Do You Believe in Ghosts? by oshun

Amras and Amrod showed little interest in their food. Earlier that day, Fëanor had capitulated to relentless pressure from his youngest sons and agreed that they could erect a tent behind the house and sleep there. Now he watched them squirm in their seats, eager to leave the table and finish their preparations. Their older brothers taunted them about the hardships of sleeping in the rear garden under the light of Telperion, causing them to squeal like piglets in protest.

Under the best of circumstances, the noise at the supper table in the House of Fëanor could put anyone off their feed, even when the chicken did not taste like wood. Maedhros must have been distracted; his meals were usually better.

After swallowing exaggeratedly, as though he had read Fëanor's mind, Maglor said, "Hey, Nelyo, remember the time when Carnistir and Turko slept outside and Turko pissed his pants when the dreaded Sindi attacked their tent?"

"Wh-what's a Sindi?" Amras's voice cracked.

"Your Amil's mangy--ah, sorry, sweetheart--beloved old cat." Fëanor did not look at Nerdanel. Ignoring an impatient nudge against his knee, he turned away from her and kissed Amras on the cheek and pointed at his plate. "Eat."

"Died before you were born," Celegorm stated gleefully.

"Yep," Curufin added. "Found her down by the garden gate, stiff as board, fur all matted, her mouth . . ."

Maedhros interrupted, "We're eating, Curvo."

"Trying to," Caranthir said, with a mournful shake of his head. "You let the chicken dry out."

Maglor snorted. "He was arguing with Finno all afternoon." Maedhros glowered in response, faint lavender circles under his eyes and a persistent twitch in his jaw marring his perfect visage. Fëanor mused that being older and in love was not, as people claimed, any easier than being young and in love.

"Oh," Nerdanel said, in a sympathetic bleat, looking in the direction of her oldest son. "Is that why Findekáno didn't stay for supper?"

Maglor squirmed, obviously unable to resist asking, "Do you mean the chicken or the quarrel, Amil?"

"Pfft. Never mind," Nerdanel answered.

Fëanor reached across his wife for the gravy boat. Sawdust chicken might go down more easily with bread and drowned in gravy. Nerdanel shot him a murderous glance, as though he held sole responsibility for her sons' insensitivity and bad manners. He gave her his best attempt at an innocent smile, which worked as often as not.

She had stormed the forge earlier in the day to excoriate him. One of the most enchanting things about his lady wife was her extensive vocabulary, enriched by years spent in her father's workshop. With histrionic gestures that would have done proud any of the celebrated actors of the finest theaters in Tirion, she insisted that due to his rash promises to the twins she did not expect to get a wink of sleep that night and neither should he.

Her flushed cheeks, wild eyes, and bright tousled hair had stirred him. Fëanor thought the worst of it was over after he had backed her out of the forge, into the workshop, and had her right there on his desk. She stumbled back to the house, smiling and blushing like a girl, only to return a short while later enraged again. The boys had decided that her new counterpane would be the perfect size and weight for the body of their bloody tent. They ripped it off the marital bed, dragged the heavy, brocaded piece over the floor, down the stairs, out the door, and across the yard, nearly killing a chicken they accidentally caught in its folds.

He tried to console her by explaining that a little dust, dried leaves, and twigs could have caused no more than negligible damage to her latest, and exorbitantly expensive, attempt at home improvement. His efforts to repeat his previously successful method of calming her earned him nothing but a rude shove against a splintery doorjamb on her way out. Tolerance of his bad habits and bearing seven children, despite her frequent protests otherwise, had done nothing to diminish Nerdanel's strength of arm or character.

A remark from Celegorm, which caused both twins to scream at once, jolted Fëanor back into the present. Preoccupied as he had been with thoughts of Nerdanel, he had missed most of it.

" . . . and then you'll come running into the house, bawling like babies, wanting to sleep with Amil and Atar. Oh, the poor iddle boysies."

"Shut your trap and leave them alone," Maedhros said, making parental intervention unnecessary for the moment.

When the twins turned beet red like that and shrieked, they really did remind him of their mother. Fëanor could not resist reaching over to tenderly stroke the top of Nerdanel's hand.

"Don't worry, darling. When we've finished eating, I'll take a look at the tent and settle them in for the night."

She gave him a hint of a smile and a long-suffering sigh, before sticking her lower lip out in an alluring pout. "I'm sorry if I've been testy today, but I did have work I wanted to do this afternoon as well."

"I'll take them into the city with me tomorrow. Then you can have hours and hours to yourself."

