My first attempt at a long story, and also my first Lord of the Rings fan-fiction, so go easy on me!
NB: this story takes place before Bilbo leaves the Shire in The Fellowship of the Rings. Oh, and I've borrowed from both the films and the books in writing this, so please forgive any inconsistencies!
Disclaimer: everything in this story is the property of the master storyteller, J R R Tolkien. I own nothing and no money is being made from this (I wish!)
In the small town of Hobbiton in the Shire, the Bagginses were the only Hobbit family who were noted for having adventures or being at all unpredictable. Old Bilbo Baggins, who had once disappeared from the Shire for months on end (without even taking his hat) and (reputedly) returned with a hoard of inexhaustible treasure, and his ward Frodo (of whom it was whispered that he was more like an elf-child than a typical rascally tween) could always be counted upon to cause a sensation. No surprises there, with Bilbo descended from the Tooks and Frodo having been brought up in the den of rowdiness that was Brandywine Hall.
So it came of something of a surprise when Will Whitfoot, frequently pointed out by all and sundry as a bastion of good hobbit-sense, came tearing into the Green Dragon one cool spring evening, pale as unbaked bread, swearing blind that he'd seen a ghost.
"What's that, Will?" called out Hamfast Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer, and Will stammered something out about a big black Thing that had swooped down on him and scared him and – his teeth began chattering so much at this point any Hobbit present could have been forgiven for thinking that it was still winter where Will was standing.
Several mugs of ale later, Will had steadied enough to tell his tale in a coherent fashion, and out came a lurid enough story of how he'd been walking back home from a visit to relatives in Bywater just after sundown, nice and full from his aunt's excellent cooking, when he'd rounded a corner – and been confronted with a gigantic spectre, garbed entirely in black, a hood shielding its face, and a long cloak hanging over its body. It had spun round to confront the petrified Will, only to slink noiselessly away into the night once it had seen the quivering Hobbit. Which, Will insisted, was proof enough that it was a ghost, for when had the Big People ever moved silently?
Poor Will had to endure much scoffing when his narrative came to an end. "Maybe it's a ghost that's nicked off with that vegetable pie the missus left on the window sill this morning then!" called out one Proudfoot.
"Aye, and perhaps it made off with some of me apple preserves as well! I'm sure I had more than ten jars left yesterday," remarked Filibert Bolger. The common consensus in the Green Dragon soon proved to be that Will was either seeing things or had fallen asleep and had a nightmare from consuming too many of his aunt's blackberry preserves.
"I allus say, blackberries art worst sort o' berries for causing dreams," said the Gaffer, shaking his head at the notion of ghosts and spooks. "Take our Samwise, for instance. Last time he had supper up at Bag End –"
"Begging your pardon, Gaffer, but what I saw was no dream," Will interrupted defiantly, much to the relief of the said Samwise, who had noticed pretty Rosie Cotton listening avidly to Will and the Gaffer. "I can tell what's a dream and what's not, thank you very much, and I'll have words with any Hobbit who says otherwise." There were quite a few shouts of derision at this, and Will looked just about ready to loose his temper. "Well, all right then, which of you lot is going out to check that there's nothing there then?" he demanded irritably.
His detractors suddenly fell silent at this, and Will snorted contemptuously. "Bunch of ninnies, the lot of you!" he remarked, and things were just getting heated again when a voice rang out above the shouting – young Frodo Baggins, rather to everyone's surprise.
"Enough! Look, everyone knows that Will would never make up a story that wasn't true, and you only have to look at him to see he's wide awake and not seeing things." There were some mutterings from Ted Sandyman at this, but he quieted down when a blue-eyed glance was sent his way. "I'll go and have a look where Will said he saw his ghost if you like," Frodo continued, apparently undaunted. "I might be able to find out what caused the fuss."
"Are you sure that's a good idea, young Mr. Frodo?" the Gaffer asked a bit worriedly, whilst Sam's eyes widened in admiration and alarm combined. "I reckon it's a load of shadows and Will's nerves that caused the ghost up there, but if there is something, I don't want to have to face Mr. Bilbo and explain that we let you get carried off by a spook!"
Frodo couldn't help laughing at this notion, but Sam looked quite stricken at such an awful prospect. "Begging you pardon, Mr. Frodo, but if you're going to have a look for Will's ghost, then I'm heading up there with you!" he announced, standing up and striding over. "Any ghosts that come after us will have to get through me!"
"Shouldn't be too hard – lad's as soft as butter and fat as it too," muttered Ted Sandyman. Sam turned beetroot at this unkind comment – unluckily for Sandyman, Frodo overheard it as well, and accidentally-on-purpose banged into Sandyman's table as he walked past. Sandyman's ale went cascading into his lap, much to the victim's dismay and Sam's relief.
