Disclaimer: I own some of 'em.
Author's Notes: It's my first LoTR, so bear with me. Couldn't decide on drama or comedy, so it's sort of neither-ish. Also, shite. So why publish it? Because I have more in common with Monsieur De Sade than a love of necrophilia: thus, my urge to inflict pain on other leads us to *this*. And before you ask, NO it isn't a bloody self-insertion. Read it and see.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Randall dropped the withered monkey paw and spun around, startled. "Jesus!" he gasped. "Oh," his expression changed from fright to one of relief as he focused on the benign, smiling old man before him. "Sorry, I was just looking at the monkey hand. Paw. Thing. I didn't know anyone was...you scared me." He stooped and picked up the filthy thing where it had fallen, tried to dust it off, and gave up. "Here," he held it out awkwardly.
The short, rounded shop keep, almost a foot and a half shorter than Randall, beamed at him and reached for the paw. "Not a problem at all, my dear," he said kindly. Their fingers brushed into contact as he took the manky relic, and in an instant the old man had clasped his hand around Randall's. Randall winced at the his surprising strength, as fingers like claws raked his skin. "I said I was sorry. Um, okay, ow. Hurting now. Ow. OW! Stop it!" He tried to wrench away, but was pulled violently forwards. Randall could feel the old man's wet, milky breath on his skin now, as he leaned in, his eyes searching Randall's hungrily, their faces almost touching. Randall tried to drag his gaze away, but felt himself being drawn inexorably downwards into their cold, glittering depths. The air grew chokingly hot, searing his nose and lungs, making his skin feel raw and exposed. The earth seemed to slow, and he had the vague sensation that the two of them were an island of reality, while time ran thickly around them, filled with hideous, dark shapes from times best forgotten, reaching out to him, calling for him...Randall blinked, and that a second all was normal again.
They were in the old shop once more, the late afternoon sunlight filtering down from a high window, making the dusty air glow like liquid gold. Randall could smell nothing but old paper, leather and wood, and see nothing but shelves and cabinets filled to overflowing with junk. Also, something to do with cabbages. The old man was once again just that: a harmless, white-haired grandfatherly type in a cardigan and Hush Puppies, smiling stupidly up at him. "I...um, did you..." stammered Randall weakly. He noted the blank expression on the shopkeeper's face. "Never mind," he finished lamely.
Bloody weird.
The old man continued to smile, and took the monkey paw from him gently. "I think," he said, "That we had best put this back, hmm?"
Randall nodded vigorously. "Sure. Sorry about that. Is it broken or anything?" The old man moved in front of him to return the ugly thing to its rightful place in the cabinet. "Oh, no. They're surprisingly sturdy."
"Really?" asked Randall, fiddling with an antique puppet. "That's pretty cool, for something that's like, ages old."
He felt, rather than saw, the old man stiffen beside him, and looked up to meet his gaze in the backing cabinet mirror. For a second Randall could have sworn he saw a flash of something...other...in his eyes, but almost before he noticed, it was gone. The eyes were of the generally approved kind for little old men; that is, blue and twinkly. But...there was a shallow, brittle hardness about them that was vaguely off-putting.
"Yes," said the old man quietly. "Many, many ages." He held Randall's gaze for just a little too long, before breaking into a smile again. "But," he said brightly, "That isn't what you came here for, is it, my dear?"
Randall's mouth fell open. How the hell could the old man know what he had come for? He wracked his brains, trying to remember if he'd ever been in the shop before, but he couldn't recall a single time. In fact, now that he thought of it, he'd never even seen the shop before today. Which was puzzling, seeing how well he knew the area...The old man was still smiling expectantly at him, and Randall returned the gesture nervously. "Um, that's right, actually. It isn't what I came for." He licked his lips, and glanced around, but the shop was empty save for their presence. "Um, see, what I really wanted-"
"Say no more!" said the old man happily. "I know exactly what you came for. I have it right here." He whipped something from a cabinet behind his and placed it on the counter. "There you are, my dear," he crowed. "What you wanted, was it not?"
Randall looked down at the small, plain wooden box. in front of him. "Um, actually-" he stammered.
"Open it!" said the old shop keep eagerly. "Open it!"
