bad joke. Despite the dreadful color scheme, the site did seem like an appropriate place for creatures of the night to gather.

This time at least, there was a large Books forum. Aiwendil carefully read over all the recent posts but could not find anything beyond the usual references to Balrog wings. He clicked on another link and was taken to a spot where people were playing games about werewolves. For one moment, the istar considered the possibility that the threat to the peace of Arda might actually be an invasion by werewolves. But this did not seem probable, and he could get no sense that any real peril motivated the light hearted if gruesome words of these particular posters. About to give up and wander back to his cottage in the woods, the istar impulsively clicked on a link that took him to a series of role playing games. He was shocked and dismayed to skim over one story that totally misrepresented his own character and actions. If he ever got hold of that “Child”, he would give her a scolding in no uncertain terms! Still he could see nothing that reminded him of what Hedwig had spoken.

In desperation, Aiwendil went further down the screen to “Elvenhome”, apparently the cemetery for games that had died. Surely, if the dark creatures had posted a notice of their intent this would be the appropriate place. He clicked through a list of games, most of them finished but a few half done, and then worked his way back to the very oldest ones. It was on the last page that he saw it. With excitement glowing in his eye, the old man called over to Jack, “Come here! Take a look at this. Do you think this means anything?” Aiwendil pointed to the first post in a half done story. It was apparently from the very old days of the RPG forums before the moderator Piosenniel and her sidekick Child managed to bring order to the chaos. It was a time when magical weapons and chat discussions abounded; the games could and did center on some very strange topics…...

[Celuien]

Becca watched the children hurry away.

"Bad luck and witches," she murmured to Midnight. "Is that really what they think?" She scratched Midnight's chin, lost in thought. Becca hardly noticed trick'r'treaters passing her in the streets as she slowly made her way homeward.

Outside her house, there was a bright swath of light coming from her hallway. She had left her door open in her earlier panic, and it still sat slightly ajar, illuminating the dark street below with a soft glow. Becca closed the door, and the street was dark again.

"They don't understand at all, do they?" She put Midnight on the ground and checked her candy bowl. The trick'r'treaters had helped themselves in her absence. Becca didn't mind. She had bought the candy to give away, and the children were more than welcome to it. She refilled the bowl with her last bag of chocolate. But there was another treat still hidden in a cupboard in the kitchen. A special treat.

Becca opened the cabinet. A plate of white cupcakes glistened on the shelf. Sugar leaves sparkled on top of each cupcake.

"It's a special recipie, Midnight. Twenty-four cupcakes. All of them special, but one more than the others. One is very special. It was hard to do, but it's time." She added wistfully, "Yes. It's time."

[Dimturiel]

Darlariel followed the other three in the library, yet once she was there she stood slightly apart from them. They seemed to have a very important business there, and she did not want to be more of an inconvenience to them than she already was. Of course, none of them had spoken against her coming, but she still felt too much of an outsider.

Darlariel headed to the nearest bookshelf. She was delighted to read the name "Tolkien" on most of the books there. She drew from the shelf an old edition of the "Felowship of the Ring". But she did not open it. Instead, she stood as if deep in thought, stroking the cover with a seemingly mechanical gesture, yet in that caress there was more love and gratitude than even she realised she had. She blushed, suddenly remembering that she was not alone. Hastily, she put the book back, hoping that no one had noticed her.

She felt uneasy, and she found it difficult to hide it. Strange, that she should feel like this here, she thought. Usually the library was among the only places where she felt secure, untouchable by the troubles and perils of the world. Yet tonight she felt that it was not so. Maybe it was only because of what Aiwendil had told her, but what if it meant something more than that? She cast a worried glance over her shoulder.

But immediately she felt ashamed of her fear. "So you were once saying how much admiration you have for the heroes of old, were you not? " a reproachful voice sounded in her mind. "Well what would Aragorn and the others say if they could see you now? " Yet she knew that they would have nothing against her fear if she ignored unesainess and stood her ground.

Gilli began playing a merry tune at her fiddle. Darlariel smiled at her, unable to hide her gratitude. Such fair song would surely frighten any being that delighted in darkness and haterd. They would surely fade, unable to bear such proof of the light and beauty of the world.