"You be careful now!" Rosie Cotton cautioned over Ted's yelps, as Sam and Frodo made for the door. "It's pitch dark outside! Here, take this lantern -" she passed a brightly lighted little contraption to Sam, who accepted it gratefully.
"We'll be fine, Miss Rose!" Sam smiled at her, and then nearly tripped over his own feet as she smiled back.
"You're a very brave Hobbit, Sam!" she informed him, at which point Sam turned the colour of a tomato with sunburn. Frodo, smiling wryly, had to give Rosie their thanks and then grab hold of Sam and haul him bodily towards the door, as Sam seemed to have forgotten how to move his feet.
"Come along, Sam! I'll need you! There's nothing like another pair of eyes to have a look at a puzzle. Will, where was it you saw your ghost? Just up the road?" Frodo enquired as he paused with his hand on the door handle.
"By the big oak tree," Will answered, shuddering, reaching for yet another mug of ale. "But don't ask me to go back out there again, young Frodo! Gave me some terrible shivers, it did!"
"All right, all right!" Frodo nodded, as the other patrons regarded them with a mixture of admiration, curiosity and slight worry. "We'll take a look and be back in a few minutes."
Frodo felt quite light-hearted as they stepped out into the cool, breezy though gloomy evening, but Sam was quite edgy, and took hold of Frodo's arm ready just in case anything was waiting for them up the road. Anything that wanted to harm Mr. Frodo would have Samwise Gamgee to deal with!
Accordingly, Frodo and Sam shortly found themselves besides the big oak tree Will had mentioned, looking around for any sign of unusual happenings or personages having passed that way. It was already full night time and clouds hung low over the Shire, making it so dark there was barely even enough light to cast any shadows. The light from Sam's small lantern soon proved insufficient to search properly by, and Frodo wandered off a little way, relying solely on his clear sight.
"I can't see a thing round here, Mr. Frodo," Sam sighed after a few moments. "I reckon Mr. Will must've seen a fox or badger or something out the corner of his eye and thought it a ghost." Sam took the lantern over to the hedge that bordered one side of the road in order to search for any hidey-holes an animal might have sprung from, but even this search proved fruitless. Frodo meanwhile was simply standing below the oak tree, eyes glancing everywhere, until they lighted on something near where Sam was looking.
"Sam, what's that? On the road, by your feet?"
Sam danced backwards and lowered the lantern – and sure enough, spotted by Frodo's sharp eyes, was a footprint in the dust. Not a Hobbit footprint, nor even one from any kind of animal – no, this was a print from a boot. And a large one at that!
"So there was someone!" Frodo murmured softly, deep in thought. "Poor Will must have been scared silly!" Sam shuddered, and looked around cautiously.
"Do – do you think it was a ghost he saw, Mr. Frodo?" he enquired nervously, eyes scanning the surrounding darkness for anything even remotely ghostly. Frodo shook his head as he gazed at the footprint.
"No, Sam! A ghost wouldn't leave footprints – I'm quite certain about that!" Frodo paused and passed a searching glance around them. There was nothing – only the faintest rustling of leaves overheard. "I would say it was elves," he continued slowly, causing Sam's face to light up in delight. "They're supposed to move in silence, but I can't see what business they'd have in the Shire."
"But it could be an elf, Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed excitedly, all fear vanished. "It could be! Lucky Will, to have seen such a thing!"
"Or not so lucky," Frodo continued, shivering slightly as the wind picked up. "I'm not sure it was an elf, Sam. I've never heard of elves leaving footprints. We'd best be on our guard till we find out what it was!"
Sam paused in his delighted wondering – Mr. Frodo was right, of course! Comes of being a scholar, I suppose, he thought to himself. Of course no elf would be so careless as to leave footprints! I wonder what it could be if not an elf. But then he remembered that Frodo – and indeed himself – was standing outside and away from safety with goodness-knows-what prowling about in the dark, terrorising Hobbits! "Time enough for that tomorrow, Mr. Frodo!" he said firmly, taking hold of Frodo's arm again and setting off back to the Green Dragon. "Let's get you back inside!"
Frodo sighed at Sam's fussing, but good-naturedly allowed himself to be tugged along by his friend. Sam always meant well, no matter what the circumstances. They strode down the road together, Sam keeping an eye out for anything black and scary that might jump out at them. Frodo meanwhile gazed at the horizon, wondering what precisely Will had seen and where it might have come from …
The clouds at the horizon's edge shifted as though they were a curtain that had been lifted, showing a glimmering of clear azure skies above the hilltop that was studded with stars. But Frodo barely noticed the sky – the clouds had revealed something else upon the hill. Stood upon its very rim was a shape – a tall, black, formless shape, motionless, gazing down into the valley. And a moment later it had melted away, disappeared over the rise.
Frodo sucked in his breath sharply, eyes straining to catch sight of the figure once more. But the clouds rolled back down to touch the summit once more, and all vision was lost. Only the wind remained, sounding like a lonely sigh behind them.