Bang, bang, bang!

A little door opened in the gate, and a man peered through.

"Waddaya want?"

"That's none of your business," Rosie replied. "Let us in!"

"Ok." The man opened the big door. "They say there's strange folk about, and I'm supposed to keep guard, but I'll let you in without answers to my questions."

The four hobbits walked through the gate into the rainy streets of Bree. Cue PJ's cameo with a carrot.

Inside the Prancing Pony, Rosie inquired about Andyalf.

"Andyalf?" the innkeeper Butterbur mused. "Oh, the old wizard with the thin hair and the goofy smile? Not seen him in six months."

Rosie rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that's just great. We'll just have some rootbeer floats and wait for him over there."

The hobbits sat at an oversized table on oversized stools nursing oversized mugs of rootbeer floats. (alcohol stunts your growth, and those four need as much height as they can get)

"Hey, Rosie," Wil whispered. "That guy over there keeps looking at you. I think he's got some real issues."

Rosie looked to the corner to see a cloaked figure in the corner. She called Butterbur over to ask about him.

"Him? Oh, no one really knows. We think of him as the dark scary guy always lurking in the shadows, but you can call him strider Denser than a forest in a fog, that one."

Rosie contemplated this while Wil drained the last of his float. She was brought out of her reverie by Merry and Hunter talking loudly at the bar about their odd hobbit relations.

"Hunter! NO!"

Rosie ran towards them, but tripped over an infinitesimal crack in the floor and fell flat on her face. The hood dropped over her head, turning her invisible. A low muttering echoed through her head. She looked up to see a great nose of fire blazing in front of her.

"I know what you did last summer," it murmured.

Rosie gasped.

"You do not! How could you know?"

In the distance, donkeys brayed evilly.

Rosie backed away from the nose until she bumped into something and took off her hood.

Suddenly, she was yanked from under the table and pulled upstairs. She was flung into a dark room. A bed sat against one wall, and a chair with a broken back in the corner served as a chair. Heavy drapes covered the windows, and the scary cloaked man was busily snuffing out the candles.

"Who are you and what the pickle dust do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"You carry no trinket," he grunted. "Makes you invisible. Rare gift. Scared?

"A little…" she admitted warily.

"Not enough."

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Strider drew his sword (which should have been shattered…) as the other three hobbits stormed in looking ready to take on a whole army.

Strider sheathed his sword and said, "Stout heart, but need more. Let's go. They're coming."

…

The gatekeeper started at the sound of belligerent braying. He got up to investigate.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, one of the nazgul was trying to get his donkey, who kept wanting to turn around, to charge the gate. At the precise moment the gatekeeper looked out, the donkey wheeled and fell on the door, smashing it to the ground.

"Well, that's one way to do it," commented another nazgul as he rode through on his donkey.

The four nazgul abandoned their donkeys halfway down the street, finding it faster to go on foot. They breezed silently into the inn, despite their clanky iron shoes, and positioned themselves around the hobbits's beds.

Wil stirred in his sleep.

"Keeters………" he muttered, "………thine alabaster ooze……… long may it jiggle………"

The nazgul carefully lifted their swords point down over the four small figured huddled under the blankets. At some unspoken signal, they stabbed downward viciously, ripping through the mattresses to the floor.

Wil woke with a gasp.

The nazgul continued mutilating the still lumps. Then they whipped back the covers, only to find murdered pillows, still bleeding feathers. Screaming in a pitch no man should be able to reach, they fled the inn to find their mounts and… saunter off into the night.

…

"What are they?" Rosie asked, safe in another room.

"Nazgul," Strider muttered. "Not dead, not alive. Evil."