Disclaimers: See One-Shot 1 for more information.

I don't know what is happening with my writing, but somehow it's like the characters are saying dialogue from other characters. It's strange. Good thing that didn't happen that much in this chapter, or so I hope.

A Gardener's Demise

Sam's eyes flew wide open. He didn't feel a headache, but there was a strange sensation of déjà vu. Sitting upright, he saw a garden before him. Moving off the bed, the first thing he did was charge towards the gardener's tools. There were all his tools that a friendly gardener needed. He grabbed his spade, prepared to work the soil.

The ground was so fresh. So full of life. It was the right soil. All seemed bliss as he dug into the earth, planting seeds and watching them grow. Only the plants grew into large vines, strangling him and pulling him down into the soil…

He was all right, but inside his father's house. He was home and alive, but could feel a strangling sensation in his throat. Maybe nothing would happen afterwards. He walked about the house. It was empty. No sign of his family or friends. Just a hooded figure.

"You're not death. Are you, sir?" Sam asked, certain this was… death.

The hooded figure did nothing, but point to the parlor window. Sam followed his gaze, where he could see his family arguing. He called to them, hoping they would answer. Well, they looked at him all right, with sneers and snarls. This wasn't like his Gaffer. He tried again, but couldn't reach him.

The strangling sensation continued. He sputtered and coughed.

The image changed, showing his friends: Frodo, Merry and Pippin. They were talking about him. And there was Rosie, looking right at him. She said nothing, just a mute form. She looked so haunted, and beautiful. But more so haunted. Oh, if he could just walk up to her, talk to her…

"Oh Sam wouldn't know what to say to Rosie," Mr. Frodo said aloud. That got Sam's attention, but not in the best way. "He's too shy for his own good."

"Yeah, maybe he should try talking to us. Oh wait, he's too bashful for his own good," Pippin laughed.

"Yeah, and maybe he should quit gardening and be mayor." Merry perked up. "Hey, that's not a bad idea. But he's dead. So, there's no need to speak to Sam anymore about this subject."

Sam coughed and sputtered a second time. His throat was constricting. He looked up briefly at his friends. They were looking at him now, but not moving.

"Oh look, it's Sam," Frodo said, not in an encouraging way.

"Where have you been, Samwise?" Merry asked, in the same venomous tone.

"He's probably wishing he hadn't drunk that apple cider. Aren't you, Sam?" Pippin asked. He stifled a laugh, but couldn't help himself. Eventually Frodo and Merry joined it. Sam knew it wasn't funny, but he couldn't stop sputtering and coughing. The coughing was uncontrollable now…

Sam released a deep breath. He could feel his spirit returning to his body. He felt sick and he didn't know how long he could hold it in. Remembering his manners, he grabbed the nearest bucket and released the contents from his stomach. It was revolting, but to his surprise, when he was done and feeling nausea coming again, the vomit vanished in the bucket. He released the contents once more. It was cider all right. It certainly smelled like bad cider.

"Ah. You're awake." It was that healer. Boy, did he have a few things to say to him. "Yes, you'll be wanting the bathroom, too."

"I died, didn't I? I can smell death on me," Sam said. Well, he didn't know what death smelled like until now, but it smelled revolting.

"Ah. Right, that. You've been dead for seven minutes. Your friend, Frodo Baggins, is the last one to awaken. Give him one more minute. And here." The healer tossed to him a tray filled with bathroom supplies. "You'll be needing the bathroom soon. It is down the hall and to your right." He added last, "And if you're wondering why I did this little experiment, you will have to wait until everyone's out of the bathroom."

Sam didn't know whether to thank the healer or to strangle him. Either way did not sound like a swell plan at the moment. He looked at Frodo with sorrow and pity. Still not breathing and still not awake. What sort of trick was this? Moving off the stone bed, and with every muscle aching, Sam headed up stairs. The healer would regret what he'd done, and he hoped the healer would give a good explanation for all this… mess. If not for his sake, then for his friends.

Thanks for reading. :) There's one more one-shot to go.