Darlariel turned to Aiwendil. His attention was fixed on the screen in front of him. Daralriel looked over his shoulder. She had often thought of joining such sites as the ones Aiwendil was looking at. What would be more delightful than being able to talk about the things she liked with people that shared her passion? Yet she knew that this would not truly provide her with the peace for which she was so desperately searching. Maybe it would be fun, and also fullfiling from an academic point of view, but that was all. No, she had long decided that help would not come from that direction. But then, from where would it come?

[littlemanpoet]

Sid had been making the rounds and his pillow case was half full. He had made sure the kids, Raven and Tucker, had made it safely back to a lighted sidewalk and with firm words not to go cat stealing anymore, left them to their mischief.

He was walking down a block that he had been down before but couldn't remember having stopped out all the houses. Of course! This was the house Becca had come running out of! Sid smiled. Then he wondered if she would recognize him at all. He swallowed. Probably not. He frowned. He shook his head hard. Silly. It was Halloween and nobody recognized anybody anyway, so just get the candy and don't worry about it.

But it would be nice if she remembered. She was a pretty lady especially when she smiled at him. He'd never say such a thing to anybody, especially not his friends! - but he could think it if he wanted.

He walked up Becca's sidewalk and prepared to say those hallowed words, wondering why the butterflies were flitting in his stomach.

[Undómë]

The stars were strange in Far Harad, and the Moon rode higher on his courses through the sky above that far south land, and the Sun was not kindly to the dry sands beneath her chariot by day.

The people of that far south land were gathering for war, and every man, woman, child, and beast was conscripted for the work of preparing for battle. Their old enemies, the cruel men of Gondor, would finally meet their fate at the hands of Sauron, Lord of Mordor.

Jack read over Aiwendil’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the small green letters floating on their black background. It was a bilious combination. And, though he had the adamantine constitution of the Fair Folk of old, it really did make him a little queasy.

‘’Let me just adjust that,’ he said, stepping around the older man and slipping his hand onto the mouse. In an economy of clicks the eerie screens had changed to a manageable black and white and the size of the text was now large enough to be read with ease. He scrolled back up to the top of the page. ‘Interesting title – The Simian Shadow of Far Harad. Now what’s got you so alarmed about it?’

Gilli played softly now in the background. The notes of her song seemed to push back the shadows that hovered along the edges of the walls; that gathered in the corners. He was glad she had come along.

He scrolled down the page at a steady rate, reading quickly the various messages.....no, ‘posts’ – that’s what the users of this site called their little writings. ‘It’s not this, is it? This part about Maleficent. Some sort of ape, is it? And a bad’un as far as I can see.’

He read aloud.....

‘Maleficent found his way into the city in the usual manner. He was old and thusly tired after a fruitless day. He watched the evening's activity in the square with vast but measured interest and retired to his corner in the battlements.’

‘He thought long and hard. Maleficent was older than anything he had encountered. Still searching for that Good Deed. Ahhh...this exile wearied him. He had lost count of the summers. For what purpose was this endless ageing?’

‘His old yet flexible mind moved smoothly up a gear and he achieved the familiar click of foresight. In the mists of events he sieved for answers. The city was shrouded in a fog that made any real prescience impossible yet shapes moved in the darkness. He closed his eyes. As the gloom of deep thinking opened ahead of his probing thoughts he saw clearly the bright shapes of the wolves. Why so many of the Old Race?’

‘His thought surged ahead again and he felt vitality seeping from his body as his mind drew into itself. The city was attracting what it needed. Events were in flux... He found the febrile cunning of the mouse Fedwie and wondered at such a place for the Hidden Kind. He realised that for such companions to be in confluence, the purpose must be terrible. He threw his mind out further, beyond the city walls, finding the crow, at wing, purpose unknown. The gorilla drawn to the city by forces it could not understand. What role for the Great Ape?’

‘Maleficent shuddered and came back to himself. The floor of his castle cranny was cold and hard. He drew some straw under himself but it was damp and he shivered again.'

‘Oh, this doesn’t sound good at all!’ Jack went on.

