A/N: Big thanks to AppaloosasRock (Rohwen Edhel), Gods-girl2004, Immortal Sorrow (Arrow) and LarzRuscoBombadillo for the kind reviews!

I do not own Tolkien, or any of the following characters or places.

Fingers clenched, Pippin inched closer to the doorframe, watching the shadows of the lasses in the next room bounce off the wall beside him. He knew Pimpernel would be perched upon the armchair, as was her habit, and her friends would be arrayed comfortably at her feet, intent upon her every word. This was his sister’s area of expertise: telling frightening stories on dark nights when the full moon would hide behind and illuminate heavy grey clouds.

In the back of his mind, Pippin knew he should be in bed, but all he could hear from his room were faint whispers, and nervous exclamations from the lasses in the audience. Lying in a dark room, staring out his window at the shadows from the swaying trees did nothing to help his uneasiness. He had learnt over the years that most of Nellie’s stories had an amusing finish, light-hearted enough to dispel any further chills and give one a proper, restful night’s sleep. He needed that funny ending. Or he would not sleep.

Step by step, he edged further toward the doorway, until he could see part way into the dimly lit room in which the lasses would spend the night. There he slid down the wall to sit with his knees drawn up, and tilted his head back against the wall, listening with closed eyes.

“… Mido had heard the stories,” came his sister’s voice, soft and slow, and Pippin could hear the amused smirk within it. “He knew them off by heart: Go out of doors after dark, on a dark night when the round moon shines, and you will meet with the Tookland monster-“

“The Tookland monster?” interrupted a frowning voice suddenly, recognized quickly by Pippin as Estella Bolger. Practical as ever, she was generally the least frightened by any of Nellie’s silly stories. He heard Pimpernel give a sigh.

“I didn’t name it, Stella. But that is how the story goes. Now stop interrupting, or I won’t finish it!” she threatened. Efficiently subdued, Estella did not speak for the remainder of the story, and Pimpernel continued.

“Mido laughed at these stories, and told the lads that he would venture out doors that very night, and prove once and for all that there was no Tookland monster. He thought himself brave and strong, and surely, even if there was such a creature, he could overcome it easily.

So, that night, when everyone else had retired, Mido crept outside, and walked slowly down to the fields. He made his way straight down into the middle of the empty horse paddock, and stood there for several minutes, waiting impatiently. Soon he grew tired, and laughed aloud, mocking the monster in a loud voice, and the lads who had told him such a ridiculous story.

With that, he turned around to go home, but suddenly spied something by the gate: a tall, dark figure standing still and silent.”

Pippin felt his breath catch. ‘Til this point, he had been right alongside Mido, waiting with a nervous smile for the monster appeared. For once, he would have liked to have sat through one of the stories without being surprised at all.

“Grinning, Mido called out to it, asking which of his friends had followed him out to wait for the monster. But he got no reply, and frowned, and slowly made his way back towards the gate. Not once did the figure move, and as he grew closer, Mido could make out its figure: Just like that of a hobbit’s, but taller and slim, shrouded in a black hood and cape.

Still feeling particularly brave, Mido laughed, and cried out that it was such a silly trick: dressing up a scarecrow in a cloak to frighten him. And this time he waited several moments for a reply, amazed once again not to receive one.

No longer amused, but rather intrigued, Mido plodded onwards, until he stood not five paces from the tall figure. He could see now that it was not a scarecrow, but rather stood upon two sturdy legs, and two gloved arms hung listlessly at its side. Its head faced downwards, revealing naught but the top of the black hood.

Smirking, Mido put his hands upon his hips, and laughed in the creature’s face, telling it teasingly that he was not afraid by mere dolls clad in black robes.

Just as he turned to leave, the figure twitched: it’s boots shifted forwards, and the iron-gloved hands rose from its sides, reaching for the lad. Still unconvinced, Mido chuckled softly, swearing to himself to get his friends back one day soon.

But then the head of the creature shot up, and to Mido’s horror he could discern no face, but only two red and glowing eyes, stabbing out of the black hollow of the hood. Screaming, Mido moved to run, but he was now too late: The Tookland Monster swept forwards quick as a hare, and had it’s iron fists about Mido’s neck in an instant-“

Even as his sister’s voice rose in triumphant delight upon noting the faces of her audience, Pippin jumped up and screamed, bolting away from the room and down the hall. Away from his sister, away from the front door; away from the paddock and the full moon.

Shoving open the door he wanted, Pippin leapt to the bed and dove beneath the covers, clutching at the strong legs beneath them, and curling himself in a tight ball about them.

The owner of the legs jerked and cried out in surprise, bolting upright and scrambling backwards across the mattress, dragging Pippin along with them.

Merry, breathing heavily and heart pounding loudly in his chest, suddenly came to the conclusion that he had traveled much too far across his bed, and found himself falling. With a strangled groan, he hit the hard, cold floor upon his back, one leg bent against the bed, and the other still lying upon it, clutched between two small, clinging hands.

For several moments he simply lay as he fell, willing his heart to slow down, and his breathing to return to normal.

Even as he realised what had happened, Pippin’s wide eyes slowly crept over the edge of the bed, staring down at Merry apprehensively. Merry stared back, and he fought to control his voice as he spoke.

