Disclaimer: All recognizable characters owned by Tolkien, except for
Christopher Tolkien, he owns himself. Specific information about the
house, J.R.R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien were changed or made up to
suit the story.
Chapter 1: Take A Look At Me Now
The silence that had inhabited 76 Sandfield Road for nearly 2 decades was disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps walking through the front door. A man, who looked to be in his early 30s, was awestruck as he surveyed the dust-covered walls and flooring of the small townhouse. It wasn't the dust that intrigued him. It was what the house represented that left David nearly speechless. This house was the same house famed author J.R.R. Tolkien lived in when he wrote his classic novel, The Lord of the Rings.
When David was younger, he had read the much-adored book and fell under the same spell millions of readers fell under when they read the book. Inspired by Tolkien, David started writing stories and found that he had a talent for gripping and imaginative stories. Eventually his novels earned him fame, fortune and critical recognition.
After years of basking in his literary glory, David's work began to deteriorate. His quality of work began to diminish and his novels were equal to the 5-dollar paperback romance novels sold in drugstores. Desperate to prevent his descent to become the male clone of Danielle Steel, David confined himself within his apartment in New York City.
David wrote consistently for the next 4 and half weeks, but to no avail. His stories stunk. Finally, with promptings from those who knew him well, he decided to become re-inspired by his original muse. David decided to buy Tolkien's former house in the North Oxford suburb of Headington. Two months later, on a warm June afternoon, he walked through its plain, white door.
As he walked about the small house, he remembered his conversation with Tolkien's son, Christopher. Christopher was eager to help the young writer. An hour-long conversation provided David with enough insight about the house pertaining to Tolkien.
David suddenly remembered that Christopher told him about his father's favourite writing spot, the attic. David quickly walked to the end of the main hallway. From the ceiling, hung a short, thin and frayed rope. He pushed himself against the wall to gain enough momentum to reach the rope. As he grasped the frayed string, a strange feeling washed over him.
He pulled the string down and bowed as a shower of dust and other particles fell from the ceiling. A set of weak-looking steps creaked as it unfolded. David eyed it suspiciously and tested its strength with his hands. The steps passed the inspection, so he cautiously climbed up towards the attic. The climb seemed relatively short, and in no time, David was standing near the opening inspecting his surroundings. He peered through the dusty haze, making out the outlines of low beams.
Suddenly, a bird's shriek startled him and he fell, backwards, through the opening. Although he knew that he did not have far to fall, his arms flailed wildly out of instinct hoping to grab something to break his fall. But a curious thing occurred, when his hands reached for the steps, they passed through it. The floor, which he had expected to meet, disappeared and he fell through a white hole. David had to close his eyes and mouth as his stomach began to threaten to spill its contents. His thoughts of nausea ended with a sickening thud when the back of his skull came in contact with a hard floor.
Chapter 1: Take A Look At Me Now
The silence that had inhabited 76 Sandfield Road for nearly 2 decades was disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps walking through the front door. A man, who looked to be in his early 30s, was awestruck as he surveyed the dust-covered walls and flooring of the small townhouse. It wasn't the dust that intrigued him. It was what the house represented that left David nearly speechless. This house was the same house famed author J.R.R. Tolkien lived in when he wrote his classic novel, The Lord of the Rings.
When David was younger, he had read the much-adored book and fell under the same spell millions of readers fell under when they read the book. Inspired by Tolkien, David started writing stories and found that he had a talent for gripping and imaginative stories. Eventually his novels earned him fame, fortune and critical recognition.
After years of basking in his literary glory, David's work began to deteriorate. His quality of work began to diminish and his novels were equal to the 5-dollar paperback romance novels sold in drugstores. Desperate to prevent his descent to become the male clone of Danielle Steel, David confined himself within his apartment in New York City.
David wrote consistently for the next 4 and half weeks, but to no avail. His stories stunk. Finally, with promptings from those who knew him well, he decided to become re-inspired by his original muse. David decided to buy Tolkien's former house in the North Oxford suburb of Headington. Two months later, on a warm June afternoon, he walked through its plain, white door.
As he walked about the small house, he remembered his conversation with Tolkien's son, Christopher. Christopher was eager to help the young writer. An hour-long conversation provided David with enough insight about the house pertaining to Tolkien.
David suddenly remembered that Christopher told him about his father's favourite writing spot, the attic. David quickly walked to the end of the main hallway. From the ceiling, hung a short, thin and frayed rope. He pushed himself against the wall to gain enough momentum to reach the rope. As he grasped the frayed string, a strange feeling washed over him.
He pulled the string down and bowed as a shower of dust and other particles fell from the ceiling. A set of weak-looking steps creaked as it unfolded. David eyed it suspiciously and tested its strength with his hands. The steps passed the inspection, so he cautiously climbed up towards the attic. The climb seemed relatively short, and in no time, David was standing near the opening inspecting his surroundings. He peered through the dusty haze, making out the outlines of low beams.
Suddenly, a bird's shriek startled him and he fell, backwards, through the opening. Although he knew that he did not have far to fall, his arms flailed wildly out of instinct hoping to grab something to break his fall. But a curious thing occurred, when his hands reached for the steps, they passed through it. The floor, which he had expected to meet, disappeared and he fell through a white hole. David had to close his eyes and mouth as his stomach began to threaten to spill its contents. His thoughts of nausea ended with a sickening thud when the back of his skull came in contact with a hard floor.
