Summary: "Tonight begins the Week of Silentin!" Week of Silentin, lock your doors and hide under your beds, pray that your ancestors did not kill someone that is now seeking revenge. Or else, you may just be in danger.
Beta: Tira (sidhnanledhiel)
Rating: Mature PG-13 (maybe R just to be safe)
Warning: There is a lot of spiritual type content in this. Ghosts, spirits, things like that. This fic is not for the faint of heart, or the easily scared, believe me! I know at the beginning it does not seem that way, but you have not read the rest. :D
Characters: Aragorn and a few OCs
'silenti' ('silentin' without the 'n') is a Latin word meaning "the Dead"; I figured if Tolkien could use the Latin word 'Silva' meaning "woods, forest" and add a 'n' to it and call the wood-elves the "Silvan Elves" then I could get away with using the Latin word for "the Dead" with a 'n' on the end of it for my story.
A/N: I was inspired by a line from a book I read recently, Crime Scene Jerusalem by Alton Gansky, when I read the line a picture formed in my mind and it went from there. I at first had wanted this to be for the Halloween challenge Rhonda posted, but as the story developed, it wandered away from the qualifications Rhonda had for the challenge. Then I thought maybe this would be for Nina's birthday, which I missed anyway, but then I realised maybe this type of story might not be good for her health condition (I have been told by many others that the ending of the first chapter is creeping them out, and that is just the beginning of everything!).
"A simple man believes anything, but a prudent man gives thought to his steps." (Proverbs 14:15)
For even his own brothers did not believe in him. (John 7:5)
"Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me!" (John 8:45)
"Stop doubting and believe." (John 20:27)
Chapter One: Ramblings of Ghosts
He who cannot believe the ridiculous will never achieve the impossible. (Paraphrase of Revere Sr. H.S. class of 1970 motto)
If you can't believe something is possible, you won't be able to see it, even if it's right under your nose.
Though thoroughly bored, the man that slightly disturbed the biota around him watched his surroundings very keenly. Being bored was no cause for him to be off his guard. And even though he was returning from active duty on the southern reaches of land near the Shire, a land inhabited by a rather small, yet stout, race, he still had an obligation to keep a sharp eye on the happenings of the places he passed through. He could not afford the luxury of being at ease as he travelled back home, but he could enjoy the beauty of nature even as he stayed alert for any passing danger.
With his long strides he was able to cover the ground quickly, but his soles left nary a track on the ground behind, and unless he did not run into other people, there would be none that would know he had passed through. This skill he had finely tuned over the years, thanks to the help of his brothers, was quite a useful one that he was thankful he possessed. He had lost count of the many times it had come in handy.
There was no rush for him to get back to the camp of his fellow rangers - for one thing, they were in good hands under the guidance and wisdom of his second-in-command, who was seeing over their protection. Besides, once he returned from the southern side of the Baranduin, or the Brandywine as most called it, he was to return to his family in the haven of Rivendell for a short season. For many a year he had been away and only rarely would return for very short visits, no more than a fortnight at most, but this time he would stay for a more extended amount of time.
A small smile stole across his face as he thought about it: his home would be changing from fall to winter soon, but, nonetheless, would still be beautiful to behold. Despite that he longed to see his home in the glory of its summer season, he would take what he could get, and be thankful for the mercies of Eru for that point. Besides, his brothers would make winter a grand time, though would probably give him a scolding for staying away for far too long.
He heartily agreed with them. He had been away too long, and his fortnight, or less, visits were far too sparse to make up for his absence.
The more he thought of home, the more he wanted to rush back, but he was already weary from his berth at the Baranduin, and there were still many leagues left before he would even reach the Mitheithel and from there follow it to the Bruinen. He had to pace himself, else he would reach Rivendell too weary to even visit proper with his family without resting for several days first. Not to mention that if he arrived fatigued, his brothers and father would hover over him like mother hens do a chick: something he oft hated. Besides, he wanted to enjoy the open plains of Minhiriath and he relished looking at the flora and fauna of the region.
A small butterfly fluttered past, its delicate, bluish-white wings catching the ranger's attention as they beat the air at a fast, but even pace, its distinct markings a complete blur. The little, pretty insect landed with practiced ease on a small, late bloomer, as the ranger cautiously took a step toward it.