Nerdanel leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek, along with a surreptitious squeeze on the thigh. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for his insightfulness.

The thick silvery light of Telperion cast a shimmering glow on everyday objects, transforming them and setting one's imagination afire. Amrod considered that the length and depth of the shadows added an air of mystery and adventure to the chicken coop and the wheelbarrow and rakes leaning against it.

Just then his quiet contemplation of the back garden was shattered by the sound of an urgent beating of hooves. The smell of dust reached them. Amras sat up, pulling their blanket off Amrod's bare feet.

"Ow! It's cold. What do think you're doing?"

"Just looking to see who it is?" Amras complained. Amrod huffed in exasperation. It could not be anyone but Fingon at this time of night. In fact, he was late. Everyone knew that Fingon would not sleep without trying to make everything right again after he and Maedhros had had a row.

"It's Finno!" Amras crowed.

"Duh! Cover my feet up. It's freezing."

"Whiney baby. Freezing means like the frost on the grass. In the morning. In Formenos. In the fall, tosser. Not summer in Valinor."

The sound of front door slamming was followed by the soft whinny of Fingon's horse, then a noise not unlike scuffling: Fingon throwing himself upon Maedhros no doubt.

A harsh, desperate whisper from Fingon, "I'm so sorry."

"Shh. Káno." Silence. "Let's go take care of your horse." The sounds of footsteps moved in the direction of the stable.

"Hey?" Amras asked. "Do you believe in ghosts?" A single faraway howl of a dog, or perhaps a wolf, underlined his final word.

"Remember what Atar said? No scary stories."

"See what I mean? A big baby."

"I won't dignify that with a response."

"Ha! You just did." Amras snorted and cackled. Amrod refrained from punching him.

The quiet grew heavy, interrupted only by the subdued chirp of crickets, the wind in the willow tree at the end of lawn, before it sloped down to creek, and soothing water noises. But he could only imagine the sound of the small insects in the grass at the edge of the creek.

After a long while, the back door onto the lawn beyond the chicken coop opened and closed quietly. They both held very still. Hoping that Fingon and Maedhros would think they were sleeping, the better to spy on them, Amrod thought.

"The twins are sleeping in the garden tonight," Maedhros whispered.

"Down by the willow tree then?"

"Yes." Maedhros said, in a peculiar breathless voice. Several yucky squishy, plopping sounds followed.

"Eww. Gross. Kissing again." Amras shuddered.

Amrod gave him short, "Shh." Maedhros and Fingon walked toward the willow tree, their soft, crunchy footsteps fading into the night.

The back door flew open and slammed shut with a loud echoing crack.

"Hey, little guys. How's it going?" Celegorm called. "What happened to Finno and Nelyo?"

"Down by the willow tree doing nasty things," Amras said, cocky as his older brother.

"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it." Celegorm snorted.

"Have you?" The twins chorused together, a rare moment of perfect congruence.

"No! But Finno claims to like it a lot." Celegorm laughed in that way that only he could, like he had said the cleverest thing in the world. "You want a scary story before I leave?"

Amras piped up, unexpectedly uneasy. "Atar said no scary stories."

"Fine then. You be good little boys. I won't tell you anything about the ghost that lives down by creek. Some say it is a dead elf from across the sea, escaped from Namo's halls. Others think it might be something Melkor created that was never dealt with. Maybe there is no truth in it at all. Or maybe, as Atar would have you believe, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of those strange noises at night."

"Turko, you are such a . . ."

Celegorm interrupted Amrod. "Lighten up. You should hear some of the stories Macalaurë told me when I was much younger than you. Well. Gotta go. There's a dance in the city center tonight."

As he walked away from them, light from the kitchen window reflected upon Celegorm's golden hair and the matching threads woven into the trim of one's of Maedhros' best tunics. Amrod noted with satisfaction that the sleeves were much too long on him.

"You know he’s full of shit, don't you?"

"Yes!" Amras answered.

"Good. Anyway, Káno and Nelyo are between us and the creek."

Secure that the ghost, if there should be one, would have to encounter Fingon and Maedhros before it reached them, he considered that, although their oldest brother and their cousin were not easily frightened, neither were they pointlessly reckless. It surely must be safe. Amrod fell asleep.

He awakened to Amras clenching his arm. "Listen. I thought I was having a nightmare. But, ai, ai! I'm awake. Do you hear it?" Amrod's heart pounded at the fear he heard in his brother's strangled voice.

