A/N: At last! An update!! (rejoices) Sorry it took me so long, but I've been lazy and Smooge has been somewhat stubborn. Oh yes...just so you know, this is just the first part of Stave 2. There's more fun and Smooging to come, and it's coming soon! Fear not! Why split Stave 2 in half? It was getting extremely loooooooonng (14 pages!!). Again, I apologize for the wait. Hope you enjoy this next installment!

Stave 2: The First of the Three Spirits

OR

The Unicorn Who Bangs People Over The Head With The Lewis Canon And Is Obsessed With Making Sure His Horn Is The Proper Color

Smooge later awoke to the quiet darkness of dead night breathing its cold, icy breath into her room. She sat up, yawned lazily...and noticed her window was open. At first she didn't think much of it. Being as dim-witted as she was, she had all but forgotten last night's events. But as she moved to close it, her fingers brushed against some chalky, powdery gray stuff with bits of black in it. It was a small pile of ashes, as if a few matches had burned there on the window sill.

"Ew..." Smooge wrinkled her nose in disgust and swept the substance out the window before pulling it shut.

Now whether she was finally awake, or the ashes had some special property in them with the ability to help people think, I cannot tell...but she remembered.

"Omigosh! Jackie!"

She pressed her nose to the glass, half-expecting to see her beta-reader's ghostly form outside, aiming a blazing pen in her direction...but the streets were empty and dark. No cheery lamps or twinkling Christmas lights were on; not even the streetlights. Only the great, white face of the moon and a few bright stars cast their light upon the world, causing the snow on the ground to glow with an eerie silver brilliance.

Smooge reassured herself with her own brilliant logic:

"Hrmm...it was probably was just a lousy dream anyway. I mean, like, come on...ghosts are so not real." She scoffed at the foolish notion of there being a Real supernatural realm and turned her back to the window again, shivering.

"Geez, its like, sooooo cold."

She grabbed a nearby blanket and huddled into its warmth. Sighing dreamily for the millionth time in her life (though the sound was broken up by her chattering teeth), she was soon fantasizing about a certain "hawt" someone standing next to her...his aquamarine eyes filled with concern for her health, taking off his royal cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders with his strong, protective hands, OMG...so romantic...etc, etc...

She stood there, smiling idiotically and staring off into space, completely oblivious to the fact that her digital clock was acting rather peculiar.

If she had taken a moment to snap out of her castle in the sky and observe, she would've noticed that time was apparently going completely crazy. The digits blipped from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and on up to twelve again...though by the time she neared the end of her fantasy, it was almost one.

She was just leaning in to kiss her imaginary Peter/Will, when...

BONG.

"…Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls One…"

The hallway clock chimed the hour.

Smooge gasped, shaken out of her reverie...then...Nothing...just silence...

"Ha!" she shouted in triumph. "The ghost is a no-show! I knew it was just a stupid dream…"

Of course the girl had spoken too soon, for all at once there was a dramatic whoosh and a brilliant white light, and THEN…

…a big, weird-shaped, white thing.

At least, that was how Smooge would've described it. Anybody else would have immediately recognized it as unicorn covered in a white sheet with eyeholes.

Smooge stared. A pair of bright green eyes stared back.

"Emmmaaa-Leeeezaaaa SMOOOOOOOGE!!" it suddenly wailed (in a rather "horse" voice), rearing up on its hind legs and trying hard to act all spooky-ghosty-come-to-haunt-you. "I am the Ghooooost of Fan Fiction Paaaaaaast..."

Smooge rolled her eyes. "Is that the best you can do? Jackie was waaaaay spookier than you. Especially when it came to howling my name."

The figure beneath the sheet froze in mid-wail and the swathes of white fabric slid off its back, revealing a snowy-white unicorn with flowing mane and tail. Its horn was a beautiful INDIGO color (for everyone knows that all proper unicorns have indigo horns), and from the tip there shone a small, but dazzlingly bright jet of light, like a rapier made of pure moonlight. Altogether a magnificent-looking creature, except for its horsy mouth hanging wide open (still in mid-wail) and its flailing front hooves frozen in mid-air. As such, it looked rather ridiculous.

The unicorn snorted and resumed its rightful stance on the ground, glaring somewhat reproachfully at Smooge (who in turn was gaping at him in awe).