God, thought Randall, he's about to start drooling. He picked up the box, and turned it over in his hands. The wood felt old, but surprisingly strong, as though crafted to hold something in need of protection from the outside world. Or vice versa, he thought. As his fingers played over the catch, he felt suddenly cold and exposed, as though he was being watched. Randall shivered and put the box down. "Um, no. No, I don't think so. Thanks all the same, but-"
"But? But what?!? But nothing! Open it!" snarled the old man suddenly. Randall yelped and jumped back from the counter, dropping the box. The old man's face was distorted with rage, but his anger faded instantly, and he smiled warmly at Randall once more. A little too warmly.
"It is meant for you, my dear, that is all." He stepped around the counter and picked up the box gingerly. "Here." He held it out, and Randall noticed his hands were trembling. He swallowed and glanced at the old man's face. His lips were wet, and his large blue eyes looked to be full of tears. Such big, blue eyes...Randall shook his head. "I don't want it," he said firmly.
For a second he thought the old man was about to explode again, but he checked himself in time, and continued to smile desperately, holding the box out to Randall.
"But just think, my dear, what you could do with it," he said, encouragingly.
"Do with what?" said Randall, a little higher than he would have liked. The old man's eyes narrowed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You want to see...things, yes? Other worlds? Other beings? Elves, dwarves, demons, wizards...magic. That's what you want most of all, isn't it?" He said it softly, but with underlying eagerness. His voice sank almost to a whisper. "I can give it to you, my dear, give all of it to you. If you'll only take it-" he gasped as Randall knocked the box to the floor.
"All right, that's it," said Randall. "I don't know what the fuck you're playing at, but it stops now, okay, you old perverted midget?"
The old man blinked, stunned.
"Oh, don't look at me like that." Randall rolled his eyes. "Look, I know your type, and I'm sorry, but I'm just not that kind of guy. Not that I'm not flattered, but the role playing, sword sorcery and sex thing just doesn't do it for me. It's the cloaks, mostly. And the chain mail. Oh, and that Warhammer shit can just...just...go die, okay? It's not happening."
"But," the shop keep goggled at him, "But you came for...the ring..."
Randall's brow furrowed. "What ring? I came here for the fantasy porn my mate Brock said you stocked. Which he was obviously shitting me about. Oh, hey," he suddenly grinned, "Did Brocky put you up to this? He bloody did, didn't he? Oh, man, I feel like such a dick! You really had me there...Where is that bastard?" He peered around the shop. "He's taping it or something, isn't he? That was a good one. I really thought you were-" he broke off as a grip of iron fastened around his neck and yanked him downwards.
"WHAT?!?" screamed the old man into Randall's face. "What are you talking about? You came here for the ring! The one ring! And you will take it, my dear pretty one." His voice lowered to a hiss.
Randall pulled away violently. "Judas Priest!" he yelled. "What the fuck is your problem, mate? I don't want the bloody ring, or whatever. And stop calling me 'dear', it's fuckin' freaking me out."
The old man blinked, and stared at Randall as though for the first time. His mouth dropped open, and his entire body seemed to sag. "No," he said weakly, "No, it can't be..." he staggered backwards and sank down into one of the over-stuffed armchairs, before burying his face in his hands. "You're not a girl at all, are you?" he muttered.
"Shit no," said Randall, indignantly.
"And you haven't got raven hair, unconventionally pretty face, slim build and striking green eyes?"
"Uh, well, my eyes are sort of hazel-brown, if that helps." Randall shifted uneasily. "Look, are you okay? Are you having one of those old-people things, or something? Okay, you're in the shop, in Brisbane, and it's Wednesday the 14th of March, and you're...um, some old guy. Are you gonna piss your pants?"
The old man drew a shuddering, sobbing breath, and sank deeper into the chair. "And I don't suppose," he continued in a barely audible voice, "That you're more perceptive than most? That people tend to shy away from you, sensing some otherworldly, ethereal quality about you that makes them uncomfortable? No strange, prophetic dreams?"
"Uh, well, I do have these dreams, actually."
The old man looked up, a glimmer of hope on his face. "Yes? What kind of dreams?"
"Well, there's this girl, Carla, who goes to my school. And mate, she is fuckin' fine as-"
The old man sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, looking sadly at Randall. "I...the eyes aren't up for it, you see. Far too old. Now, I only judge the aura. It's always worked before. But I was so sure..." he trailed off, staring into space, before shaking his head. "Ah, well," he said, standing up. "Nothing to be done, I suppose. At least I realised before it went too far." His face darkened. "Oh, yes, at least we didn't send the wrong one. My, my, that would have been something," he clucked. "Now, if you're not her, then...oh, where did I put it?" He began leafing through one of the old books scattered across the counter, flipping the ancient velour pages printed with strange markings and diagrams.