As he took a closer look at the markings - its top wings were white with black marks on the forewing and the underside had grey-green stripes along the hindwing veins - he was able to identify the creature as the Annui Fein: Western White, in the common tongue. And since it had black marks on the forewing, he knew the gender of it was male, for females had the black marks on all their wings.
"How are you today, little annui?" he asked quietly, placing his finger under the little creature, gently letting it take place on his person instead of the plant. He smiled as the butterfly slowly flapped its wings, and turned on his finger. After a second of watching the strange, huge creature it found itself on, the insect took flight, gently sailing away.
'Time you were moving on, Aragorn,' he told himself as he turned back to the east, his direction of travel. Once more he moved on, through the mid-shin-high grasses of the green, hilly-country. Here, though slightly long, the grass grew in such a way that he really did not have to worry about snakes. When it became thicker, maybe, but for now, he could amble through it without a worry for the little terrors.
Soon he reached a region that looked more traversed, no doubt by hunting parties from Tharbad, or farmers making a living outside town. He had never really completely explored Minhiriath, so he was not sure if the signs of human passage were farmers or hunters, but either worked fine in his opinion.
Just so long as they had no evil intent.
As far as he could see there was nothing wrong with the territory: no signs of wrongs being done or evil-doers, but just people coming through here on their way to continue living their regular lives.
But whoever passed through here, did not appear to linger within the vicinity. As far as he knew, the path he travelled, and travelled every time he came back from the Baranduin, located down closer to the Blue Mountains more so than the Shire, like he was travelling this day, was not a path located near civilization; then again, he had never had cause to travel from his path south-eastward and run across the paths of others.
As Aragorn walked, he idly began checking over his weapons, though he knew there was nothing wrong. He still messed with them, loosening his sword in its scabbard, tightening his belt, resettling his bow and quiver more firmly on his back.
He had just pulled his sword from its scabbard to look it over while he walked, when suddenly he heard a loud wailing type scream. A scream of absolute horrified petrifaction. Slamming his sword back where it belonged, Aragorn took off running in the direction the sound came from.
Due to the hills of the region and the clump of trees in the direction he was headed (he was getting into a place with more trees than the plains he had been on before), Aragorn could not at first see what was the cause of distress or who the sound of distress had originated from.
Rounding a bend, Aragorn found himself running down a well-worn path through a thicket. A moment later he saw something else headed toward him, something small and moving quite fast. Mere seconds had passed, and before he could do anything more than to pull up short, the something, or rather someone, ran right into him.
Grabbing the child and steadying the little one, Aragorn looked down into a young boy's tear-stained, scared face. When brown eyes met silver eyes, the boy's fear edged slightly from his face, but the tears came faster.
"Save me, save me..." the boy sobbed on and on. "Don't let them take me or papa and mama."
"Do not let who take you?" Aragorn glanced around, looking for whom the boy spoke of, the 'them' that were allegedly trying to take the boy and his parents.
"Them..." he spoke the word so fearfully and once more that scared look crossed the young boy's face. He looked like he had seen an evil spirit of some kind or another.
Aragorn quickly assessed the boy, judging him to be about eleven years of age, maybe twelve. "Who is this them that you speak of? What is it you have seen that scares you so?" Without knowing what was going on, he really did not know how to help the boy.
"Ghosts," the boy whispered, as if afraid to say the name any louder.
He raised an eyebrow. "Ghosts you say?" Aragorn was not really sure he believed in them, or at least he did not believe that they were as common as his brothers had made them out to be. Many things were possible, and even his father had once told him that they were such things as spirits, both of alive and dead beings, that walked Arda.
The boy nodded his head vigorously, his mop of light brown hair bouncing in time with the up and down of its host. He must have looked doubtful, for the boy quickly interjected. "I saw them! They said they had come to take my family."
"What else did they say?" Despite that he wanted to believe it was a prank pulled by older brothers the boy might have or taunting 'friends', Aragorn could not help but feel slight trepidation at what the boy said; though he did not want to admit it, every word the boy was saying sent chills up his spine.
"They said... They said..." The boy choked back a sob. "He said, 'I have come to avenge my death, four score and ninety years past; from hence, I will extract my revenge upon the descendants of my killers.'"
Aragorn suppressed a shiver at the words, but paused when he realised the boy mentioned a 'he' when before he had said 'they'. "I thought you said there was more than one. Who is this 'he' you speak of, and what happened to 'them'?"
