A/N: I wrote this story for the LJ Shitennou Ai Halloween event, inspired by a picture you'll find over there. I wrote it pretty much in one go, pausing in between a Doctor Who episode when I suddenly knew what I wanted the story to be about. This version is only slightly edited.

It's supposed to be Post-PGSM, but it'll work for all Sailor Moon universes.

Warnings: This is a ghost story. Haunted. There's character death, gore, more death. Stop reading here if this isn't for you. Everyone else, hope you enjoy! The review window is right down there! ;)

It's a cave. So what if it caved in? What's so special about that? I bet a lot of caves aren't that safe.

But that old man that one day came to my pub got all excited about it because of some old arrow head we have in our village museum. And it wasn't even a well made one. There must be thousands of stone age arrow heads around. Of course you find them in caves.

"This one is special", said the old man. He was a very old, shrunk and dried, his skin like paper, with a head full of white hair, and as some old people have, very young eyes. I still remember his eyes. And his smile.

He was a nice guy, in a good mood, and we had a little chat.

He was dead set on seeing the cave. I warned him, it's dangerous.

He only smiled.

"I know."

"It's also haunted."

"Good."

It took him a while to find some guides who were crazy enough to go near the cave with him. The Oldfield brothers finally agreed when the pay was high enough.

Poor old guy promptly got killed by some rocks falling from the ceiling of the cave's first hall.

At least, that's what we believed until very soon, the Oldfield brothers started spending money like crazy.

"Gotta have some fun before the witch gets us!" they were roaring, laughing fate in the face, terror in their eyes.

The witch, the witch. They were seeing a dead witch everywhere.

Everyone thought they had finally drunk themselves insane.

Not me.

Because I could see her too.

She wandered the streets at night, circling the Oldfields' house when they were at home, searching for them when they weren't. Hands like claws, her skin and dress both torn to rags, the right side of her head a glistening bloody mess, with some white bone showing through a some places. The long dress hid her feet, but they probably were in a bad shape too, because she staggered around unevenly.

Her eyes were the most terrifying part, glowing purple.

Nice rack though. Really.

"Where is he?" she howled. "Where is he? Give him back! He's mine!"

I don't know who else could hear her. People said they couldn't, but some were lying.

I could hear her all day, all night. If I wasn't insane for seeing her, I would soon be.

It was even worse in my dreams.

I was thinking of running away from hom, as far away as possible, when the Oldfields snapped before me.

They threw a huge goodbye party for the whole village, gave everyone who had the nerve to take it a lot of money, and a long speech. About how no one could bring back the dead, you know, and what use would a man so close to death have of so much money anyway?

Later that night, their house burnt down, with them still inside.

After that, the witch was gone.

Life went on, and for years I didn't think about that story.

Then one day, a young man came into my pub, almost a boy.

With the most vivid blue eyes, and a head full of blond hair.

He played innocent, but I could see the resemblance. He was the old man's grandson, I would have bet anything on it.

He was looking for someone to show him the haunted cave.

He was also looking for people who would help him dig for more arrowheads in the cave.

I wasn't going to listen to that nonsense.

"Listen, buddy, your grandfather isn't in there. We're not the kind of people to leave him where he died. We buried him on the old monastery's graveyard. If your looking for him, there he is. No need to go up into the mountains."

He just smiled. The very same smile I'd seen years ago, I swear it.

"Don't worry. I'm looking for someone else."

That shut me up.

If he absolutely wanted to get himself killed, I couldn't stop him.

He didn't get himself killed. He sent the guides home as soon as they had shown him the way, and went to the cave.

And didn't come back.

He built himself a hut there, and started hauling rocks and dirt out of the cave with his bare hands, as some of the nosier people started gossiping around.

The forest ranger got up there finally, to deal with the illegal wood taking, hunting and general stupidity of it.

The ranger was a huge guy, very rough. He hated stupid teenagers making careless fires in the woods, and dealt out painful justice.

