A/N: Here's a long-awaited update! Thank you for being patient, and rest assured that more updates will now be coming weekly instead of twice a year! Please R&R if you enjoy it.

I Am

Astrid, sitting in the hallway crisscross applesauce with her back to the wall, was at a loss. Every reasonable inch of her brain told her there had to be a clarification to everything that was happening to her, but the more and more that happened, the more and more the little voice told her that none existed.

Astrid hated it. She wasn't going crazy, was she? The sore on her neck told her that whatever happening to her was real. Was the really a ghost in Raven mansion? Could the rumors and make-believe actually be true and no one had seen it until now?

"You have to admit it," Astrid told herself. "There's a ghost living in this house."

Nothing happened. The earth didn't shake, and the ghost didn't pop up again. Life currently went on. Well, as much as it could with everything frozen. Astrid hadn't figured out that part yet.

Now what? She wondered. Time wasn't going to start itself again. What did she have to do to escape a supernatural being? She didn't know worth beans about ghosts.

What did he want her to do? One minute, he threw her across the room and antisocially pounded on the piano, disappearing if she even turned to look over her shoulder. The next minute, he spoke in complete sentences and stood almost face to face with her. Why? Instead of harming the roots of her hair more, Astrid settled for cracking her knuckles and tried to think.

Before, when she entered the mansion, the ghost had gone ballistic, with haunting music and bloody hand prints on the wall. At the time, she'd been there for the challenge and he'd played games with her. Now, she had the gear to something precious that he cared for deeply.

Before her thoughts continued, the lamps which had been lighting up the house prior to Astrid's arrival flickered and drew her attention. Again, the flames inside the clear glass danced. As Astrid watched, they turned green from the top own. The house darkened. The eerie flames did nothing to chase away the growing powerful shadows.

Uneasiness gnawed its way into Astrid's stomach. She stood, feeling that something bad was going to happen in the house.

A primitive roar echoed from the first floor. A crash and a crack of wood followed, shacking the timbers of the house. Heavy, inhuman scraped and scratched on the staircase.

Luminous, electric orbs of eyes peered into the hallway. They were the eyes of a scaly black beast with ink black skin that reflected the green light from the lamps. A dragon.

Astrid's heart quit about the same time she stopped breathing.

Slowly, the dragon crept towards her, its head tilted and a menacing, questioning look in its eyes. It did not move like a normal animal, but melted and slid in and out of the shadows, too rapidly towards her.

"Stay back," she warned, although the creature did not heed the words. "Stay back!" she repeated more loudly, yet it continued down its direct path.

Astrid, who didn't even think of running, grabbed the nearest lamp with her hands and yanked. Ripping wallpaper and wallboard away, it came off the wall. She hurled the light at the beast and when it hit the ground, it erupted into sparks. The dragon howled, but did not cease its attack.

Astrid turned and ran, stopping whenever she could to tear a light from the wall to hurl at it. Despite her efforts, it loomed behind her, ever inching closer, with scraping claws adored with sharp claws. It would not hesitate to kill her should those claws meet her skin.

Haphazardly, she threw herself into an open doorway and tripped over the threshold. Hot, steamy breath spilled over her and the scent of... fish... overpowered her nose. A dark, massive presence pressed down on her.

Death, it whispered.

I.

Am.

Death.

Her heart could not decide whether to stop or speed up. Her head pounded.

With a final, guttural roar in her ear, the dragon disappeared with a flash of lightning.

Astrid opted to lie where she was until her circulatory and respiratory levels calmed down to a rate that did not induce passing out. When they did, she opened her eyes.

A library, filled with many books, and a desk stood in the center of the etymology maze. Curiosity aroused, Astrid pushed herself over to investigate. It was very old-fashioned. A carpenter had once lovingly carved swirls into the legs and cross piece. A bejeweled letter opener proudly rested on a wooden block, next to one equally dazzling silver pen and a cracked monocle. Next to those, in the center of other normal old-fashioned desk paraphernalia, lay a blank piece of paper, upon which a brown leather notebook rested.

Astrid crossed to the other side of the desk. As she did so, her foot kicked a small object underneath the desk. Careful not to bang her head on the underside of the desk, she retrieved it and held it up to whatever light she could find.

A black notebook, it was, with a flame design etched into it. Eagerly, Astrid flipped to the first page (one could never learn too much about his or her enemy), but was shocked to discover that pages had either been torn out, burnt, or scribbled over, with strokes of mad fury and the blackest ink.

Astrid held what pages remained up close to her eyes and nose, trying to decipher any of the broken loops. The situation was hopeless. Despondent, Astrid flipped to the back of the whole thing and was rewarded with fresh, clean sheets that had never been touched. Well, never been touched except for one smack dab in the middle. A man's handwriting, the same bold and angry as the scribbled out mess.

Lies. All of it, lies!