"They are his helpers, my ancestors," he whispered. "They serve him or he serves them... they all work together, either way! They are all seeking revenge!" The boy all but screamed in his insanity, lost to his world of uncontrollable fear and the manifestation of dead spirits waking from and leaving their tombs to haunt the living.
The wind that passed through the trees sounded eerily like someone breathing, someone dead breathing, but Aragorn ignored that. Now was not the time to allow his over-active imagination to get the better of him, as it had the boy. He chided himself for his fear. "Listen, little one, no one is going to harm your family."
"Yes, they are! No one can stop them!"
"Have you talked to your father about this?" It was obvious the child had suffered this for some time, whatever 'this' was. But the boy's parents should have schooled the boy, told him, convinced him that there was no spirits haunting him and his family.
"They don't believe me." The boy dropped to the ground, sobbing like the world had come to an end. "My parents can't see them, can't see when they walk behind them, just waiting for the right time. They are waiting for the right time, then they will kill my parents."
Aragorn frowned at the youth. He honestly had no idea what to do. The boy was very adamant about the fact that there was ghosts skulking about his parents. Maybe it would be best just to gently question the boy, find out everything the boy thought was true.
"Tonight..." the boy whispered. Aragorn paused, and raised an eyebrow. "Tonight is the beginning of the Week of Silentin."
Aragorn frowned; he knew what the boy spoke of, for stories were often exchanged around this time of year. Horror stories of how during the Week of Silentin, people that had died in some form against their wishes, could walk Arda and extract their revenge. They were able to walk about and be seen by the living (if they wished to be seen), they could touch the living and kill them or harm them in whatever fashion their twisted minds saw fit for the revenge of their death.
Every year, the last week of October was a week feared by many children, they feared that ghosts would enter their houses and kill them.
And only the children could see them.
Once one reaches adulthood, they lose their childlike faith in such spiritual things as ghosts and angels. They lose their ability to see into the spiritual plain and thus they never see their 'doom' coming.
Though he would never admit it aloud, and certainly never to his brothers, somewhere deep inside Aragorn still believed that something like that could be possible. But he had never seen anything to that effect, so now he doubted it was true. It was what he told his brothers this time of year, as well. 'I have never seen them; they do not exist. You are just trying to scare me.'
"Do you not understand?!" The boy wailed, jumping to his feet and tugging on Aragorn's coat, pulling the ranger from the river of memories he had lapsed into. "The Week of Silentin! It starts tonight! He said! He said! He will kill us the Week of Silentin! You have to stop him! Please stop him..."
"Alright, alright, be at peace." The ranger laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Be still, young one." This youngster was deranged! It was the only explanation. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He recalled how he had once believed there were monsters in his closet. His ada had told him that if he got bold they would leave. All he had to do was run in there and tell them to leave, tell them he was not afraid of them. His closet-monsters could not survive without Aragorn's fear, and boldness makes them turn tail and run.
Maybe he could just pretend to go and 'stop' this alleged 'them' and the boy would cease this hysteria of dead people stalking him.
"I will hunt out these revenge-seekers that are searching for you and your loved ones' lives and I will see what I can do. Maybe they can be convinced to leave you alone, but you must not be afraid of them from hence forth."
The child raised his gaze and looked confused. "Afraid of them? How can I not be afraid of them? They are terrifying! Beyond terrifying!" He looked about ready to cry again. "How can I?!"
Aragorn forced a smile, but behind the mask he was feeling quite uneasy and disquieted by this boy's aberration. "They do not like it when you get bold, they will flee from your courage." This he was not so sure of, if in a real case of such that confidence would scare unclean spirits away from shading your footsteps. But it could not hurt to tell the lad to be bold, could it?
"Are you sure?" The lad looked far from being convinced. "And what about my parents? He stills plans on killing us all."
"Why do you not take me to your parents and I can talk to them about this?" He hoped the youth would think he was just planning on warning his parents and convincing them that they needed to take action and prepare themselves for this attack from the ghosts. Of course, Aragorn did not really intend to do that. He wanted to talk to the lad's parents about the boy's state of mind, and what they could do to help the child see reality from the creations of his mind.
"Alright..." he sniffed and turned around, heading back the way he came.
