"Oh, that blasted Istari and his blasted staff and his blasted orcs and their blasted master and his blasted staff…always telling me what to do!" grumbled Grima huffily, stomping towards the wizard Saruman's linen closet.

That old man wanted his sheets put away, and he refused to do it himself!

In Melkor's name, why was he stuck with this cursed job? Oh, right. Grima was being punished for attempting to sneak Cookies'n Cream ice cream into Orthanc.

It was said that no creature could safely stuff away all of Saruman's crisp laundry in that closet without some manner of disastrous, agonizing demise. No one ever returned.

Grima was currently carrying an armload of white towels, with a score of bodyguards backing him. As if they would do any help. They weren't even going inside.

Soon, they approached the black door of the closet, and all of Grima's anger subsided, immediately replaced with a feeling of overwhelming dread. An uruk prodded his back, propelling him forward. A small orc rushed ahead, one clawed and nicely manicured hand resting on the doorhandle.

Closing his eyes, Grima stepped forward again, then the door opened, revealing empty blackness. He was roughly pushed inside, the door closed, and with a click, he heard the key lock him inside, sealing his fate.

Whimpering in utter darkness, Grima groped for the walls, but could not find them. Stepping backwards, he attempted to search for the door he just came through, but he felt only blackness. The laundry tumbled from his grasp, and he let out a long wail.

"I'm DOOMED!" he cried.

"Imdoomedimdoomedimdoomed," Came the echo. With no other choice, Grima blindly stepped forward…then there was the sound of broken glass. With every step he made, there was the crunch-crunch under his feet.

"Hey, there's broken glass in here!" he gasped.

Then, a muffled, "Oh, really?"

Suddenly, the door opened, and Grima blinked at the sudden, blazing light.

"Oi, come out, come out." Beckoned the uruk impatiently. Addled, Wormtongue obeyed drunkenly.

The creature stuck his head in and remarked, "The bloke's right. The light's gone busted." With a sigh, he turned to Grima, "Okay now, go alert his Lordship that the bulb in his linen closet is broken. He won't be too pleased wit' that."

Gathering his dignity, Grima sniffed, "I shan't be-"

The uruk snarled.

"-told not to go, because I love serving the master!" the man squeaked, rushing off hastily.

An orc leaned over and said to his comrade, "Burzum, old chap, what do you suppose has happened to the other servants that have gone inside?"

As a reply, his companion said, "I haven't a clue, my good Ulkum. I suppose they were all claustrophobic, and died of fright."

Ulkum clicked his tongue.

"Such a shame. What a wicked stroke of luck."

-x-

"Worm," Saruman drawled, "The only possible course of action is to replace the bulb."

"Of course, Master. Your will is my will." Grima agreed humbly.

"I have lost too many sheets and towels because of incompetent subordinates." To himself, he added, "And mummy gave me one of those as a moving-away present…"

Clearing his throat, he rose magnificently. "Let us go…to Barad-Depot!"

"Oh, my Lord?" asked Grima.

"Yes?"

"May we pick up some Cookies'n Cream on the way there?"

"WORM!"