"Oh...my...gosh!" squeaked Smooge. "A real unicorn! In my room! Have you come to gallop me away to William Moseley?"

The unicorn rolled his eyes and face-hoofed (that is, he smacked his face with a hoof) and opened his mouth to say something. The twittering fangirl beat him to it.

"I knew it!! William wants me to be his girlfriend and he sent you to get me!" she squealed, bouncing around the room in mindless giggles.

"You wish," muttered the unicorn (though Smooge took no notice), his emerald eyes glittering with a calm malice as he quietly observed her annoying antics. He casually strolled over to her deserted bookshelf and reached for the boxed set of the Narnia books. Taking them in his hooves (don't ask me how a unicorn can pick up something like that 'cause I'm not sure), he sauntered back to where Smooge was doing her bouncy-ball impersonation and without any warning gave her a good, hard SMACK with them.

"OW!" Smooge immediately snapped out of it and stared dumbfounded at him. "What the...?!"

She never finished, for the unicorn then proceeded to give a war-cry of a whinny and BLUDGEON her mercilessly over the head with the Lewis canon.

"Take THAT!" he yelled, ruthlessly bonking her empty shell of a cranium, "and THAT! AND THAT! That'll teach you to mess around with C. S. Lewis! This'll teach you to describe a unicorn's horn as PINK! That'll teach you to pair up certain brothers with certain sisters! HIYAH!!"

"Ack! Help!" shrieked Smooge, screaming bloody murder and making useless attempts to get away. "Murder! Fascists! Unicorns! It isn't fair!"

"Don't get me going about the 'fairness' issue, Smooge!" warned the ghostly unicorn, giving her one last BONK for good measure. "Poor Jackie Barley already gave you that lecture. Now would you please stop that unbearable screeching?"

Smooge shut her mouth, although her eyes continued to shoot daggers at the spirit. He in turn tried hard not to smirk with immense satisfaction.

"Now," said the spirit, "since things have calmed down a bit, let's..."

"Which 'ghost' are you again?' Smooge inquired, cutting him off again.

"Would you STOP INTERRUPTING PLEASE?" thundered the unicorn in exasperation.

"Okay, fine..." said Smooge, backing away nervously. She, for one, did not want to be banged over the head again.

"Thank you. From now on, you will wait until I finish my sentences and then say whatever you need to. (Not that you have anything particularly intelligent to say, but that's partly why I'm here anyway.) Now, where was I...oh yes." The unicorn cleared his throat. "I am the Ghost of Fan Fiction Past, but you may call me Petraverd if you'd like."

"Um...okay, that's nice," said Smooge timidly. "Uhhh...if you're not taking me to William, then why are you here?"

"I'm here for your...shall we say...Extreme Makeover, Mental Edition," answered the ghost.

"Ooo goodie!" Smooge squeaked. "A makeover!" She turned to run to the bathroom and get her makeup, but the unicorn glomped her with a hoof before she could go anywhere.

"Not that kind of makeover, you idiot…" he said, rolling his eyes.

"OW! Stop doing that!" said Smooge, rubbing her head reproachfully. "Now where did I put that Pink SparkleMagic Lip Gloss…"

"Smooge, did you hear me? It's not the kind of makeover you're thinking of..." cautioned Petraverd, but Smooge took no notice.

"Oh shut up and gimme the makeover! Come on, let's go!" She lunged for his horn to drag him after her, but the spirit dodged her greedy grasp.

"DON'T—TOUCH—THE HORN!" he yelled, looking somewhat petra-fied. "ANYTHING but the horn!"

"Okay, fine, just take me to the makeover already."

The poor creature regained his composure, then patiently continued, "The 'makeover' has already begun, Smooge."

"Huh? I don't get it..."

"You will," he reassured her. "Come, walk with me." He nudged her in the direction of her window, and once again it swung open.

"You don't mean we're going out the window?" said Smooge, incredulously. "I mean, hello? There's this thing called Gravity?"

"I didn't think you'd even know what that was," muttered the unicorn, then said aloud, "Bear but a touch of my hoof there," lightly touching a hoof to her forehead, "and you shall fly with me."

Smooge expected the touch to feel cold and hard, and at first it did...yet it left an unexpected warmth behind; a warmth that grew and spread, little by little, from head to toe throughout the rest of her ghostly encounters that night. It felt firm and strong, but gentle and loving at the same time; it reminded her of something important she seemed to have forgotten...or was it someone? Or both? What was it...?