Randall smiled uneasily and tried to avoid eye contact. "Mmm. I, uh, guess I'll be on my way, now that you've finished your freaky mind-trip thingy. See you round. Or not, if I'm lucky."
"Hmmm?" the shopkeeper looked up distractedly. "Oh, yes, off you go. So sorry to have troubled you."
"Oh no, no trouble. I *like* having old guys trap me in their dusty junk pits and mind-fuck me with their weird Dungeons and Dragons shtick and grope my aura and tell me I'm actually a chick. Hey, that rhymed! Kind of," he added happily.
"Don't mention it," said the old man vaguely. "Aha, now, if the moon's progressing to that quarter, then..."
"Well, fuck you too," muttered Randall, and slouched away to the door. Halfway across the room, between a small stuffed zebra and a billowy black cloak and cowl on a hanger, he stopped, and bent down to retrieve something. "Oh, hey, mate," he called, straightening and holding the wooden box aloft. "You dropped your, um, thingy."
The shopkeeper jerked to attention, and he strode towards Randall, hand outstretched. "Give it to me," he commanded.
"Bloody hell, make up your mind, will you?" laughed Randall, tossing the box from one hand to another. "One minute you can't wait to get rid of the sodding thing, the next you-"
"Give it to me!"
"Jeez, settle down. Here- oh, whoopsie narna! Well, now you've gone and made me drop it."
The catch of the box flew open as it hit the floor, and out spilled a shining, golden blur, which settled on the floor with a deep, weighty sound. "I'll get it," said the old man, firmly.
"No, no, my bad, I got it," said Randall, reaching for the treasure. His fingers closed over a small gold ring, and he blinked. "It's cold," he said in surprise. "And heavy, too. Nice, but. Where'd you get it?" He held the ring up to examine it-
"Give it to me! Give it to me!" cried the old man, reaching for it frantically. Randall backed away, through the scattered junk..
"All right, all right, no need to get all...thingy. You were dead keen for me to have it just now, and- WOAH!" He fell backwards over an elephant leg footstool and landed heavily. The ring flew into the air, gleaming dazzlingly as it caught the light, and Randall reached up for it.
"NO!" yelled the old man, lunging for the ring just as it settled over Randall's outstretched index finger-
-and disappeared.
Author's Notes: It's my first LoTR, so bear with me. Couldn't decide on drama or comedy, so it's sort of neither-ish. Also, shite. So why publish it? Because I have more in common with Monsieur De Sade than a love of necrophilia: thus, my urge to inflict pain on other leads us to *this*. And before you ask, NO it isn't a bloody self-insertion. Read it and see.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Randall dropped the withered monkey paw and spun around, startled. "Jesus!" he gasped. "Oh," his expression changed from fright to one of relief as he focused on the benign, smiling old man before him. "Sorry, I was just looking at the monkey hand. Paw. Thing. I didn't know anyone was...you scared me." He stooped and picked up the filthy thing where it had fallen, tried to dust it off, and gave up. "Here," he held it out awkwardly.
The short, rounded shop keep, almost a foot and a half shorter than Randall, beamed at him and reached for the paw. "Not a problem at all, my dear," he said kindly. Their fingers brushed into contact as he took the manky relic, and in an instant the old man had clasped his hand around Randall's. Randall winced at the his surprising strength, as fingers like claws raked his skin. "I said I was sorry. Um, okay, ow. Hurting now. Ow. OW! Stop it!" He tried to wrench away, but was pulled violently forwards. Randall could feel the old man's wet, milky breath on his skin now, as he leaned in, his eyes searching Randall's hungrily, their faces almost touching. Randall tried to drag his gaze away, but felt himself being drawn inexorably downwards into their cold, glittering depths. The air grew chokingly hot, searing his nose and lungs, making his skin feel raw and exposed. The earth seemed to slow, and he had the vague sensation that the two of them were an island of reality, while time ran thickly around them, filled with hideous, dark shapes from times best forgotten, reaching out to him, calling for him...Randall blinked, and that a second all was normal again.
They were in the old shop once more, the late afternoon sunlight filtering down from a high window, making the dusty air glow like liquid gold. Randall could smell nothing but old paper, leather and wood, and see nothing but shelves and cabinets filled to overflowing with junk. Also, something to do with cabbages. The old man was once again just that: a harmless, white-haired grandfatherly type in a cardigan and Hush Puppies, smiling stupidly up at him. "I...um, did you..." stammered Randall weakly. He noted the blank expression on the shopkeeper's face. "Never mind," he finished lamely.