He went up to the cave. He came back, shaking, pale and sick. The very same day, he resigned from his job and vowed never to go anywhere near the cave again.

No, the boy was fine, he said. Just, no one go near him, or the cave.

Of course that made people just nosier.

The next one who went up there was armed.

He came back unharmed and pretty smug. He had eaten roast rabbit with the boy who had been very nice to him, and nothing bad had happened at all.

The boy was crazy, no question, staying up there all the time, working on the cave. And the cave sure was creepy, with howling noises and that. But that was all there was to it. Kids these days, huh? But perhaps better than doing drugs.

People still didn't like it. A guy out there, all alone. Sure he would come down to the village one day - or night - and do who knows what to their daughters. Or steal their stuff. You couldn't have guys just go and be crazy like this, could you?

Some thought they needed to be extra brave and went up there together.

They didn't even make it all up there. Apparently, the forest was now haunted, too.

Yeah, right.

After that, no one was really keen on going up there and stirring up trouble.

In autumn, we had some early frost.

That was when the boy came back to the village again, knocking on doors.

"Please, do you have some spare warm clothes for me?"

No one had. Okay, the widow May was rumoured to have offered him a warm place in her bed, but he obviously wasn't that crazy.

Perhaps I wouldn't even have noticed the boy if there hadn't suddenly been such a noise outside.

My neighbours were yelling at the top of their voices. I couldn't understand much of it because it was mostly screaming.

One word I understood though.

"...WITCH!... WITCH!..."

I stepped outside, and yes, there she was in front of their house, pointing her claws at them, hissing at them.

"He's mine! He's mine!"

The boy, noticeably more weathered than half a year before, stared in shock at the scene, turned and walked away. The witch followed him shortly after, cursing at the stupid village, raging, limping, her bloody head glistening in the sun.

I was frozen to my doorstep. I couldn't move a limb.

The witch followed the boy like a lamb when he left the village. A hissing and spitting lamb.

As soon as they were out of sight, life returned to me, and I rushed inside, grabbing everything a young man could need during a cold winter up there. Cooking pot. Lots of provisions. Warm clothes. Lots of warm clothes. My eiderdown quilt.

Everything, as long as he wouldn't set foot to the village again.

I didn't even stop to pack the stuff up properly, I just bunched everything into my arms and ran after him.

Yes, ran, up the path to the mountains with my arms full. I don't know how I did it, I was like in a bad dream.

I caught up with the boy about half way up. He was sitting on a stone by creek, enjoying the sun on his face, taking a break from the ascent.

Behind him stood the witch, her claws circling his head like a little swarm of bees.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

But he had already seen me, turned his head to greet me with a smile.

The same smile.

I had no other choice but to come closer - but not too close - and tell him what I had come for.

"Here, for you," I said, out of breath, and dropped everything I carried. "Please take it. I can give you everything you need for the winter."

"Thank you," he said warmly. He really was a nice guy. "How kind of you."

"Don't thank me," I said, while the witch glared fiercefully at me. "There's no need to. I don't want you to freeze up there. And if there's anything you need, let me know, and I can send someone up with it. Just..."

I swallowed, but it had to be said. "Just don't show yourself to the people who can see the witch."

He chuckled.

"She's not a witch," he said. "She's a queen. My queen."

The witch's claws came to rest on his cheek, and I swear, he leaned into the touch.

The skin on his cheek became very white where she touched him, and suddenly I felt all sick and cold.

I sat down on another rock. My legs would have given out otherwise.

"So you know about her?" I asked with a creeky voice. "You can see her?"

He nodded.

"She's who I'm here for."

"But... why?"

"I need to find her. I gave her my word."

"Looks like you already found her," I said.

The claws had gone swarming him again, and he shook his head, smiling.

"There is more," he said. "I need to find all of her, and her kingdom, too. Something is holding her here, and I need to find out what it is."

His voice was so soft and warm, some blood seemed to start circulating again in me.

