It had been many, many years since he'd last set foot here, Christopher Robin mused. He hurried through the Hundred Acre Wood, whose familiar trees were now bent and twisted with age. A lonely old man, he had sought to relive his childhood, and that had led him to open the once-beloved book which had spent the better part of seventy years in the attic.

Although much had changed, much had also stayed the same. Enough light-hearted exuberance remained to grant him entrance to this fantasy world and, to his relief, this fairy-land hadn't changed a bit. True, the sky was a duller shade, the leaves sparse and branches bare, but that could surely be attributed to the coming of winter. It had always looked like this before the snow fell.

"Pooh!" Christopher called, hobbling through the woods. "O Po-o-o-oh!" The ground was hard and the tree roots unforgiving against his brittle bones. He'd already stubbed his foot twice, and his joints were aching. A helping hand would be much appreciated, yet no one came. The woods remained empty, only a chill breeze whistling through. The sky was cloudy, the trees dark, but Christopher Robin pressed onwards. When he got to Pooh's cozy home, he could perhaps have some honey, and Piglet might be there as well to brew him a strong cup of tea. The possibility beckoned him onward; it was the only thing that kept him moving as the wind howled around him.

Finally, he came upon Pooh's house. The lights were out and the door wide open, but Christopher hurried inside anyways.

The interior was shrouded in darkness, and the fireplace cold. Christopher grimaced. Shuffling over, he seated himself on Pooh's bed, coughing as he disturbed almost three inches of dust. If this were any indication, Pooh's house had been abandoned for years; it was nigh uninhabitable. How queer it was that Pooh had left his house — why, seventy-five years ago, he'd called it a "very good house" — but Christopher Robin supposed that if seventy-five years could change a person, they could certainly change a stuffed animal. Pooh had likely moved in with Piglet, since both were now as old and grey and coming apart at the seams as he, Christopher Robin, was. Pooh and Piglet probably took care of each other now, and this state of affairs would make it much easier for him to visit them.

Heartened by the thought, Christopher Robin hurried to Piglet's house, unbothered by the eerie silence, complete but for the rustling of the wind as it ruffled the dry, dead grasses around him.

The memories were overpowering as he walked to Piglet's house. How many times he had done this as a child, when the sun still shone over the meadows and the sky was blue with nary a cloud in sight? Visiting Piglet had always been one of his favorite things to do, for he'd always had a jar of cookies waiting for him.

Christopher Robin barely noticed his surroundings, so intent was he on reaching Piglet's home.

However, when it came into view he realised with a sinking heart that no one lived here, either. The yard was unkempt, with weeds growing over the normally clean-swept dirt, and the tree, once so tall and majestic, was old and sickly with pale, off-white fungus clinging to its bark.

"Piglet?" Christopher Robin called tentatively. "Piglet, are you home?"

Silence answered.

Dejected, Christopher Robin sighed and took a seat on a nearby monstrous, fungus-covered tree root. So much had changed in the time he'd been away, but why? Why had his childhood fantasy-land become this barren, empty place? Had it languished in decay ever since he left? Did Piglet and Pooh and all the other characters age and die without him? If that were the case, then only Roo would still be around to welcome him home. With a groan, Christopher Robin got to his feet and, after placing a hand on his aching back and dabbing his watery old eyes with a handkerchief, he began hobbling toward Kanga & Roo's house.

As he did so, he passed the Heffalump trap and the sight made his lips curve into a smile. However, as he drew nearer to it he came to realise it was covered in a thick layer of brambles and thorns: any heffalump that wandered into this wouldn't just be caught, but killed, as the thorns would rip and tear its hide.

Shaking off his morbid thoughts, Christopher Robin hurried through the eight pine trees, of which only one remained, tall and spindly, while the rest were merely stumps, as if someone had chopped them down long ago. It was unsettling, but Christopher did not tarry, so eager was he to see a familiar face and hear a welcoming voice.

Soon enough, Christopher Robin approached Kanga and Roo's home. Because the land here was flat and did not provide protection, the chill wind blew right through him. He huddled and shivered at the door, waiting in vain hope for Roo to answer; finally, he gave up and forced his way into the house.

The inside of the house looked as it always had, and the sight made his lips quirk into a smile. Perhaps Roo was still here. There was little dust, no more than to be expected with a bachelor doing all the cleaning, and though there was no food in the cupboards, there were still sturdy chairs pulled around the kitchen table and a sign hanging over the door saying, "Home is where the Heart is."