Bloody weird.
The old man continued to smile, and took the monkey paw from him gently. "I think," he said, "That we had best put this back, hmm?"
Randall nodded vigorously. "Sure. Sorry about that. Is it broken or anything?" The old man moved in front of him to return the ugly thing to its rightful place in the cabinet. "Oh, no. They're surprisingly sturdy."
"Really?" asked Randall, fiddling with an antique puppet. "That's pretty cool, for something that's like, ages old."
He felt, rather than saw, the old man stiffen beside him, and looked up to meet his gaze in the backing cabinet mirror. For a second Randall could have sworn he saw a flash of something...other...in his eyes, but almost before he noticed, it was gone. The eyes were of the generally approved kind for little old men; that is, blue and twinkly. But...there was a shallow, brittle hardness about them that was vaguely off-putting.
"Yes," said the old man quietly. "Many, many ages." He held Randall's gaze for just a little too long, before breaking into a smile again. "But," he said brightly, "That isn't what you came here for, is it, my dear?"
Randall's mouth fell open. How the hell could the old man know what he had come for? He wracked his brains, trying to remember if he'd ever been in the shop before, but he couldn't recall a single time. In fact, now that he thought of it, he'd never even seen the shop before today. Which was puzzling, seeing how well he knew the area...The old man was still smiling expectantly at him, and Randall returned the gesture nervously. "Um, that's right, actually. It isn't what I came for." He licked his lips, and glanced around, but the shop was empty save for their presence. "Um, see, what I really wanted-"
"Say no more!" said the old man happily. "I know exactly what you came for. I have it right here." He whipped something from a cabinet behind his and placed it on the counter. "There you are, my dear," he crowed. "What you wanted, was it not?"
Randall looked down at the small, plain wooden box. in front of him. "Um, actually-" he stammered.
"Open it!" said the old shop keep eagerly. "Open it!"
God, thought Randall, he's about to start drooling. He picked up the box, and turned it over in his hands. The wood felt old, but surprisingly strong, as though crafted to hold something in need of protection from the outside world. Or vice versa, he thought. As his fingers played over the catch, he felt suddenly cold and exposed, as though he was being watched. Randall shivered and put the box down. "Um, no. No, I don't think so. Thanks all the same, but-"
"But? But what?!? But nothing! Open it!" snarled the old man suddenly. Randall yelped and jumped back from the counter, dropping the box. The old man's face was distorted with rage, but his anger faded instantly, and he smiled warmly at Randall once more. A little too warmly.
"It is meant for you, my dear, that is all." He stepped around the counter and picked up the box gingerly. "Here." He held it out, and Randall noticed his hands were trembling. He swallowed and glanced at the old man's face. His lips were wet, and his large blue eyes looked to be full of tears. Such big, blue eyes...Randall shook his head. "I don't want it," he said firmly.
For a second he thought the old man was about to explode again, but he checked himself in time, and continued to smile desperately, holding the box out to Randall.
"But just think, my dear, what you could do with it," he said, encouragingly.
"Do with what?" said Randall, a little higher than he would have liked. The old man's eyes narrowed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You want to see...things, yes? Other worlds? Other beings? Elves, dwarves, demons, wizards...magic. That's what you want most of all, isn't it?" He said it softly, but with underlying eagerness. His voice sank almost to a whisper. "I can give it to you, my dear, give all of it to you. If you'll only take it-" he gasped as Randall knocked the box to the floor.
"All right, that's it," said Randall. "I don't know what the fuck you're playing at, but it stops now, okay, you old perverted midget?"
The old man blinked, stunned.
"Oh, don't look at me like that." Randall rolled his eyes. "Look, I know your type, and I'm sorry, but I'm just not that kind of guy. Not that I'm not flattered, but the role playing, sword sorcery and sex thing just doesn't do it for me. It's the cloaks, mostly. And the chain mail. Oh, and that Warhammer shit can just...just...go die, okay? It's not happening."
"But," the shop keep goggled at him, "But you came for...the ring..."
Randall's brow furrowed. "What ring? I came here for the fantasy porn my mate Brock said you stocked. Which he was obviously shitting me about. Oh, hey," he suddenly grinned, "Did Brocky put you up to this? He bloody did, didn't he? Oh, man, I feel like such a dick! You really had me there...Where is that bastard?" He peered around the shop. "He's taping it or something, isn't he? That was a good one. I really thought you were-" he broke off as a grip of iron fastened around his neck and yanked him downwards.