‘The night would be a long one. He knew many things but he did not know the dark hand that was encircling the city. He did not know the part he had in this play. Yet he could watch and assimilate. Maleficent was good at watching. He knew the wolves would not come unless there were great need.’

Jack scrolled to the bottom of the page. There had been the kidnapping of some human child. and something about wolves coming into the city.....and wargs..... The story, the writing had petered out. How like men to become sidetracked and leave something half-done. That Tolkien fellow, excepted, of course. But then, he’d been touched by faerie.....or so it seemed to Jack.

‘Is it the dark hand that worries you, Aiwendil? Do you feel it “encircling” the city?’ Jack cast his mind back over their short journey to the library. ‘Gilli!’ he said, turning round to look at the fiddler. ‘Remember that group of trick-or-treaters we passed by just as we left the alley? The one you thought looked like a troupe of circus animals. You said their costumes and their make-up was so well done; they looked so real, you said.’ He chewed at the edge of one ragged fingernail as he thought. ‘Perhaps we should have got a better look at them. Maybe they weren’t in disguise at all.’

He cast an eye on the young woman who'd come with Aiwendil. 'Darlarliel, isn't it?' he said, raising a questioning brow toward her. 'Did you happen to notice any.....persons in strange costume when you and Aiwendil walked here?' He laughed despite the serious atmosphere surrounding their little group. 'That is, more strange than usual on this night of ghosties and beasties and things that go bump in the dark?'

[Dimturiel]

Darlariel thought hard. Of course, she had seen many figures dressed strangely and wearing masks that would give many nightmares. Yet that was not unusual on that night. She could not say for certain that she had noticed something out of the ordinary. Well, unless you counted...

Darlariel closed her eyes in concentration. That evening, as she was ready to go out, she had caught sight of a strange group on the street. They were wearing masks that were very hideous, but also very realistic. So realistic that she had felt frightened. She remembered that they had been laughing roughly and singing a harsh song, that seemed to be about death and destruction. And she also recalled the terror that had overwhelmed her when hearing those songs. She told Jack all this.

"I thought then that something was not quite right with them." she finished. "Although...although I could not clearly point out what. It was mostly a...well, a feeling. You do not think that they...they were not..." She hesitated. The thought brought a bitter taste in her mouth. "Do you think they were not human?" she finished.

Darlariel was not sure she really wanted to hear Jack's answer. She knew there would be no going back after that, no way of returning to her former innocence. Yet there was nothing that she could do now. She had got herself into this, she had no choice but to go along until the end, whatever that was going to be.

[piosenniel]

Gilli’s skin prickled as Darlariel recounted the group she’d seen. She could almost hear the dark melody they’d been singing. Her eyes darted nervously upward and about the balustrade, wondering if it were just her imagination or were there low echoes of their harsh laughter just disappearing even now into darkness. Gilli shook herself and twitched her shoulders as if to throw off such dark thoughts.

Her mood lightened as she recalled the trick-or-treaters she’d seen when she and Jack had left the alley. ‘The Little Folk are out again this year,’ she said, turning away from the shadows and toward her three companions. ‘You saw them. Remember, Jack? They wore no masks; their features and clothes were guise enough. And unlike the little ones who were being characters from the Rings movies, the Little Folk went bare footed as always.’

She wrinkled her forehead, thinking about that small group Jack had mentioned. ‘I do remember those trick-or-treaters.....the ones with the animal costumes on. Not really costumes, though. And not really circus-y now that I think about them. Their clothes were just ordinary....jeans, shirts, & boots on their feet, I think. It was their masks that were so extraordinary. Wolf, fox, crow, hawk, among others. And I think I saw a bear among them. And him walking next to a deer.’

She plucked at the strings of her fiddle, wondering if she should say what else she thought she saw. ‘You know, I didn’t really get a bad hit off them. They seemed really to belong there.’ She rubbed at the back of her neck. ‘There was one thing. When they had nearly passed out of sight, one of them, the fox-masked one I think, turned back for a quick glance our way. Beneath the mask, or through it, really, I thought I saw a smiling face. And in it deep, brown, old eyes. He nodded once, then turned away, a fox once again.’ Gilli shrugged.

‘Weird, eh?’

