Blood in the Brandywine
By: hoom
Hi! Umm I realize that this is quite a bit darker then what I usually write, but this is my first time at writing something in the non-comedy section, so please tell me if you like it. Like I said before, this is rather dark, and somewhat graphic. I'm sorry if this disturbs anyone, but the chances of that are slim, because, like I said, this is my first time writing something like this, so that's probably not going to happen:D
Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord Of The Rings, nor any of Tolkien's other works. I don't own the book, the movie, the animated movie, the musical, etc. I don't own anything! This is purely for my own amusement, not for profit.
The hobbit groaned, and opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of his room, half of his body on the bed, and half, not so. His blankets had been pushed aside, and lay in a small heap, halfway across the room. The hobbits closed his eyes and wondered what had woken him. There was a loud knock on the door, followed by a dramatic sigh. 'Oh,' the hobbit thought, 'That's what woke me.' He groaned again. Another knock.
"Frodo, wake up! Auntie Emse wants to talk to you!" Frodo Baggins raised his head from where it had been pressed into the floor boards. That was probably one of his cousins. "FRODO!!!!" Frodo tried to answer her, but his head had started pounding, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. "Mmmhhhhh." Frodo replied, before squeezing his eyes shut, and pressing his head back against the floor.
"All right, I'll tell her you're coming," said the voice, before stomping off, muttering to herself.
"Nugggh." Frodo rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, little black dots swarming his vision. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He felt so dizzy he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, each pulse seaming to make his head hotter and hotter, until he was sure there was a haze of red hovering above his forehead.
"That's...not…good…" he muttered to himself. 'It's not like I have a hang over,' Frodo thought, 'I didn't drink anything….' He sat up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea pounded into him. Frodo groaned as he clutched his stomach. "I mean it," he said out loud, "Not even a half pint." Suddenly, it all became clear to him. "Oh…that's right, my…dream."
Frodo Baggins was a normal 14 year old hobbit, or at least, he had been. That was before two years ago, when his parents had gone out boating one night. Before he had seen their pale, bloated bodies two days later, when they had finally found and dragged them to the river bank. Before he was moved to Brandy Hall and ignored by all of its occupants. But especially, before he had received a note telling him that the boating accident that had claimed his parents lives, was no accident. It was murder.
Since then, the dreams had started. They always began the same way. He was alone in his room reading a book, just like he was on that fateful night, when his parents failed to return. Then, suddenly the lights would go out. He would look up in alarm, as everything drained of color, and as the room slowly began to change and twist. Then the breathing would start, loud, impossibly loud, so close that he could feel the vibrations with each rasping breath coming from somewhere deep down. The walls of the room would expand and compress with every breath, still twisting, still stretching. He would try to run, hide, scream- anything- but he couldn't move, not even close his eyes. All he could do was watch as the hall way stretched itself through his open door, twisting, twisting, the walls groaning in protest, the breaths getting louder and raspier.
Then, the front door would bang open, revealing two pale and distorted figures in the door way, as the hall way would lurch forewords towards the open door. A heavy inhale would reverberate throughout the hall, still twisting, still creaking, dragging Frodo down the hall to greet his guests. Frodo would be pulled towards the open door, and towards the two figures that used to be his parents, now bloated and horribly decayed, that had finally come home.
(A/N: I'm sorry if that was too disturbing, but unfortunately it's not over yet. You can skip this next part if it bothers you, because it's not too important to the plot and rather graphic!)
If it was a good night, he would wake up after seeing their ruined faces twist into something that resembled a smile, but if it was a bad night, it would not end there. Frodo's heart would all but stop as he looked upon his parents, remembering how he had wished he could see them one last time after they had died. But not like this. Frodo wanted to see them as they before, kind, carefree people. How his mother's laughter used to lighten up the whole house, casing away all traces sadness, and how she always seamed to smell like fresh baked bread and sunflowers. The way his father would pretend to be cross with him, when he would beg to hear another story before bed time, and how he would always give in, when Frodo gave his cutest, sad eyed, little smile. That's how he wanted to see them. Not as twisted, deformed, imitations of their former selves. But that's what he saw.
They would smile at him, the movement causing their decayed flesh to partially fall away, revealing rotted teeth and bone in place of skin. "Frodo" they would crock to him, mouths gapping open, saliva dribbling to the floor.
"They want you dead." Frodo would be paralyzed with fear, unable to move as they slowly advanced, eyes open impossibly wide.
"They're coming for you." Frodo could see maggots and worms slithering in their hair, feasting on what was left of their once, fair skin.
"They will find you…." All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.
"And when they do…" He started to whimper, pleading for it to stop.
"They will kill you…" His breath caught in his throat.
"JUST LIKE THEY KILLED US." Suddenly there was a crack of lightning, and a sudden gust of wind blew everything together in a spiral. Frodo would be caught up in the vortex, his fear stabbing into him like a knife, as his parent's words would echo eerily. He would be spinning, around and around, as parts of his room would fly past. Picture frames, toys, books, furniture, all would be caught up in the spiral. Window and doors would flash past, slamming open, his parents staring at him, gaping eyes and rotting flesh, and then they would be whipped away, and replaced by something else. He could hear other voices as well, his relatives, friends, neighbors, all of them at once, coming from every direction. His head throbbed with pain, his heart beating all too fast as everything all melded together, spinning faster and farter, until it was just a blur of shapes and noise.
And then, came the part he most dreaded. He was under water, looking up. All he could see was the night sky and the stars. Then, he heard his mother scream, and something dark splattered across the water, covering the night sky and stars. He could hear thrashing, screaming, and he realized with a lurching feeling that it was blood. He was swimming in his own parent's blood, now completely obscuring his vision so all he could see was deep crimson.
Then the screaming stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, through all the blood water, he would see the silhouette of a man. The man started to laugh, the coldest, unforgiving sound he had ever heard, chilling his very soul. Frodo was suddenly lurched downwards, deeper, deeper into the water, as everything began to fade. The man would hold up a long knife and lick it clean of his parent's blood, just as everything faded to grey, the laughter of his parent's murderer echoing in his mind.
No wonder he felt like crap.
"FRODO!!!!" Frodo groaned again. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called, wishing for once he could have a good night's rest and not have to think about his parent's murder. "Give a poor hobbit a break." He muttered, heading down stairs to see what his aunt had in store for him.
Sorry if that was disturbing or anything, I didn't think it would end up like that! Anyway, please r/r, all comments are welcome! (Even the flames!)
hoom