Poor fool, I thought.

"And you'll dig through the whole cave for it?"

"If I have to."

"That'll take forever!"

"I've got time."

And so the boy survived his first winter, and stayed.

He was still clearing out the cave when I married my sweatheart, who fortunately couldn't see the witch and praised my kind heart for sending the crazy hermit what he needed which was little enough.

The boy grew up to be a haggard broadshouldered man.

I kept on bringing him what he needed. By silent agreement of the village, this had become my responsibility. Everyone was just too happy not to have anything to do with the haunted boy. I didn't mind. Yes, meeting the witch was always scary, but the hermit made up for it. He was a gentle person, humble and humorous, and he knew everything about the mountains, and many things more. He was the only one who could explain the world beyond sight to me. When one of my children started seeing things like I can, the hermit gave me a quartz amulet that kept her from having nightmares, sealing him into my wife's heart forever.

The hermit lived a long, busy life. Clearing out the cave every day of his life. I brought him tools, books about mining, and at one time, a donkey. We grew old together, very old. The hermit turned grey long before me, then white, but kept his head full of hair while I balded. We were joking about it. He wasn't used to talking to people. It often took him a long time to reply. I asked him if the witch - or, the queen - was always around him, and he smiled and said yes.

He looked happy when he said that.

I shook my head. His back gave him hell, I could see it, and he had been limping on one of his legs for years.

"Wouldn't it be time for you to retire?" I asked him.

He dismissed it with only a move of his head.

"Come on," I said. "You're looking like your grandfather already."

Exactly like his grandfather, but no one except me was still alive to remember.

"And the winters aren't going ot become any warmer up here," I added. "Hell, they're not even getting any warmer down there."

He only shrugged.

Old fool. I hoped he wouldn't freeze himself to death up there.

Then the youngest daughter of the mayor vanished in the woods.

Suddenly, it was all about the crazy guy again.

And so one day, some people got really drunk and really angry and marched up to the cave and killed the hermit.

And that's why the witch is back.

Up and down our streets. Looking a lot worse, because the years haven't been kind to her.

More people can see or hear her now. Her voice is a lot louder, and there's a lot more screaching and howling in between her demands.

"Where is he? He's mine! Give him back!"

Things happen. People die. They drop down stairs. Shingles drop off roofs when someone passes. Dogs go crazy and bite every one. Fires are flaring up. People are moving away.

Those who stay throw things at me. I don't know what it'll take for the witch to satisfy her bloodthirst.

I only know that I can't take it any more. I hear her voice all day, all night, even in my dreams. She knows me, and she comes for answers, and I don't have any. Each time I tell her I can't bring him back, she leaves more furious than before. I don't know what'll happen if she finds out that we've buried him next to his grandfather. Perhaps she'll try to dig him up, like he tried to dig her up.

The hermit was my friend. Every time I hear the old hag scream in the streets, I see his smile before my eyes.

It weighs heavily on me, that memory.

I'm not going to move away, I'm old, very old, and there is something I still have to do here.

I have to tell everyone. I have to speak up now, tell everyone what I should have told them years ago, what I should have reminded them over and over again.

Most of all, I have to teach my grandchildren, and their little ones, who I urge to leave, but to come back later, when the rage of the witch has died down. I pass them letters, important letters.

Because I know what's going to happen.

I have to tell them that in a few years, a new hermit will come.

A boy, or a young man. He'll have bright blue eyes, and he'll go up to the caves looking for a queen.

Help him.

He's a nice guy.

He's your best bet to survive.

He's your only hope.

Help him, let nothing detain you. Take good care of the hermit. Treat him like a son.

Help him for your own sake.

Help him for the sake of the people who died.

Help him for the sake of your grandfather who will one day have awoken to the sound of flames eating through his house and only will have bowed his head in shame, and in gratefulness that his suffering will have ended.

No one can help me anymore.

But you can one day help him.

Help the hermit.

I'm begging you.

Help him.