[Celuien]

The evening had flown in streams of children knocking at Becca's door. All had been given candy in handfuls. Chocolates and caramels and butterscotch. And then there were a few who were given an extra gift of one of the glistening white cupcakes. A little girl with a gentle smile and a soft light in her blue eyes. A dark haired boy with a big grin and merry laugh. A sad faced child dressed as Cinderella. And many others.

Only three cupcakes remained, including the most important of the set, though Becca didn't know which held the prize.

"I didn't make them, you know," she whispered to Midnight. "He did, on my last trip. And he put the star into the batter. I don't know which has the star. But he said I could choose who will have it next. And I don't think I chose anyone who has been here so far."

Midnight's tail swished.

"It would be easier if I knew the children, the way they did it in the old days at the feast. But I don't know most of them. I don't know if they'd understand. Faerie is special. Everyone who gets a cupcake tonight will know that, at least for a while. But the one who gets the star has to truly understand."

There was another knock at the door. Becca recognized her visitor and grinned.

"Why, hello again, Aragorn."

Somehow I think he'd understand. I wonder.

[littlemanpoet]

"Why, hello again, Aragorn." It was Becca, and she was smiling. She remembered! Sid couldn't help the smile that came to his face.

"You can call me Sid."

There was Midnight, her cat, tail high and back arched, her side brushing against Becca's shin. Midnight was looking straight at Sid with a look of appraisal.

"Hi Midnight. Are you glad to be safe at home again?" Sid grinned and looked up at Becca. He noticed a slight tilt of her head, an odd glint in her eye, as if she was considering something; what, he could not guess: whether he'd fit in her witch's kettle? Don't be silly, Sid!

He held out his pillow case, feeling very self-conscious. She was still smiling, still had that strange expression on her face. It made her look like very pretty. Sid was beginning to notice things like that a lot more just in the last two months. He let his imagination dance a little bit, which probably came from reading that one set of books more often than any other. He imagined that Becca was someone who had jumped out of that little short story he'd read, that she was the Queen of Faerie, and that she was masquerading as a neighbor on Halloween night. Ah, why not? he thought to himself.

"Trick or treat, my Lady." Sid immediately winced, which he was sure she had seen, and felt doubly foolish.

[Celuien]

Becca regarded Sid thoughtfully, still smiling. He seemed so awkward and embarrassed. And yet there was something else too that she couldn't quite describe. Something that she had first noticed when they went off to find Midnight.

"Trick or treat, my Lady," he said. And winced.

"Rightly spoken, my Lord." Becca replied, trying to overcome Sid's embarrassment. She scooped chocolates into his pillowcase, then reached to the platter of cupcakes.

He should be the one. She picked up a cupcake.

"You know, Sid, it was very nice of you to help with find Midnight. Thank you. I have a special treat for you." Becca held out her hand and the white and silver frosting on the cupcake sparkled under her porch light.

[littlemanpoet]

The frosting on the cupcake sparkled in the porchlight, like little stars. Her words had been kind, and so Sid had fallen in love. Of course that was silly, she was a grown woman and he was just a twelve year old boy. But he was in love with the Queen of Faery, and this was she standing before him. Of course not really, but why not on this one night of the year?

Sid tentatively reached and took the cupcake in his hand, brushing her palm, sending shivers down his wrist. What if she really was the Faery Queen? Do you have another name, my lady?

"Uh, is it okay if I eat it now? Becca? Ma'am? My lady? Your highness?" he stumbed over his tongue and winced again.

[Celuien]

"Certainly. It's probably best to eat it now." It was best. Both because Becca wanted to see if she had given Sid the right cupcake and because she thought he might have questions for her afterward.

Becca suddenly chuckled. "You know, Sid, I really ought to be the one saying, 'Your Highness.' You are the King of Gondor, after all. And I'm just Becca the harp player."

[littlemanpoet]

"Me, king of Gondor?" Sid grinned. Becca was beyond nice. "Well maybe tonight." He took a bite of the cupcake. It was good. He looked at where he had bitten. It was glittery on the inside too. Sid wondered how she did that. He put the rest of it in his mouth. There was a tingle on his tongue this time along with the sweetness. He swallowed, and it went down smoothly; but it also seemed to go up into his head. Was this what strong drink was like?

