Ever since the ordeal with the ring in Morodor, my sleep has been fitful.

You would have thought destroying the ring in the fires of Mount Doom and knowing it was over would be enough, but it wasn't.

I saw Gollum die.

Mr. Smeagol.

He was a Hobbit once.

Just like me.

The ring is gone, but now a hole is left in its place, like the gap that is left behind when a rotten tooth is removed.

I have discovered that, while we no longer become Ringwraiths, empty shells of our former selves serving the Dark Lord, we still blindly follow our own selfish greed, and it's just the same.

A phantom ring tempts me in my sleep.

I dream I find myself caught in an Orc hunting party, then awake in my bed with an imaginary ring poised over the stump of my ring finger.

When my finger touches the stump, I see the shrouded figures of Black Riders standing over the bed with swords.

On this night, however, they have put their swords away.

They stand above me, placing a Face Grasper over my mouth, and its foul serpent offspring explodes from my chest.

I sit up, gasping and sweating in terror, but the nightmare isn't over.

In the darkness of my rabbit's burrow of a room, I see a bony white shape crouching on my dresser. A naked figure, clad only in a loincloth, and balding on top, the barest of wisps stubbornly clinging to the otherwise hairless surface.

"Nastee Hobbitsses, wicked, filthy Hobbitsses. It sends poor Smeagol down into the fires, he does!"

He jumped silently to the floor, hovering over my bed in a threatening manner, claw-like fingers stretching for my throat.

"Preciouss, we ends its now!"

The creature's personality changes.

"No! We mustn't! Preciouss makess Smeagol jumpses into the hot firess, must get rids of Preciousss. Only way...Previouss makes Smeagol blind..."

He snapped again.

"Wicked Hobbitseess! It cares nothingss for poor Smeagol. Why should Smeagol care for dirty Hobbitses, who makeses his burning noosess!"

I got out of bed, staring at the figure in disbelief. "You're dead!" I cried. "I watched you die!"

"See that!" it hissed. "It watches poor Smeagol die. It dids not tries to helps Smeagol."

"You bit off my finger!" I shouted. "You jumped!"

The pale figure composed himself. "Smeagol does not care what dirty Hobbitsess thinks of Smeagol. Smeagol knows things, doesn't he, Preciouss? Smeagol is wantings to helpses, he helpses nice Hobbitses! Smeagol not wanting the Queen-"

His other personality let out a loud phlegmy hiss. "You will not tell dirty Hobbitses about the Queen! Smeagol should let wicked Hobbitses get eaten! Yess, Preciousss, long live the Queen!" And Gollum giggled like mad.

Smeagol slapped himself. "Shut up!"

He focused on me again. "Hobbitses all in danger, yes they are, Preciouss. Need to send filthy thief Bagginses to the beacon, we do. It calls the Sky Men, it does. Hunters...yess...and chests of weaponss...Hobbitses must be armed."

"Beacon?" I said. "Hunters?"

Before I can get an explanation, Rosie barged in with a bright lamp, eyes still squinting from her interrupted sleep.

"Who are you talking to in here?" she groaned.

I stared at my dresser. My visitor was gone.

A ghost.

"No one," I stammered.

"You still dreaming of that miserable business with the ring?"

I nodded.

"You need a woman," she said. "Whatever happened to that young one you met across the sea?"

For a year, I had sailed the ocean with the seafaring elves. We traveled the ocean, and I encountered a tall brown skinned race that lived in crude little dwellings constructed of animal skins.

They were barbaric as Orcs, but one of the females had taken a liking to me.

She was the nicest creature, but their lifestyle was hard and difficult, and they had such primitive ideas about how the world worked. That and other tribes attacked them all the time. I could only take so much of that.

"She wasn't my type," I said.

"And what is your type?"

I had no answer to that, though, if I were truly honest with myself, I'd probably say she was standing in front of me.

Not something you'd want to confess to your best friend's wife.

"We'll have to see what we can do about this problem, won't we? I'm sure there's a nice Hobbit for you around the corner." She paused. "Or possibly an elf?"

I blushed. She must have noticed how I gazed at elvish women during my send-off at the seaport. The sheer dresses, the long legs...

"Possibly," I stammered.

She smiled. "I'll fix you some of my specialty sleeping draught."

As she turned to leave, I briefly wondered if something more than mere concern had brought her to my room, and out of my best friend's arms.

I shook my head. Surely no good would come from such thoughts.

I tried lying down again, shutting my eyes.

My eyes flew open when I felt a chill on my stomach.

The pale figure was squatting on my blankets, glaring at me with impatience. "Wake, wake!" he practically screamed. "It is a lazy slothful Hobbitses, it is! It actses like Queen restses while it shutses its eyes!"

"What do you want, Smeagol!" I shouted in annoyance. "You're dead! Why won't you leave me alone!"

He just shook his head. "Dirty lazy Hobbitses! Preciouss should let Queen kill every one of them!"

Rosie set a steaming cup on the end table. "I knew it! You're seeing ghosts!"

"What do you know about it?" I groaned.

"Did Sam ever tell you what I do in my spare time?"

I stared at her. "What do you do in your spare time."

"Ever been to a seance?"