"WHAT?!?" screamed the old man into Randall's face. "What are you talking about? You came here for the ring! The one ring! And you will take it, my dear pretty one." His voice lowered to a hiss.
Randall pulled away violently. "Judas Priest!" he yelled. "What the fuck is your problem, mate? I don't want the bloody ring, or whatever. And stop calling me 'dear', it's fuckin' freaking me out."
The old man blinked, and stared at Randall as though for the first time. His mouth dropped open, and his entire body seemed to sag. "No," he said weakly, "No, it can't be..." he staggered backwards and sank down into one of the over-stuffed armchairs, before burying his face in his hands. "You're not a girl at all, are you?" he muttered.
"Shit no," said Randall, indignantly.
"And you haven't got raven hair, unconventionally pretty face, slim build and striking green eyes?"
"Uh, well, my eyes are sort of hazel-brown, if that helps." Randall shifted uneasily. "Look, are you okay? Are you having one of those old-people things, or something? Okay, you're in the shop, in Brisbane, and it's Wednesday the 14th of March, and you're...um, some old guy. Are you gonna piss your pants?"
The old man drew a shuddering, sobbing breath, and sank deeper into the chair. "And I don't suppose," he continued in a barely audible voice, "That you're more perceptive than most? That people tend to shy away from you, sensing some otherworldly, ethereal quality about you that makes them uncomfortable? No strange, prophetic dreams?"
"Uh, well, I do have these dreams, actually."
The old man looked up, a glimmer of hope on his face. "Yes? What kind of dreams?"
"Well, there's this girl, Carla, who goes to my school. And mate, she is fuckin' fine as-"
The old man sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, looking sadly at Randall. "I...the eyes aren't up for it, you see. Far too old. Now, I only judge the aura. It's always worked before. But I was so sure..." he trailed off, staring into space, before shaking his head. "Ah, well," he said, standing up. "Nothing to be done, I suppose. At least I realised before it went too far." His face darkened. "Oh, yes, at least we didn't send the wrong one. My, my, that would have been something," he clucked. "Now, if you're not her, then...oh, where did I put it?" He began leafing through one of the old books scattered across the counter, flipping the ancient velour pages printed with strange markings and diagrams.
Randall smiled uneasily and tried to avoid eye contact. "Mmm. I, uh, guess I'll be on my way, now that you've finished your freaky mind-trip thingy. See you round. Or not, if I'm lucky."
"Hmmm?" the shopkeeper looked up distractedly. "Oh, yes, off you go. So sorry to have troubled you."
"Oh no, no trouble. I *like* having old guys trap me in their dusty junk pits and mind-fuck me with their weird Dungeons and Dragons shtick and grope my aura and tell me I'm actually a chick. Hey, that rhymed! Kind of," he added happily.
"Don't mention it," said the old man vaguely. "Aha, now, if the moon's progressing to that quarter, then..."
"Well, fuck you too," muttered Randall, and slouched away to the door. Halfway across the room, between a small stuffed zebra and a billowy black cloak and cowl on a hanger, he stopped, and bent down to retrieve something. "Oh, hey, mate," he called, straightening and holding the wooden box aloft. "You dropped your, um, thingy."
The shopkeeper jerked to attention, and he strode towards Randall, hand outstretched. "Give it to me," he commanded.
"Bloody hell, make up your mind, will you?" laughed Randall, tossing the box from one hand to another. "One minute you can't wait to get rid of the sodding thing, the next you-"
"Give it to me!"
"Jeez, settle down. Here- oh, whoopsie narna! Well, now you've gone and made me drop it."
The catch of the box flew open as it hit the floor, and out spilled a shining, golden blur, which settled on the floor with a deep, weighty sound. "I'll get it," said the old man, firmly.
"No, no, my bad, I got it," said Randall, reaching for the treasure. His fingers closed over a small gold ring, and he blinked. "It's cold," he said in surprise. "And heavy, too. Nice, but. Where'd you get it?" He held the ring up to examine it-
"Give it to me! Give it to me!" cried the old man, reaching for it frantically. Randall backed away, through the scattered junk..
"All right, all right, no need to get all...thingy. You were dead keen for me to have it just now, and- WOAH!" He fell backwards over an elephant leg footstool and landed heavily. The ring flew into the air, gleaming dazzlingly as it caught the light, and Randall reached up for it.
"NO!" yelled the old man, lunging for the ring just as it settled over Randall's outstretched index finger-
-and disappeared.