He looked at Becca. Suddenly he knew that she was not the Faery Queen, but that she had been to Faery for real. He could see it in her eyes, in her smile, in her hair, like a glow that came off her skin.

"You've really been there, haven't you?"

Sid said it with a sense of awe. Then he felt a little tickle on his forehead. He put his hand up to itch it, but the urge stopped the moment he touched his skin; he could feel something different there, somehow, but not in a way that he could normally feel.

"What just happened, Becca?"

Her smile was softer now. "You have been given the Star of of the King of Faery. You can pass its borders now."

Sid's jaw dropped. He knew it was true. Becca had been there, but now she could no longer go there. Tears came to his eyes and his throat clenched.

"You can't go anymore. You're not old yet, why did you give it to me?" I would have liked to go there with you!

[Celuien]

The Star had been passed on irrevocably, and Becca's smile was now tinged with sadness. The paths to Faery were closed to her. That knowledge came with a pang, but one that was eased by Sid's understanding of the gift. She felt that she had chosen well.

She spoke, and her voice was low and gentle. "There are some gifts, Sid, that are too precious for one person to keep. Special gifts that are bigger than any one person. Gifts that aren't owned, but only held and loved for a time until they're meant to be shared. The Star is one. It was time for me to pass it to the next person, just as it has been passed on from one keeper to the next for more years than I know.

I can't go back. But I'll always know and remember, and that's more than any but a very few people can say. And, even more importantly, I know that someone else will come to know Faery after me. You."

"But why me?" Sid's eyes were still full of silver bright tears.

"So many reasons. But mostly, it seemed like you were meant to have it. On this one night, you were here, and you helped me. There's more at work in the world than chance, you know."

"I wish...I wish that you could still go too."

Becca brushed Sid's shoulder. "It's okay, Sid. It was time. And if there's anything I've learned from having the Star, it's that there's a little bit of Faery all around us, all the time, if only we keep watching for it. Look!"

They turned and looked out at the night, and the stars glittered in Becca's eyes.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Is it the dark hand that worries you, Aiwendil? Do you feel it “encircling” the city?’

Jack had said it far better than he could. This night was different than other nights, even different than those times in previous years when they'd trudged into the city to celebrate the passing of the year. But it was not a kind of difference that made Aiwendil terribly comfortable.

"Can you give me a hand with this door?" Aiwendil barked over to Gilli and Darlariel, his voice laced with worry. The door that they were standing by was not the back entrance they'd used to come inside the library, but the heavy wooden door that faced onto main street.

"But it's locked," someone objected.

"No, not tonight, and certainly not now." The three of them pushed with all their might. Then Aiwendil turned the handle and, as if by magic, the door spun open on its own. He walked outside and stood on the porch. For a moment everything was quiet. A single star glittered in the sky. "Perhaps I was wrong," he muttered to himself. He stood and waited to see if anything would happen.

It was then that he heard it: an ugly, rasping voice, full of menace and envy. Then other voices quickly joined in. They weren't really voices in the manner that a man might speak, but Aiwendil did not know what else to call them. The sounds made the istar tremble. Too many bad memories. Worse than that, the sounds were getting closer.

"Close the door now!" The old man whirled around and ran in from the porch, slamming the door behind him. He reached up and secured the latch and then looked over at Jack. "I don't like it at all. They are outside.....a whole crew perhaps. This shouldn't be happening. Not tonight....not now. And I have no idea how to deal with this. Elves and Balrogs.....at least I understand those. But Orcs, wicked Orcs and trolls, I have never understood. I thought that perhaps it would be a houseless Elf or two, but I never suspected anything like this. Well, my friend Jack, I am hoping you have some idea what to do. Either that or one of you. " He glanced around at the others. "I thought this place of wisdom would act as a refuge. Even an Elf who has lost his soul has some respect for books. But these folk are different. The building we have chosen as our fortress may turn out to be a prison from which there is no escape."

[Undómë]

Jack poked his head over the balustrade at the sound of Aiwendil’s voice. Three small books found their way into his coat’s large pockets as he raced down the steps; his long legs taking two or three at a time. Behind him, the shadows between the stacks seemed to move forward until they crowded in along the oak balusters watching the scene below.