"Wait..." Noticing the direction the child was moving in made Aragorn slightly antsy. "Do you live in that direction?" He pointed the way the youth was going.
"Yes." He frowned. "Why else would I be going this way to take you to my parents if they did not live down this path?"
"Why were you running away from your home, then?"
"I wasn't running away from home. I was in the field when the spirits came again, they were chasing me!"
Aragorn executed a short nod and took off down the path, the boy leading the way. For ten minutes they walked in silence, never once leaving the trees or entering this field the child had spoken of. Obviously the lad had run into the woods when the spirits had supposedly started chasing him.
As they rounded another bend, a small log-house came into sight, situated comfortably within the thicket of trees, though not crowded by the growth of nature that one could not freely walk the yard. The yard was spacey and quite well kept, with a small garden that was slowly giving away to the coming winter months next to the house, and clumps of other flowers strewn across the lawn.
It looked serene, and the ranger wondered how when one lived in such a tranquil place, they could have such an abnormal, uncontrolled mind as the boy did.
A small woman was sweeping the porch as the pair approached the home. She looked up as they drew near.
"Darlin' there you are." She spoke with a sweet, accented voice that made the boy smile slightly. "Where have you been? Your chores do not take you this long to do, why did you not return home immediately?"
"I'm sorry, ma... I..." The lad choked up and looked about ready to sob again. "They came again."
His mother frowned in disapproval. "What have I told you? There is no spirits following you around, no one coming this Silentin for revenge, we ain't done a thang wrong. I don't want to hear any more nonsense about ghosts, you've been listenin' to those Tharbad hunter folk too much for ya own good."
Aragorn caught a flash of rebellion, a sign that the youth wanted to argue that point, once more try and convince the adults around him they were all in danger. But instead the boy nodded and muttered a, "Yes, ma."
"Now, who is this you brought with you?" She eyed the weather-worn clothing and hunter look the newcomer had with barely concealed suspicion. She needed no more hunters and other folk from Tharbad hanging around, scaring her boy out of his wits with stories about ghosts and the Week of the Dead. She had never had problems before with her child about this week, they always celebrated it with no problems, but something had changed this year.
"This is... someone I met in the woods. I don't know his name, but he said he would come and talk to you about Silentin."
"You come to tell more stories, then you can just leave. I don't need my boy being scared any more, thank you. And no offence to ye, but it is bad enough already." Her brown eyes were slightly narrowed, but her countenance was still pleasant.
"No, ma'am." Aragorn shook his head. "I have not come to scare your child with talk of ghosts. I am a ranger, Strider you may call me, and I am just here to get to the bottom of whatever is spooking your son." The gentle breeze picked up for a moment, blowing the woman's dull red hair around her face. Aragorn tried to ignore the sudden pickup of the wind as the woman fixed her hair again from the unsettling the breeze had caused.
"Well, Strider, I am afraid there is nothing that is spooking the child other than his imagination. I'm sorry if my son caused you trouble or waylaid you too much," a man's voice came from behind them. Turning, the ranger saw the voice's owner walking toward them, a shovel slung over his shoulder as he returned for the mid-day meal, the field no doubt giving him quite an appetite.
"No, sir. He did not cause me trouble; it is part of my job to investigate such things. If someone comes to harm and I could have done something to prevent those events, I would be to blame. Since I was in the area and came across your son in quite a state, I deemed it best to talk with his parents."
"You been talkin' to the ranger about ghosts stalking you, son?" The man turned to his offspring.
"Yes, papa... they were chasing me, and Strider said he would stop them!"
"Go on inside," the father ordered. "I'll talk to Strider about this stopping those ghosts business." As soon as the boy had ducked into the house, he turned back to the stranger. "Said you would stop those ghosts that aren't there, did ya?"
"Sir, I said I would see what was going on and find out what I could do to help. Sometimes one must play along with a child's imagination, and in this case, make the spirits leave this place, so that in the end the boy will be convinced that the ghosts have left; even if all the while they were just a product of his imagination."
"Well said," the man extended a hand. "I am Adin."
"Pleased to meet you, Adin, as you already know my name is Strider." He took the offered hand and shook it firmly, noting the man's strong and certain grip.
Adin smiled. "Quite right." Stepping around Aragorn, he introduced the woman. "This is my wife, Trish."