But she had no time to think about it or react, for at once they were whisked out the window and into the sky with incredible speed, rushing through waves and ripples of Time...leaving the world before and below them...falling away...going back...back...

...and the next thing she knew, her fuzzy-slippered feet were standing on solid ground.

Smooge had been screaming with fright and scrunching her eyes shut during the whole trip of course; but when she felt her feet touch the ground…she timidly opened one eye…then the other…and gasped.

They were standing in the middle of a small wood, with a beautifully starry sky above them and soft, pure snow beneath them. It was as quiet and still as a cathedral…and though Smooge had virtually no respect for Narnia or anything else, she couldn't help but feel she was in a very special, sacred place. There was a deep sense of wonderment here that she hadn't felt in many other places.

"Where are we?" she asked in a (somewhat) hushed voice.

"Where do you think we are?" Petraverd turned the question back to her, a secretive smile playing on his lips. "What does it look like to you?"

Smooge gave a thoughtful frown and put her head to one side, as if trying very hard to understand, to remember…

The spirit's face grew eager and hopeful. Was it working? Was she finally getting it?

Slowly…very slowly…the light bulb began to flicker…her eyes lit up, and in a burst of revelation she exclaimed,

"Omigosh! Are we, like, in Narnia?"

Petraverd sighed wearily. Her mental capacity wasn't fully restored yet, and her vocabulary wasn't improving much; but progress, however slow, was still progress.

"Yes," he said, "we are in a place very 'like' Narnia, as you said. Right now, we are in the Nature Reserve behind C. S. Lewis's house, the Kilns. It was this place that helped to inspire Narnia."

"Uhh…who's C. S. Lewis?"

"Wha-ha-ha-who-who's C. S. Lewis?!" Petraverd whinnied and spluttered in rage. "Why…why you little…GAH!!" He trotted ahead a few paces, trying hard to calm himself down enough not to give her another bludgeoning session. After a few seconds he determinedly pulled himself together, sent a vicious glare in her direction and began cantering away through the woods.

"Hey! Petra-person! Like, wait!" Smooge hiked up her pajama pants and stumbled after him. "Wait for me!"

"Come!" he called back, never slowing his pace. "Come further up and further in!"

Smooge tried to keep up with him, but it was as useless as trying to catch a moonbeam. Petraverd had galloped out of sight and melted into the shadows. If she'd had her way, she would've immediately turned around to go home and curl up in her nice warm bed...but home was now far away. She had no choice but to try and follow the elusive creature's path.

For your sake, dear reader, I shall skip the time it took to find him again and go straight to when at last, fangirl and ghostly unicorn stood together, outside a window of the Kilns; looking in at someone. Someone very special.

Smooge had no idea what they were there for and yawned. "Petraverg, why are we standing here watching some old guy in a bathrobe?"

If looks could kill, Smooge would be dead.

"Would you shut up?" hissed the ghost. "Why any decent Narniac would give a million bucks to be in your ungrateful, unappreciative, unworthy little shoes! And it's Petraverd! Look it up!"

"Okay, geez. Sorry."

"Humph. You should be."

"But seriously, who is that guy?"

"That 'guy', as you so brilliantly put it, is C. S. Lewis...though to his friends, he is known as 'Jack'. He is the man who first invented Narnia. And right now, as we speak, he is thinking up tales of magical lands and talking animals and great adventures. Stories to tell to the three children he and his brother Warren are taking care of."

Smooge still didn't feel too interested, but as the man's life unfolded before her, she began to pay more attention. Occasionally, Petraverd told her bits and pieces about Jack's childhood memories; of the fever and toothache he had on the day his mother died, of the intricate worlds of fantasy he and his brother would dream up on rainy afternoons, of his hatred for the nasty boarding schools he had to attend, and his delight in setting words to paper and writing stories. The scenes kept flashing by, one after the other, each revealing a jewel of a moment in Jack's life; each making him seem less like a boring old author to Smooge and more like a real person with joys and hopes and cares and fears. She smiled at the happiness in his face as he and his wife Joy grew to love each other more and more, and giggled at the playful antics of their two sons.