‘Ah, good! You’ve got the door secured.’ He stood, hands on slender hips, thinking. ‘And the basement’s all locked up; I reset the keypad.’

The sounds grew louder, more raucous beyond the thick door. Jack looked up at the stacks, his eyes flicking round the circumference. ‘Guard your barrow well, my friends. We’ll see what we can do from behind our old foe.’

Jack turned back to Aiwendil and the two women. ‘Come, there’s a way beneath the grounds to the old library building. A nice dry tunnel where the steam pipes run. There are many less popular books stored in the old building, as well as a place where the book repairer works. We can cross over there and come up behind the foul Orcs and Trolls.’ He smiled grimly at the trio. ‘That is if you’re up to a little skirmish this fair night.’ He opened his long coat, the slender fingers of his right hand pointing to a tarnished blade that now hung by his side. ‘Gift from old friends above.’ He nodded to the shadows crowded on the upper landing. ‘Not all the Elves of Imladris sailed West. Some stayed; some died. Many of their fëar found familiar places of refuge.’ He raised his brows as he regarded the main door once again.

‘One could almost feel sorry should those creatures breach the entrance.....almost.....’

‘Shall we go?’ Turning toward the area of the main floor where the check-out terminal stood, Jack motioned for them to follow him through a small door behind the desk. It led into a small dimly lit landing at the head of a winding spiral of metal stairs.

Behind them the shadows had come down from the upper stacks. Good hunting..... came the soft murmuring of fair voices, though in an elder tongue not many now would understand.

[piosenniel]

Gilli called out after Jack’s retreating back. ‘Hey! Some of us need a little more light than you, m’dear.’ The soft-lit glow from the main room of the library illuminated the landing, but once the door had closed only a small rectangle of light shone in through the door’s little window. Gilli felt about on the wall just inside entryway until her hand found a switch. She flicked it up and down but no light came on.

She fished about in her pack, her hand finally finding her little flashlight. The light from it was wan and she muttered a curse beneath her breath for not remembering to buy new batteries.

In the soft, dim circle of light that wavered on the stairs from her torch, Gilli and the others made their way down the stairs. Their footsteps clattered and rang on the metal steps.

‘Shhh!’ Someone behind her called softly for a halt. ‘Listen!’

From the darkness pooled at the bottom of the stairs came muffled noises.....

[Dimturiel]

The night had proved darker than Darlariel had thought it would be. Dark things that had been until then well hidden, showing themselves only in troubled nightmares, had now emerged into the real world. They had been forgotten, their haterd was now a matter of legend, but they still remembered the world of men, they knew it and loathed it. Here they were, ready to attack again. And this time, they had chances of winning. None believed in their existence, it would take time before people would really accept that such creatures of shadow still lived. And they did not have that time.

These thoughts were in Darlariel's mind as she was following the others in the dark tunnel. The beam of Gilli's torch glittered somewhere in front of her, a tiny ray of hope in the darkness and dread that she felt all around her. She told herself that what Jack had said to them in the library meant that they need not despair completely, not yet. But she felt too afraid to pay much attention to that. What could four people do against such dark things, were they to encounter them? What else save resist long enough to make a brave stand that would be worth many songs? Yet what songs? The time when people sang lays in which they praised the brave deeds done by others was long passed.

Darlariel shook her head, wanting to drive such thoughts from her mind. What cared she about songs? And so what if she were to die that night? If that was to be her fate, she would not complain. She would not regret her meeting with Aiwendil, indeed, she would not regret even the fact that she had followed him in the library even if she had had the choice of turning back.

Suddenly the sound of whispers came to her ears. She stopped short, together with the others. They were now near the end of the tunnel, but there seemed to be a commotion there. She could hear movement and voices talking to each other, although whoever it was spoke too quietly for her to make out what they were saying. Yet she was not sure she would have understood even if they had spoken louder.

Darlariel looked uneasily at the others. She knew they had no choice. Sooner or later they would have to go down, and meet whoever was already there.