"It is nice to make your acquaintance, Lady Trish." Minding his manners, Aragorn bowed slightly to the lady.
"Pleased to meet you as well, mister Strider," she replied.
"Pleasure's entirely mine, ma'am."
"May I ask where you were raised? You have such nice manners, even though we be simple country folk."
"Ma'am, where I was raised, it does not really matter where you live, a lady is always treated with respect. If the person, or people, are worthy of respect, then respect is due them. Even simple people such as yourselves are worthy of respect and I gladly give it," he paused and then added with amusement written across his features, "Besides, my brothers would tan my hide if they knew I did not treat you as I should."
Trish smiled. "They sound like good brothers then."
"Quite right, you are, there, ma'am. Though they can really be a pain, especially if I do not return home in a time that they see as fit, or if I arrive injured, or generally do something they do not approve of as safe for my health."
Adin laughed. "They sound like my older brothers, then. They always hovered over me, protecting me and looking out for me, even though I despised it."
Aragorn joined him in his laughter. "Oh, that is my brothers alright."
"Well, let's not stand outside and let the lunch hour pass. Adin, go wash up. Strider, won't you join us for the meal?" invited Trish warmly.
"I do not wish to intrude."
"Nonsense,"- Adin clapped him on the back, -"it is the least we could do, considering our son upset your day. You said you wanted to talk about this subject, I assume you have questions?"
"Please, just call me Adin."
"Come along out back, I presume you would like to wash first...?"
"There was a time when I would care less about washing before meals," Strider admitted. "But my brothers and father beat that into me as well. Till I washed, no food was placed on my plate, either."
The booming laughter that followed the statement made Aragorn grin as he followed his host around back and to the well there.
Once washed, the two entered the house through the back door and Adin led the ranger into the kitchen where they took their meals.
"Sorry, I did not prepare the proper dining room for this meal. We usually eat in here; the dining room is for special occasions." Trish tried to excuse their lack of a 'proper' eating space.
Aragorn waved a hand, not at all minding the simple way they took their meals. It was quite nice actually. It was not at all like the meals he had in Rivendell with his family in the dining hall, and it was better than meals taken while sitting around a fire on the ground. He rather enjoyed this in-between setting.
As Trish set out the steaming food, Adin introduced his children.
"My son, as you have already met."
"He never gave me his name."
"Is that so?" Adin looked surprised.
"Sorry, papa, I forgot." The youth jumped to his feet and ran over to Aragorn. Holding out his hand he said, "Nice to meet you, Strider; my name is Daryn."
"It is nice to meet you, Daryn." He shook the small hand and smiled warmly. The child's ramblings gave him the spooks, but he tried to ignore all that for now.
"He is our precious present." Trish smiled fondly at the boy as he took his seat back at the table. Turning to the little girl of about two years of age, Trish stroked her curly, red hair. "And this is Aideen."
Aragorn grinned, looking at the young girl's flaming red hair and crystalline blue eyes - an interesting combination. She had her father's eyes and her mother's hair. She would be quite a beauty when she grew.
"As you have probably guessed, she was named for the colour of her hair." Adin waved to a seat at the table. "Do sit, and enjoy the food. Trish is quite a cook."
"Nonsense,"- she shook her head, -"you don't know good cooking from bad cooking, just so long as it is food."
Strider laughed at the banter, taking a seat at the table opposite the babe; this seat meant sitting beside Daryn, whom he still suspected to be slightly deranged, but he ignored the fact.
The meal was a pleasant one; the talk of light matters. They spoke of the goings on of their fellow farmers and what news they had heard from Tharbad recently. Never once did they broach the subject of ghosts. Instead they discussed why Aragorn was crossing the Minhiriath and from where he hailed.
"I come from the Rhudaur, near the valley of Rivendell."
"Are you acquainted with the elves?" asked Adin, intrigued.
Strider laughed, tucking his nervousness away in a corner of his mind. How did these people view elves? Oh well, nothing to it, but to be honest. "Actually, a bit more than just acquainted, I know quite a few of the elves from the valley real well." He decided as long as they did not ask, he did not have to mention that his brothers were, in fact, elves, and that his best friend was from the woodland realm.
"You're a very fortunate man, Strider, do you know that? Imagine that, Trish! Elves!"
Aragorn laughed at Adin's outburst. "Yes, I guess you could say I am fortunate."