"Quiet. I can't hear a thing with you ranting." He wondered for a moment if it was all a prank cooked up between Celegorm and Amras, but one look at his brother's face in the dim silver light dispelled that frail hope. A crackling of undergrowth, closer to their tent than to the willow tree, caused him to throw his arms around his brother and clutch him to his chest. The rustling of twigs and leaves drew closer, accompanied by a series of snorts and snuffles, then a loud squeal, followed by a pained repetitive wailing and louder hideous grunts.

Amrod pulled Amras to his feet. "Oh, shit! What happened to Finno and Nelyo?"

"L-look. The light is on in Nelyo's room now. They're in the house."

It became abundantly clear that the ghost had captured its prey, the screaming and squeaking sounded as though the snorting thing was eating a baby. It would finish soon and come after them. They both took off running in the direction of the back porch, screeching.

Amras caught his foot on something and sprawled flat on his stomach. The sight of the bane of his existence, his best friend and soul mate, lying there helpless, forced Amrod to form actual words as he tugged to pull him upright.

"Atar! Amil! He's down! Amras has fallen and I can't get him up!"

Amras stopped sobbing and managed to struggle to his feet as soon as he heard his father curse and saw him stop just short of the last porch step, instead of rushing forward to rescue them. Celegorm strolled around the side of house, still clad in Maedhros's good shirt, by then badly wrinkled and undone at neck.

Simultaneously, Nerdanel, sleepy-eyed but alert, popped out of the back door, pulling her robe more tightly closed over her ample bosom. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," their father said. "The fucking hedgehogs woke them up."

"Fëanáro!" she said, with the pretense of being appalled, as though she never heard him use those kinds of words. "Watch your language in front of the children."

"I was merely being precise. Listen. They are still going at it." He paused long enough to allow the scuffling, squeaking hedgehogs to underscore his point. "I can scarcely believe they've grown up this far beyond the city limits and did not recognize the racket of hedgehogs mating."

Amras had gained control of his breathing, but needed further reassurance. "Atto, do you believe in ghosts?" He tried, but could not control the quaver in his voice.

"Of course not! I don't even want to know where you heard that claptrap." He gave a chilling glance in the direction of Celegorm. "March right up to your rooms. Not a sound out of you until well after the mingling of the lights." His father's eyes snapped, scarier than anything hidden in the shadows of the back garden. "I'm disappointed in both of you."

Nerdanel's voice, suddenly soft, held a regretful, slightly guilty undertone, like she might be somehow to blame for their father's ill humor. "Must you always be so dramatic, Fëanáro? Anyway, I think they've stopped now."

"It doesn't take them long at all, once they've finally made contact."

Amrod asked, "How do they do that anyway? Without hurting one another, I mean?"

"Much like the rest of us, I'd guess. They put up with the bad for the sake of the good part," Feanor answered. Nerdanel punched him on the arm. He grinned at her, but turned back to stare stonily at Celegorm.

"I have warned you before, Turkafinwë . . ."

"Uh, uh, um . . ." Celegorm brilliantly began. "About the boys . . . I can sleep in the tent for the rest of the night so they don't have to come inside." His throwaway tone belied a wide-eyed look of apology, directed at their father.

"Fine. I will hold you responsible for them."

Celegorm shrunk under his gaze, but lifted his chin in a pitiful imitation of bravado. "Whatever." Then he shrugged, apparently re-thinking his comment. "I mean, yes, sir. Uh, I will. I mean, thank you."

Nerdanel reached to ruffle Celegorm's tangled blond hair. "Thank you, Tyelkormo. That is such a good brother of you."

Amras restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
___________

List of Quenya names and/or nicknames used:
Celegorm = Tyelkormo, Turko, Turkafinwë
Caranthir = Carnistir
Curufin = Curvo
Fëanor = Fëanáro
Fingon = Findekáno, Finno, Káno
Maedhros = Nelyo
Maglor = Macalaurë

I asked my LJ friends-list for advice on what might frighten children in the garden of a suburban household in the halcyon world of Valinor. I am most grateful to Esteliel for the suggestion of hedgehogs mating and ChaoticBinky for the howl of a wolf.

I also want to thank the short list of friends who read a Beta version of this story and encouraged me, especially for the corrections of Lissa and Jael.

The cartoon, of course:

Click on cartoon for larger version.

Finally, on hedgehogs mating, the actual act itself is the least of the noisy, scary part, it is the pursuit and circling of one another that result in the most hair-raising sounds. For those of you who have never heard or seen mating hedgehogs, courtesy of Moreth: hedgehogs doing it.