[Noinkling]

Heavy footsteps rattled down the spiral stairway. And echoed in the entry to the pitch-black tunnel. Some light, a lantern of some sort, he thought bounced wildly off the walls and shown through the perforated metal treads of the stairs. Tolly craned his head out from the dark interior of the tunnel trying to see what sort of beast or beasts were moving down toward them.

‘It’s somethin’ big tromping down the stairs!’ Tolly whispered low to Bran. ‘Something real big . . . or maybe a whole flock of ‘em,’ Bran said, shivering a bit at the thought of who or what approached them.

Daisy reached out and pulled Ferdy back from the tunnel’s edge. He was younger than she by three years or so. And being the older sister she felt obligated to see to his well being. ‘You two get back here, too!’ she hissed at Bran and Tolly, slipping into the rustic Westron dialect they most often spoke among themselves. ‘I knew we shouldna sneaked in here this year to see the Professor’s new books. Not really a bookstore, you know,’ she went on. ‘I heard the Missus that runs this place doesn’t really like us leaving those silver pennies for her books.’

‘Well, I like getting them here,’ Ferdy broke in. ‘You get to feel the covers of the books, smell the leather bindings. And riffle through the pages to see if you like the pictures.’ He swiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth, clearing it of the last traces of chocolate bar he’d been munching on from his trick-or-treat. ‘Better than trying to figure out that Amazing.com and what things you’re supposed to click on to get your book.’

‘Quiet you all! Quick! Hide here. It’s nearly upon us!’ Tolly grabbed for his friends and shoved them in behind some old wooden packing crates stacked along the tunnel wall. The Hobbits crouched down, holding their breaths as they waited for whatever beastie it was to pass them by.

[littlemanpoet]

Sid looked. In the darkness was a taste, a scent, a shadow half perceived, of something behind the darkness itself. It was as if the wind, whose voice could be heard almost above a whisper now and again, now here, now there, were a cloak, a thready gown that hid a wilder, freer, weirding of a night. And Sid, for the first time, was able to get a hint of it. He looked back at Becca eagerly.

And was saddened once again, for he could see the starlight glittering in her eyes; she was watching the night as if seeing many wondrous things at a remove, cherished memories bittersweet now because they could not be added to anymore.

"Becca," Sid said softly, "I'm going to go have a look around, if you know what I mean. Is it okay if I come back a little later? Maybe we can talk."

Becca nodded and smiled for him. He began to walk away toward the street, and looked back once to see Becca wave and close the door. Midnight was standing in the window watching him. Maybe I need a cat of my own, or some kind of animal. I wonder if Midnight was able to go with her?

[piosenniel]

There were sounds as they neared the end of the tunnel. Little shufflings and shushings which fell into a deep pool of silence as they passed the stacked wooden crates lining the walls.

From the corner of her eye Gilli caught a quick glimpse of someone’s small face. And just as quickly it disappeared, as if the owner were jerked quickly back into the shadows. In a few quick steps she caught up with Jack, and nudging him, nodded toward the boxes.

‘The small folk,’ she whispered . . .

[Noinkling]

‘Now you’ve done it!’ hissed Daisy as she pulled Ferdy in close beside her. She clapped her hand over his mouth as he started to protest.

‘But Daisy,’ he said in a muffled voice through her fingers. Ferdy reached up and pried her hand from his mouth. His face scrunched up as he licked his dry lips and tasted the sweet, buttery residue. ‘Hmmmmph! You’ve been eating the toffee out of the bag, haven’t you?!’

Tolly stood up from where he was crouched and stepped into the weak light left behind as Jack and the others passed. ‘Well, they’ve seen us now.’ He motioned for the others to follow him. ‘We might as well see what they’re doing.’

[Undómë]

‘Daisy, yes?’ Jack smiled toward the Hobbits as they came out from their hiding place. ‘Best you not go into the Library. The wights and wraiths who guard the book barrow have some business to be about this night. He motioned for them to follow along with his companions. ‘Did you not see the torogs and yrchs.....goblins and trolls?’ He gave them no time to answer, but picked up the pace as they exited the tunnel and headed toward the door of the little book repository they found themselves in.

