“You two are becoming the terrors of the Shire,” began Frodo quietly. Too quietly. Pippin started nervously shredding the piece of bread he was holding, and making a crumbly pile in front of him. Frodo couldn’t truly be angry with them. Frodo was never angry.
“What were you thinking?”
Merry looked up guiltily and saw Frodo’s bright blue eyes focused on him. He swallowed hard.
“What were you thinking, Merry?” Frodo leaned forward across Bag End’s dining room table, anger giving way to concern. “Pippin could have been hurt. Merry, he could have been killed.”
“Nothing happened, Frodo,” Merry mumbled.
“Well now, wasn’t that lucky.” Frodo sat back and surveyed his two wayward cousins. They had been visiting with him for a week, and everyone was having a wonderful time until Pippin let it slip about his and Merry’s most recent excursion. “Heavens above, it isn’t as if you don’t know about those dogs.” Frodo shuddered at his own memory of the farmyard guardians.
“We got clean away,” insisted Pippin. “Farmer Maggot never even saw us, Frodo!”
“This time.” Frodo sighed. “I can only wonder what will finally make you two more responsible. You can see no consequences to your actions, because there have been no consequences.” He shook his head. “You’ll have to grow up someday, Pip.”
“But not tonight,” said Pippin hopefully. “Right?”
“Right,” Frodo smiled. “Not tonight.” He got up from the table and wiped perspiration from his brow. “The sun has set, and it’s still so beastly hot. Come on, let’s get everything ready.”
Frodo and Merry each entered one of Bag End’s bedrooms, pulled out pillows and quilts, then brought everything down to the deepest cellar.
“Oh,” Merry groaned, “it feels wonderful in here.” He dropped his load of bedding onto the straw-covered floor, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. This deep, dark storage cellar was where Bilbo (and now Frodo) stored ice in the summer, the large blocks having been cut from Bywater Pond during the winter. This particular summer day had been so hot, the cousins had decided to sleep down here (or “camp out”, as Pippin called it), in the blissfully cool air.
“Take this, Frodo,” said Pippin, coming down the steps with a lit candle in one hand and clutching several spare candles in the other. He handed Frodo the lit candle, then used it to light each of the others, which he deposited about the room to chase back the darkness somewhat. The light from the flickering candles created strange shadows as it illuminated the preserved meats, the barrels and crates, and the shelves stacked with jars and wrapped cheeses. Pippin looked about uneasily.
“Well, Peregrin?” Frodo plopped down onto his pile of bedding. “Are you planning to sleep on a block of ice?”
Pippin grinned and raced back up the stairs, on his way to rip apart another of Bag End’s many beds.
~*~
“When Bilbo first brought me to Bag End, I was terrified of this cellar,” said Frodo casually. It was getting very late, and he and his cousins lay on top of their soft “beds” enjoying the cool room. All the candles, except for one small one, had been extinguished, giving Pippin just enough light to see Frodo’s face as he spoke. Merry lay on Pippin’s other side, listening.
“You may not know this, Pip, but the Shire has a long, long history,” continued Frodo. “Way before hobbits ever came to this land, Elves, Dwarves, and even Men traveled these parts. Long, long ago…” His voice drifted off.
“What does that have to do with this cellar?” asked Pippin.
“Everything,” said Frodo. “Bilbo told me that The Hill above Bag End was the site of an ancient Dwarf settlement -- an encampment for those passing through Eriador on their way to or from the mines in the Blue Mountains. There was a tragedy here.” Frodo paused. “It was dreadful… maybe I’d better not talk about it until daylight.”
“Now!” Pippin was excited to hear a new story. “Talk about it now, Frodo.”
“All right,” Frodo continued. “The Dwarves tunneled deep into The Hill, whether looking for gems or for shelter, I don’t know. Bilbo said that when his father had Bag End built and enlarged, it was obvious that some of The Hill had been dug into before. This cellar, for example, was apparently an old, filled-in hole excavated long ago. When Thorin and the other Dwarves came to Bag End with Gandalf sixty years ago, they told Bilbo the story of what happened here.”
“Well?” Impatiently, Pippin poked Frodo in the side. “What happened?”
“One day there were two Dwarves down here, in this very room,” said Frodo quietly. “There was a terrible argument over something -- no one knows what started it -- and one of the Dwarves took out his axe and…” He hesitated, then continued. “He was yelling, and he tripped, and… the axe came down, and chopped the other fellow’s hand clean off!”