“Peregrin,” he ventured, slowly and quietly, though his cousin flinched at the name. “What are you doing?” Pippin could only stare at him for a moment, fingers still clutched tightly to his leg. Then he licked his lips, and hesitantly replied:

“Pimpernel was telling a story, and I was frightened.” He whispered. It struck Merry that this was not quite an adequate excuse for waking him up in such a manner, and causing him to fall backwards out of his warm bed to land hard upon his rear in the middle of the night.

“I’ll give you frightened,” he growled suddenly, yanking back his leg and struggling to his feet. With a squeak, Pippin jumped to his feet and leapt off the bed, running for the door, but Merry was too quick for him, and caught his ankle, dragging him back. Unsure whether or not he should be truly afraid, Pippin decided to play it safe, and he kicked out at his cousin, scrambling out of reach.

Merry paused where he knelt, glaring at the child as he crawled beneath the bed, and curled there silently save for his heavy breathing. He figured it could not hurt to scare the lad a little. To show him what it was to be afraid of something real, something tangible: not a silly made-up story. Still, angry as he was, Merry had no intention of maiming his young and most beloved cousin. As appealing as the thought was, it was fleeting.

With a long-suffering sigh, Merry shuffled across to the bed and reached beneath it into the shadowy depths, at last finding and catching two small wrists. Not overly gently, he dragged the little hobbit out into the open once more, where Pippin knelt unresisting, looking up at Merry with wide, pleading eyes.

“Please don’t kill me Mer.” He said at length.

At last, almost beginning to see the humor in the situation, Merry chuckled, and released Pippin’s wrists, gently tousling his curls.

“I’m not going to kill you, Pip. And I’m sorry if I scared you.” Relieved, Pippin sank down against him, and leant his head upon his once again trusted cousin. “I guess I over reacted a little. What exactly frightened you so?”

“Pimpernel’s story…” ventured Pippin, waiting now for his own heart to stop pounding violently against his chest. Having temporarily forgotten it, now the memory came flooding back and he trembled. “About the Tookland monster.”

Merry rolled his eyes. He hated to think how many times he had heard that story. He guiltily recalled telling it several times as well. But never to Pip. As much as it was fun to tease little Pippin, he stoutly refused to frighten him… At least, when he was awake and functioning properly.

Carefully he pulled Pippin into his lap and hugged him to his chest, resting his chin upon his cousin’s unruly curls.

“It’s not a nice tale, is it Pip?” The curls shook vehemently. “The first time I heard it, I was awfully scared as well. Would you believe that Frodo was the one who told it to me?”

“He was?” asked Pippin doubtfully.

“Indeed,” Affirmated Merry. “But I got him back. He accidentally locked himself out of Bag End the following night, and when he tried knocking to wake me up, I thought he was the monster, come from Tookland, and refused to let him back inside. He had to sleep out on the front path.” Pippin giggled.

“Poor Frodo. It would be nice to get Nellie back, even though she didn’t know I was listening,” he admitted.

Suddenly Merry grinned, and turned Pippin’s face around so that he could make it out.

“Do you know what we should do, Pip?”

…

“And then,” whispered Pimpernel gleefully, thoroughly enjoying herself. She had the attention of every single lass in the audience; even Estella, who could usually not be sucked into her tales. In the dark room, she could barely make out the forms of her companions, but she could see seven pairs of bright shining eyes, wide in anticipation.

“Foot by foot, he crept towards the wardrobe, his heart hammering in his chest. Just then, he heard a sound: like long nails scraping across the glass of the window-“

A terrible screeching sound suddenly filled the room, and her story cut short with a gasp of surprise. Staring at the window, she could see nothing through it but the blackness of the night. The seven bright eyes turned accusingly to her, narrowing suspiciously.

“Nellie,” came Estella at length, once the sound had faded into silence. “That was a low trick. I won’t fall for that.”

“But I didn’t do it.” Protested Pimpernel, standing to cross to the window. “I can’t reach the window from the armchair, at any rate, so it couldn’t have been me.”

“Well then, who was it?” asked Violet, her voice trembling slightly. One by one, the lasses climbed to their feet and hurried to Pimpernel’s side, staring together out the window into the land beyond. They could all make out the empty paddock beyond the front garden, and the beaming full moon, only half hidden by one large silver cloud.

Even as Estella opened her mouth to reassure them, something large and dark suddenly rushed past the window, bring with it one final screeching scrape of the glass. The lasses rocked back, a scream forming upon the lips of one and all. Unable to make a sound or move, however, they remained locked to the ground, trembling in their nightgowns.

“Perhaps it was a bat.” Whispered Estella after several strained moments.

With that, the creature returned, standing straight and tall to stare back through the glass at the terrified companions within. Lifting it’s hooded face, it revealed naught but two glowing red eyes, and slowly raised a shining, iron-gloved hand.

Their composure finally broken, eight identical screams ripped forth from the lasses, and they turned and ran from the window.

…

“That was brilliant, Merry!” crowed Pippin, doubled over in his laughter. Merry dropped the cloaked broom at his side and grinned, mightily pleased with himself. He lowered himself easily to sit upon the grass, and watched his cousin giggle helplessly.

When he could finally draw breath, Pippin sat at his side and looked at their improvised ‘Tookland monster’.

“How ever did you make its eyes glow?” he asked. Merry smiled and held up two red marbles, each speared upon a long, thin strand of wire.

“Easy, Pip. I just held the lantern behind these: they lit up like a bonfire. At least they seemed to do so: Pimpernel surely screamed loud enough to prove their worth.”

There was a silence for a moment, as both lads struggled to contain themselves. But with a wry look at the other, their self-control failed, and they fell about laughing.