"Well, well, well my halfling friend," the voice said in a jolly fashion, "into my lair you seemed to have slipped, and out of it you shall not reach…"
Merry groaned and opened his eyes. The world seemed just as dark out from behind his eyelids.
"Where…where am I?"
"In Melans' house, Melans' house, watch me creep as quietly as a mouse, no eye nor eye or friend nor foe sees' me creeping to and fro. Into Melans' house you are…" it sung in a sickly sweet voice.
"Melan?" Merry squinted into the darkness, "I don't see you anywhere."
"Ah small one, the time shall come. Until then you shall wait, I'm mighty hungry and you look like a tasty snack."
Merrys' eyes widened in fear, "no, no, I don't think so, you see hobbits are all water, hardly any liquid. Too sickly as well, from all the sweets of the Shire."
"Never mind lovely…I'm sure you'll be a tasty treat for my tired feet," it sung again.
"No hobbits are thick skinned, terrible to boil."
"More like thick skulled my precious, lying won't get you any further from my lair than flying, which I'm sure you can't do."
Merry whimpered loudly.