Pippin gasped. “Clean off?”
“Clean off,” said Frodo solemnly. “Borgin One-Hand, he was known as forever after. It was an accident, but the axe-wielding Dwarf fled the settlement, never to be seen again. And the hand…” He paused, sighing again.
“What about it?”
“I’d better not say,” said Frodo. He got up and snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into total darkness. “Let’s get some sleep.” He lay back down next to Pippin.
“Frodo Baggins!” Pippin couldn’t believe his ears. “I’ll never get to sleep until you finish the story!”
“All right, if you’re sure,” Frodo said. “Well, Pip, no one ever found it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The hand -- no one ever found it. It just disappeared. Maybe it fell through a crack in the wall, or in the floor, or just got overlooked somehow. Soon after that, the Dwarves started avoiding this room, and it was eventually filled in, but never forgotten. Folks reported hearing strange sounds in the earth, and feeling a cold chill come over them.” Pippin shivered suddenly. “After about a year, the Dwarves left the area and resettled elsewhere.”
Frodo’s voice grew soft and low and Pippin strained to hear him, regretting the fact that they had snuffed out the candles. There were too many nooks and crannies in the cellar… too many places for something to be hiding…
“Bilbo said that once this cellar was dug out, even his father didn’t like coming down here too often. He said something felt odd about the room… creepy, somehow. Like there was something still alive down here, maybe looking for revenge. Something… still hunting… something crawling about…”
Suddenly Pippin felt something touching his leg. A hand… crawling… He shrieked in terror and skittered backwards, kicking out at the thing.
“Ow!” said Merry. “Take it easy, Pip! It’s only me!”
Gasping for breath, Pippin looked wildly about as Frodo re-lit the candle. For some reason Frodo was grinning, and Merry…
“It was you!” Pippin gasped. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, you scared me out of a year’s growth!”
“Oh Pip!” Merry couldn’t help laughing at his cousin’s aggrieved face. “You jumped higher than I did when I heard that story!”
“He did not,” chuckled Frodo, sitting back down on his bedding. “As I recall, Mer, you had run nearly to Bywater by the time Bilbo and I caught up with you!”
“Ridiculous,” snorted Merry, then he started giggling again.
“It wasn’t funny,” Pippin muttered. He glared at Merry and pulled apart his bedding, just to make sure that no hands or legs or other body parts were lying in wait. “Is any of that story true?”
“Well,” Frodo answered, “Dwarves did come through this area. Who knows what could have happened here?” He put a hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “We’re sorry we scared you.”
“Forgiven, Pip?” Merry scooted close, and Pippin found himself surrounded by contrite cousins.
“Well…” With a bloodcurdling howl, Pippin pounced suddenly at Merry and tried to push him to the ground, but his cousins were too quick for him. Pippin shrieked with laughter as Frodo and Merry wrestled him, squirming and wriggling, into the mounds of quilts and pillows. Soon all three were so tangled in the bedding, and laughing so hard, that they could scarcely move.
Finally the three cousins settled down (after Pippin had extracted a promise from Frodo that he would get to play the part of the crawling hand someday, for some other hapless cousin).
“Are you going to celebrate Bilbo’s birthday, Frodo?” Pippin ended his question with a yawn.
“That’s a whole month away,” answered Frodo sleepily.
“You mean, it’s only a month away,” corrected Merry.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Frodo said. He was quiet for a moment. “It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly been a year since he left.”
“You’ve done well on your own,” said Merry. “We’re all so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mer.” Frodo smiled into the darkness. “I do want to celebrate Bilbo’s birthday, but I just want to keep everything simple.”
“Gandalf might come back and bring more fireworks!” said Pippin. “It’ll be a year since he left, too.”
“That’s far from simple,” Frodo chuckled. “Besides, every time Gandalf appears, some Baggins disappears.”
“Maybe we’ll just spend a fun evening at the Green Dragon,” Merry suggested. “Some good ale to toast Bilbo’s health, a little singing…”
“We get a little out of hand when we sing,” Frodo reminded them. “I’ll make sure good old Sam is there to keep an eye on us.”
“If we’re at the Dragon, we all know who Sam will be watching,” chortled Merry. “And it won’t be us!”
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