[The Barrow-Wight]

A blurry-eyed apparition stumbled through the dark maw of the inner chamber door and cast a baleful look at the various guests mingling in his home. The snooze on his hobbit clock was supposed to have lasted only ten minutes, but from the deep debris on the floor and the stack of empty kegs, BW could tell that he must have been sleeping for days. He wondered if he had been drugged and immediately went to the cabinet and counted the silverware. All there. Perhaps he was just getting old.

Though he had missed most of it, it was obvious that this year’s party, like those of the past, had been an active event. Pages and pages of conversation had appeared since he last closed his eyes, and like always, it was too much to read, especially when his schedule was so busy. Still, it was unlike him to snooze through such festivities, and he hoped everyone would understand. This year was different than the others. This would be the last in this barrow.

For centuries, the Barrow-Wight had occupied the same dingy tomb, only occasionally venturing out in search of a lost hobbit or two to add to the decor. It had served as his home, his castle, and his citadel against the ages, a place to rest his weary bones, or at least to rest in the weary bones that he had stolen so long ago. But the place just wasn’t the same since the Bombadil incident, and it was finally time to move on.

Property values in the part of the boneyard had gone up considerably since he purchased the place, and it was time for him to move into a nicer, newer, larger grave, but somewhere more rural, where he could get more square feet for his silver pennies. He knew the perfect place, and intended to float up the Deadman’s Dike to scout out a suitable new house. Word was that a local bigwig had erected a gaudy monument to himself and then promptly died, as if eager to occupy his eternal residence. The Barrow-wight was eager to try on some new skin.

But before he could inspect his new barrow, he knew that it was proper that he attend to his guests. Each and every one of them was an important member of the community, and it wouldn’t be right if he did meet with all of them. With one last look at the silverware, the Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and began talking with the first person who looked him in the eye.



*** To allay any fears: This is not a notice of barrow closure or anything like that. It's just my way of saying I'm in the process of selling a house, buying a house, and moving (in the real world), and I am likely to be unattentive.