‘Ssshhh!’ Jack whispered, finger to his lips as they slipped out into the shadows that ran along the side of the building. Once clear of building and in the cover of a small coppice of beech and low growing bushes, Jack halted the little group and spoke low to them. ‘You can make your way back to the alleyway and the warehouse if you head across the field there,’ he said pointing to the stubbly acre which lay between them and the two-lane track back into the little commerce district of New Ford.

His eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, what stars there were tracking in tiny bursts across the greyed orbs as he turned his head to look back toward the library. ‘I, for one, am off to see what mischief the dark ones have done. And if I might lend a hand somehow,’ he added as an afterthought.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Jack could feel the others of his companions, or at least some of them, following along behind him as he made his swift, quiet way to the library’s main entrance. Nearing the little pathway that led up to the marbled steps, he ducked down behind the pedestal holding one of the stone bears that greeted visitors entering the library grounds. Less friendly they seemed to him tonight as he looked up at the one he stood beneath. Was that a gleam of tooth he saw catching the lamplight from the street corner? Did his eyes betray him – were the lips drawn back in a menacing way? Did the hair bristle along the nape of its neck?

His ears caught the sound of softly beaten drums; hand drums he thought. Like a heartbeat in the night. And then he saw them....

It was the ones that Gilli had spoken of. There in a half ring about the base broad steps leading up to the front door was a group of twenty or so people. Some wore their hair long in dark braids tied with pieces of red twine or short - the salt and pepper locks spiked up in an uneven thatch. Faded jeans and flannel shirts hugged their bodies, lean or generous in their proportions. Upon their feet were soft leather slippers, dusty with dirt from those places which they’d passed. And those feet were planted firm upon the stone of the walkway and on the grass and soil which bordered it.

A number of hands held the small drums he’d heard, their insistent beat thumping along in the darkness. From their mouths came a low, keening sound, at times like the yip of those nocturnal beasts that stalked the wilder outlands of the city.

It was their faces, though, that held the Elf’s attention. Like those trick mirrors at some traveling carnival attraction they changed, first one thing then another.....a young man’s face to hawk visage.....and on another that of an antlered stag. Fox and bear, fish and marten, wolf.....and others not seen save in those lands west of west, graced their swaying bodies. ‘I know these ones,’ Jack spoke, almost to himself. ‘From across the great sea they came in older days, even as our folk crossed to their lands.’ He marveled at them. ‘Though I have not seen them gathered in such number before.’

The great doors to the library were open, he could see. Those Orcs and Trolls who had not already passed within tried desperately to escape the shadows which seethed just beyond the entryway. But they could not. Held by the steady intensity of the drums and voices they were driven back mercilessly toward the waiting doom.

In the end, he could not say if it were long or brief – that space of time within which the spectacle played out. When the last Orc vanished into the library, the great doors swung closed. The drumming, the hum of voices stopped, too. And all was silent, within and without, until the familiar sounds of a New Ford night came flooding back in upon the senses.

In twos and threes and such the group before the stairs began to leave; some talking quietly to each other as they walked along, others with a look and half smile of a thing yet again well done. A few there were who stopped as they passed the stone bear where the companions were yet hiding. They nodded in a knowing way toward the group, their ordinary faces set with smiles. All hints of wildness gone for the moment.

One turned back as they passed where Jack stood, a cunning, playful look gracing her features.....an otter’s face at first, dark eyes regarding the Elf and then in a moment a face familiar to him.....the librarian.....

‘Those three little books,’ she said, pointing a slender finger at the pocket in which he’d hidden them away. ‘Remember as always, my dear, due back, and promptly, next Hallows’ Eve.’

‘No tears, no dog-eared corners, no creasing the spines unduly either. And, oh, yes, no writing of notes in the margins, no underlining,’ he called out to her as she turned away and hurried off into the welcoming shadows beyond the library grounds.

Jack shoved his hands in his coat pockets and looked round to his own companions. ‘Well, shall we be getting back?’ he asked, lifting his chin in the direction from which they’d started out. He glanced briefly back at the once again quiet library; its windows softly dark as if what lay within were now resting. ‘Seems as if all is taken care of, don’t you think? At least for now.....’

[piosenniel]

~*~ Finis ~*~

[piosenniel]

-- To Elvenhome --