The scenes changed again, and Smooge could tell that something was wrong. Joy seemed to be weaker, frailer...and Jack's face now had a look of strained anxiety in it. Smooge bit her lip when Joy woke up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain; and the wailing sound of an ambulance's siren could be heard in the distance.

"What's going on?" whispered Smooge. "What's happening? What's wrong with Joy?"

"Joy had bone cancer," said Petraverd, his eyes somber. "This was the night that she died in the hospital."

Cancer...

The strong, pulsing warmth in her forehead that was left behind from the spirit's touch began to spread down towards her eyes, and further down 'till she could feel it just barely brushing at her heart. A lump formed in her throat as she remembered her own, dear little sister back home; of how she had once lain so thin and pale and quiet in a cold, white hospital bed, clinging to her stuffed rabbit with fragile arms and occasionally running a small, sad hand over her shaved head...

Petraverd observed her in concern. "Your lip is trembling...and what is that upon your cheek?"

"Nothing." Smooge shook her head, pushing the fear away and blinking back tears. "I was just thinking of Little Lynn."

"Little Lynn?"

"My little sister, Marilynn. Eight years old. They...she just recently came home from the hospital. They said the cancer's gone, but...we're just hoping it stays that way." She was silent for a second, and her once-swoony eyes now began to look Deepened. Thoughtful. Sad. Her usually loud and obnoxious voice had dropped down to a soft murmur. "We were lucky."

Petraverd smiled gently. "Not 'lucky', Emma. Blessed."

Her lips twitched upward in a small, awkward, hasn't been-used-in-a-while kind of smile, and she turned back to the window. She then caught sight of the red-eyed, tear-streaked image that was her reflection. Her eyes widened as they went back to Twittering Tweenager Mode, and she gasped in horror.

"Omigosh! My mascara's like, totally ruined!"

The unicorn face-hoofed and muttered something about wanting a Smooge voodoo doll to bonk, but a small remnant of a triumphant grin was on his face. Operation Cure-The-Suthor was making excellent progress.

Smooge wiped the black streaks from her face as the last scene flashed before them and dwindled from sight. She stood in silence for a moment, then turned to the spirit with a (somewhat) thoughtful look.

"That was...cool." She spoke slowly, as if tasting the words for the first time. You could practically see the rusty gears in her head ticking and turning as she sorted through all the fresh, new, intelligent thoughts that'd been put there. A tiny spark of something began to shine in her eyes. "It was better than a movie! I mean, like, who knew that some old author book-worm person could be so interesting!"

Petraverd chuckled. "Yes. Who knew?"

"I mean…wow! Jack is a pretty neat guy!"

"You don't know how good it is to hear those words coming out of your mouth," said the spirit, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Now come." He motioned towards the opposite direction. "There is one more life for you to witness." He tossed his horsy head and was about to gallop away, when Smooge called,

"Petraverd, wait! Please don't leave me behind again! It was awfully hard to catch up with you last time, and I'm so tired. And cold."

The unicorn snorted and looked over his shoulder at her to retort back. But when he saw her standing there, looking ever so pitiful, standing in the snow in her awful pajamas with her arms wrapped around her shivering self and her eyes looking so...different...he relented. (Every unicorn has a soft spot somewhere.)

"Alright," he said grudgingly. "Come on then."

Smooge gave him a puzzled look. "Come on what?"

"Why me of course!" said Petraverd, snorting and stamping a hoof. "Now hurry up and climb on before I change my far-superior mind."

Smooge's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "You're giving me a ride?! Oh goodie!" she squealed happily, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you so much Petra..."

"Yes, yes, yes, that's nice...okay, you can let go...don't touch the indigo horn, please..." He shifted about nervously and stamped his hoof again in impatience as he wriggled free of her grasp. "Please do hurry and climb on; we haven't got all night...hey! Careful! Anyone would think I was a haystack from the way you're trying to climb up me..."

"Ooh! You're so freakin' tall..."

It took five, long, clumsy minutes for Smooge to finally scramble up and get situated; but as soon as she had settled herself on the smooth, warm, snowy back, set her knees and entwined her fingers in the long, soft mane, Petraverd reared up on his hind legs…

"You'd better hang on tight, fangirl!"

…and it became a ride she would never forget.

A/N: As I said before, the last part of Stave 2 is just around the corner! (I'll be quicker to update than last time, that's for sure...) Any concrits would be greatly appreciated!