Christopher Robin nodded approvingly, then settled himself into one of the chairs. He'd wait for Roo to come home.

Minutes passed. However, he amused himself by thinking about what Roo must be like now: did he still bounce everywhere? Was he mad at Christopher Robin for leaving him behind? As he wondered, he also noted the small changes in the house — the warm, cozy light and feel it had was now replaced by a more cold, dead feel.

Hours passed. Christopher Robin felt his eyelids drooping, and despite the chill he began to doze.

His dreams were tumultuous and confusing.

His stuffed friends wailed and bemoaned everything that had gone wrong with the Hundred Acre Wood. They blamed him for the pain and sorrow and grief they'd experienced in his absence. Christopher Robin tried to explain his reasoning — he'd had to grow up, after all, go to school, get a job, find a wife, provide for his family — but they wouldn't listen. "We were your family!" they cried. Tigger bounced toward him, a snarl on his normally pleasant face, and Christopher recoiled in horror — then, he was jerked awake by the whine of rusty hinges. Someone was coming.

He blinked open gummy eyelids. "Roo?" he rasped.

But it wasn't Roo who stood there in the doorway, silhouetted by the empty sky. Rather, it was Eeyore. "Hullo, Christopher Robin," the donkey said sadly, shuffling toward him. "It's been a long time."

"Oh, hello Eeyore," Christopher Robin said pleasantly, straightening and smiling at the donkey. "How are you?"

"Lonely," Eeyore admitted, laying his head on Christopher Robin's lap. "So very, very lonely. I've been eating grass alone now for ages." He bared and clacked his tombstone teeth together in a mimicry of grazing.

"That's much too bad." Christopher Robin couldn't help but shiver at the sight, for something was off. "Where did everyone go?"

After a long pause, Eeyore spoke. "Pooh left first," he said quietly. "He had to go. I was so lonely and sad."

Christopher Robin scrunched his brow. "Where did he go?" he asked.

"Away," Eeyore answered simply. "Far, far away. And after he left, I wasn't so sad and lonely anymore."

"How… nice." Christopher barely restrained a grimace.

"But then I was lonely again," Eeyore hunched over, his head hanging low. "So sad and lonely. And then Owl disappeared, and I felt better."

"Eeyore, where did your tail go?" Christopher Robin asked suddenly.

"It fell off a while back," the donkey replied. "No one noticed, though. I was so lonely and they were all so scared."

"Of you?"

"No," the donkey answered sadly. "Not of me. Of death."

"But death is inevitable."

"I know," Eeyore mumbled. "But they were afraid of being found dead with teeth marks around their neck, so they were afraid of death."

Christopher hurriedly got to his feet. "Is that what happened?" he asked frantically. "My goodness! Was it the Woozles? I always knew those were no good. I'd better go warn Rabbit and Owl before it's too late!"

"It's already too late."

Eeyore's words brought Christopher Robin up short, and the old man turned around. "What do you mean?" he said slowly.

"I was lonely." Eeyore bared his tombstone teeth in a horrifying parody of a grin.

Terrible comprehension dawned upon Christopher Robin. "You— you did this?" he cried, sweeping a hand around as if he were encompassing the entire, dismal Hundred Acre Woods. "Was that you, Eeyore?"

"I was lonely," Eeyore said slowly. He shuffled towards Christopher Robin, and at once the old man began to back away, suddenly afraid of the small, tired stuffed animal. "So, so, terribly lonely. As I am now."

Christopher's eyes went wide and he turned to flee, but he was too late. He was easily overtaken by the donkey, and he felt the excruciating pain as Eeyore's teeth clamped down on his ankle and dragged him to the ground. Once Christopher Robin was lying helpless on the floor, Eeyore shuffled to stand over his head. "I've been waiting for you for years," the donkey mumbled. "I've been terribly lonely all these years, too, since there was no one left. But now I won't be so lonely anymore." He lunged forward, digging his teeth deep into Christopher Robin's neck. Christopher Robin tried to reach forward and wrench his old friend off, but found he was too weak. This was the end.

In his last moments, he looked up at clear grey sky and prayed to a God he'd only briefly believed in that the other animals wouldn't think too horribly of him for having abandoned them. As the light faded from his eyes, he found that he was at peace with the world, and Eeyore's tombstone teeth around his neck were the last thing Christopher Robin ever felt.

oO0Oo

A/N. The title is an allusion to an HP Lovecraft story, "A Shadow over Innsmouth". This fic was my father's idea, but my execution. I hope you enjoyed.