None of it explained anything, yet left her wondering: What had happened?

…

Earthquakes never happened in the city of Berk, nor any other natural disasters. A famous joke around the town went that all of the horrible names they passed down to their children scared calamities off, so when the ground rumbled, Astrid was taken by complete surprise. The first shake sent the ginormous tome in her hands, which she had been scouring for helpful information, dropping to the floor, and the next one caused her feet to trip over each other.

The light, which had returned at some point to the outside world, vanished. Simultaneously, a light drumming began on the roof, growing in dynamics. Astrid glanced up to the etched gypsum ceiling, even though she wasn't on the top floor and the rain couldn't possibly reach her. Since the earthquake was apparently over, Astrid bent over to pick up her dropped book. Just when her fingers brushed the leather cover, another shake gripped the ground and sent books flying off the library's shelves. One hard volume hit Astrid square in the back, causing her to fall over.

"Ow!" she protested as her hands and knees came into contact with the wooden floor. Why couldn't Vikings have invented carpet?

Lightning flashed through the window, and thunder rolled after it, playing a game of tag it would never win. Astrid groaned. A thunderstorm would surely hinder her from getting home with the dusty road. It would become a mudslide in minutes, if it hadn't already. Mind you, Astrid wasn't opposed to the idea of racing through the mud, but she was opposed from the idea of having to clean said mud off everything she owned.

Although no electricity was wired into the house, the lights quit, not even shining their eerie green. Astrid's fingers curled more tightly around the book she held. More lightning.

The skin on Astrid's arms stood up straight, she could feel it. More thunder boomed, rattling the window panes.

A faint blue light grew on the far side of the library. Distrustful after recent events (dragons did have a way of burning themselves into one's mind), Astrid did not go to check it out. Instead, she hid behind a shelf, keeping the heavy book with her in case she needed to whack someone – or something – over the head with it.

The light brightened every minute. Astrid bided her time, silently rocking back and forth on her heels in anticipation. Perhaps Snotlout was carrying the light and she would be graced with the opportunity of bashing him on the head. It would serve him right for stalking her like the creepy person he was.

The storm rolled on as the light grew nearer and nearer to her. Astrid huffed with impatience. Snotlout was taking his own sweet time. Eventually, though not as soon as Astrid would have liked, Snotlout came within striking distance. Grinning deviously to herself, Astrid readied the book, stretched her arms, and WHAM!

The book hit Astrid's thigh, surely leaving a bruise, and its momentum sent it crashing to the floor. Astrid yelled at the pain, then bit her lip at the smart, turning her eyes to glare at Snotlout for his part in her bruise.

Snotlout, rather disappointingly, was not the cause of it. When Astrid's gaze of wrath fell upon its target, what it met shocked her.

The book had not hit its intended target simply because there was nothing to hit. What should have been solid flesh and bones was air and light. Blue, ghostly light, and blue ghostly...

Astrid screamed. Blue blood covered the chest of the figure, only a young, innocent, boy, before her. A transparent knife handle stuck out from his chest, stabbed through layers of armor. A splash of the life liquid marred the white pallor of his cheek. She recognized him from the portrait on the first floor. He was somewhat cute, Astrid thought, with his red hair and green eyes.

All thoughts of beauty vanished when he smiled. It was a grotesque, twisted smile that did not belong on the kind face that bared it.

The ghost spoke one word: Asssstrid.

Astrid, too late, remembered that she was supposed to be running. Her feet stumbled away from it – there was no way she was thinking of that blood-stained monster as a boy – and her body followed as fast as it could. She systematically ran into the bookshelves of the maze and had to ricochet herself off of them to keep going. Who had ever thought that making a maze out of books was a brilliant idea? It was completely impractical when one had to run away from scary supernatural beings that probably had her death on their agenda for the day.

Night. Paused-time sequence. Whatever.

She crashed into another bookshelf, upsetting the peculiar arrangement of old sagas. Dust momentarily caused her to choke on the air. She glanced over her shoulder as she cleared the air and ever sped forward. Where had the exit been? She couldn't find it anymore.

Frantically, she held out her hands until she bumped into the nearest wall and almost ran to find a door frame. Her hands connected with solid plaster and fancy filigree, but no door frame. Astrid's panic grew.

As if seizing on her panic, the blue light that illuminated the ghostly figure slowly drifted towards her from wherever it was in the library. Astrid squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to see any of the blood dripping down his chest. She shuddered at the thought, even though Vikings weren't afraid of a little blood.

It hadn't been a little blood.

The knife had been coated with it. His armor had been coated with it. His face even had some on it.

The tip of Astrid's fingers hit their quarry: a door frame. Astrid frantically felt around for the doorknob she so desperately needed and a grim smile took hold of her mouth when she found it. That smile melted when she twisted the knob.

The door was locked.

She was stuck in a library with a crazy, blood-stained ghost and no way of escape.