The talk simmered down, and the meal quickly passed. Wiping his mouth on his napkin, Adin looked at the ranger.
"I am afraid, Strider, that I must go back out to the field. Harvest is not quite over, and that is where I have been. Since I did not come back expecting to meet you here, I left tools out in the field. I need to get them in and then we can talk… if you do not mind the wait?"
"Of course not."
"Good and thank you for understanding."
"It's not a problem, really."
After Adin left, Trish set about cleaning up the remains of the meal, and getting Aideen cleaned from her own rather messy meal. With nothing else to do, Aragorn stepped outside onto the porch for a smoke.
After a few minutes, the door behind him opened and someone walked up beside him.
"You gonna talk to my pa about the ghosts?" Daryn asked quietly.
Aragorn took a deep breath and looked up at the boy. "Yes."
"Thank you, Strider." The youth sat down. "Maybe you can convince them that they are in danger..."
He stifled a sigh at the child's statement; he was not here to convince the lad's parents that there were ghosts skulking around them, lying in wait to kill them. From what he could see, the home was serene and there was no sign of spirits hanging around. Daryn was either messed up in the head or there were neighbouring boys playing tricks on him, for the lad was rooted firmly in the belief that he was haunted.
Trish came out of the house then, halting any possible conversation. "Daryn, why don't you run along now and go visit the Hannen's, take them the nutbread I made today and the basket I had you prepare earlier?"
"Yes, ma'am." The youngster ran into the house; he ran back out a few minutes later with a basket in his hand and left down the lane him and Strider had traversed beforehand.
Trish soughed as she watched her son run off. "He didn't used to be like this... talking of ghosts and such." She took a seat in one of the porch chairs.
Aragorn silently got up off the steps and took a seat near her as she spoke. "He is quite a bright young lad, and his father and me were always proud of him. He was quick to obey and please, minding his manners and looking out for his younger sister when she was born." Trish let out another sigh. "Now... now, all he talks about is spirits. He is jumpy and terrified, and..." she paused and shook her head. "Ever since Adin took him to the sepulchre... where Adin's forefathers are buried," she added to make it clearer. "Adin took the lad there so that he knew where the place was, to remember to lay him there to rest when he died. Not more than two days later Daryn was going on about ghosts and every day after. That was two weeks ago."
A deep frown contorted Aragorn's face as he stared at the ground and let the information just sink in. Several moments passed before he heard someone approaching. He looked up expecting to see Adin and saw...
Aragorn frowned. He knew he had heard someone coming this way, but there was not a person in sight, except for Trish who was sitting next to him.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to all of the information she had given him, and everything he could remember Daryn saying and doing.
Then he heard it. He knew it was the sound of someone coming. He knew it for certain this time.
He looked up.
No one was there.
Ai, everything he had been thinking about, ghosts and tombs and Daryn's claims of the spirits of dead people walking the earth, was really starting to get to him. He was hearing things. It was his mind playing tricks on him because of the nature of the subject he had been dwelling upon.
Once more he heard someone walking, and looking up Aragorn once more saw no one.
'Stop it!' he silently chided himself. He glanced at Trish. She was idly staring off into space, unconcerned. 'There is no one there, no one is walking around. You are imagining things!'
Step. Step. Step.
Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Stop freaking out about this. You are hearing things! No one is there while there is the sound because it is all just your mind! Snap out of it!'
Step. Swish. Step.
The sound had changed as if someone was walking through flowers and long grass, but Aragorn ignored it. He looked once more to Trish, who had produced some sewing from somewhere and was working, completely unfazed.
Swish. Step. Swish.
Step. Swish. Step.
Swish. Step. Swish.
Aragorn finally looked up again, and once more saw no one. When he was about to get up and go into the house, he saw something that set his heart beating at a fast pace.
Step. Swish. Step.
A clump of flowers about fifty yards away, it was moving. It was moving as if someone was walking through its midst. But no one was there. No trees were near it, so no one could be hiding in the shadows. It was in the light, no shadows over it, nothing.
The wind was only a slight breeze.
The flowers continued to part.
Not a soul was in sight.
...To Be Continued...
More coming soon! I will post the next part on Halloween. Look for it coming!!
Well, that is, I might decide to hold off posting more if I don't get reviews! XD Come on, though, I need feedback! It encourages me to write more!